Posts Tagged ‘ poetry ’

passages

photo by loveblushfever (c)

reclamation

Small things are gigantic.   A heart on fire in the middle of the ocean.  One lonely tree on a hilltop.  An old couple holding hands at the market.    A clock on the mantle counting down the moments.

I thrive on pretense and assumption, on hope and yearning.  Some corner of meager existence, where things make sense in a small way, and little things are just little things, with a spill or two along the way.

Comfortably weary and restless.  I hear there’s only so much time.  And sometimes everything just has to be slow like snow falling.  And sometimes there is no reason, just an idea.

A concentrated mediocrity.  Boiled down, reduced, reclaimed, returned.  A lifetime isn’t enough.  There’s never enough time or hunger to go all the way round.

But to need a little less.  To let in a little more.  Of the world.  Of you.  So put on your face.  And your dancing shoes.

Life waits for no one.

-loveblushfever

 

Don’t say you don’t have enough time. You have exactly the same number of hours per day that were given to Helen Keller, Pasteur, Michaelangelo, Mother Teresa, Leonardo da Vinci, Thomas Jefferson, and Albert Einstein.

H. Jackson Brown Jr

Difficult times have helped me to understand better than before, how infinitely rich and beautiful life is in every way, and that so many things that one goes worrying about are of no importance whatsoever…

Isak Dineson

There is a time for departure even when there’s no certain place to go.

Tennessee Williams

 

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OBLIVION #3

photo by loveblushfever (c)

Breeze coming in the window.  Quiet thoughts.   Simple, unadorned images of faint, yet bright memories drifting into and out of view.  What we have to say versus what we have to tell.  Stories have all kinds of beginnings.  I sift through fragments of thoughts, ideas of things, and hold on a little longer to some kind of meaning that continues to elude me.   It feels like I haven’t slept in years.  My keys are still in the door.  I’ve left the coffee on all day.   Laundry’s still in the washing machine.   I’m holding on to the edge of the desk half off my chair.  Either I’m terrified or I’m indecisive.  Regardless, it is the end of something.  I feel that whatever all of this has been is cascading to an end point where I don’t have to do this anymore, where there is no will to put myself through all the drama any longer.  It feels at once relieving, warm and good, and absolutely horrifying.  Anything that ends is this way.  I’m not prepared to embark, to push away from the shore and just float along, no direction, just stumbling through,  on undercurrents, fumes.  Just get on with it.  Inhale.

565

565

conundrum

emerging.  bringing.  recognizing.  adhering.  landscaping.  administering.

life is a conquest of the heart

everything matters

but nothing is dyer

because everything is clear

and well-jointed- and falling off the bone

a labour of love.

conundrum.

loveblushfever

un-precipice

over the edge

of a tall place

thinking, hell, why not?

but also why bother?

it’s all a chore

something to be crossed off but it’s somebody else’s list

i’m fumbling along with adverbs

they’ve already dictated my epitaph

i’m not sure if i should be amused or outraged

this is the extent of my involvement in my life

i just breath and get on with it

apparently there’s this whole other realm

of participation

still

it’s just me breathing

idea #3

photo by loveblushfever (c)

 

there is no such thing as partial investment

not when it comes to living

you either breath in and out or…

but do it with some noise

with bells on

in full colour

and whistling

while sucking a lemon

all while some bored god or two pulls your hair

life on the rocks

life

what is this progression of time

if time is nothing

well i’m full of it

searching, devouring, improvising

a play of too many parts

colliding

collapse

a friend once wanted to call his band that name

i said hurrah for saying yes

in a land of no

it is a busy thing

to feel and consider

the consequences of thoughts and projections

bubbles

conjurer of happy thoughts

bliss walks in

gleaming and shiny

i’d like to say i’m above feeling good

i’m not

passages into and through me

dictate that to feel is to live

and to live is…

to breath

in and out

at least once in a while

to believe that life is a process

like any other transaction

there is a price

what are you willing to pay to feel?

what is worth the bother of deconstruction

because to feel is to deconstruct

to analyze

to interpret

life is a ship venturing out into unknown waters

i gingerly set foot upon it

and hope for the best

and of course to think to myself

silently

or at least under my breath

that i am worthwhile in a selfish

all or nothing sort of way

that life is good

that solitude warms me more than the presence of others

it isn’t that you’re less

but that the absence takes up more space

because it is full of itself

and rearing it’s beautiful head back in a laugh

i crumble in the face of eternity

relishing every moment alone

-loveblushfever

spending the night with bukowski

“your life is your life
don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.
be on the watch.
there are ways out.
there is a light somewhere.
it may not be much light but
it beats the darkness.
be on the watch.
the gods will offer you chances.
know them.
take them.
you can’t beat death but
you can beat death in life, sometimes.
and the more often you learn to do it,
the more light there will be.
your life is your life.
know it while you have it.
you are marvelous
the gods wait to delight
in you.”
Charles Bukowski

“Love is a form of prejudice. You love what you need, you love what makes you feel good, you love what is convenient. How can you say you love one person when there are ten thousand people in the world that you would love more if you ever met them? But you’ll never meet them. All right, so we do the best we can. Granted. But we must still realize that love is just the result of a chance encounter. Most people make too much of it. On these grounds a good fuck is not to be entirely scorned. But that’s the result of a chance meeting too. You’re damned right. Drink up. We’ll have another.”
Charles Bukowski

 

“Nothing was ever in tune. People just blindly grabbed at whatever there was: communism, health foods, zen, surfing, ballet, hypnotism, group encounters, orgies, biking, herbs, Catholicism, weight-lifting, travel, withdrawal, vegetarianism, India, painting, writing, sculpting, composing, conducting, backpacking, yoga, copulating, gambling, drinking, hanging around, frozen yogurt, Beethoven, Back, Buddha, Christ, TM, H, carrot juice, suicide, handmade suits, jet travel, New York City, and then it all evaporated and fell apart. People had to find things to do while waiting to die. I guess it was nice to have a choice.”
Charles Bukowski (Women)

 

“The Laughing Heart

your life is your life
don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.
be on the watch.
there are ways out.
there is a light somewhere.
it may not be much light but
it beats the darkness.
be on the watch.
the gods will offer you chances.
know them.
take them.
you can’t beat death but
you can beat death in life, sometimes.
and the more often you learn to do it,
the more light there will be.
your life is your life.
know it while you have it.
you are marvelous
the gods wait to delight
in you.”
Charles Bukowski (Betting on the Muse: Poems & Stories)

“I was a man who thrived on solitude; without it I was like another man without food or water. Each day without solitude weakened me. I took no pride in my solitude; but I was dependent on it. The darkness of the
room was like sunlight to me.”
Charles Bukowski (Factotum)

“I’ve never been lonely. I’ve been in a room — I’ve felt suicidal. I’ve been depressed. I’ve felt awful — awful beyond all — but I never felt that one other person could enter that room and cure what was bothering me…or that any number of people could enter that room. In other words, loneliness is something I’ve never been bothered with because I’ve always had this terrible itch for solitude. It’s being at a party, or at a stadium full of people cheering for something, that I might feel loneliness. I’ll quote Ibsen, “The strongest men are the most alone.” I’ve never thought, “Well, some beautiful blonde will come in here and give me a fuck-job, rub my balls, and I’ll feel good.” No, that won’t help. You know the typical crowd, “Wow, it’s Friday night, what are you going to do? Just sit there?” Well, yeah. Because there’s nothing out there. It’s stupidity. Stupid people mingling with stupid people. Let them stupidify themselves. I’ve never been bothered with the need to rush out into the night. I hid in bars, because I didn’t want to hide in factories. That’s all. Sorry for all the millions, but I’ve never been lonely. I like myself. I’m the best form of entertainment I have. Let’s drink more wine!”
Charles Bukowski

“It was true that I didn’t have much ambition, but there ought to be a place for people without ambition, I mean a better place than the one usually reserved. How in the hell could a man enjoy being awakened at 6:30 a.m. by an alarm clock, leap out of bed, dress, force-feed, shit, piss, brush teeth and hair, and fight traffic to get to a place where essentially you made lots of money for somebody else and were asked to be grateful for the opportunity to do so?”
Charles Bukowski (Factotum)

“For those who believe in God, most of the big questions are answered. But for those of us who can’t readily accept the God formula, the big answers don’t remain stone-written. We adjust to new conditions and discoveries. We are pliable. Love need not be a command nor faith a dictum. I am my own god. We are here to unlearn the teachings of the church, state, and our educational system. We are here to drink beer. We are here to kill war. We are here to laugh at the odds and live our lives so well that Death will tremble to take us.”
Charles Bukowski

CHECKMATE – CHARLES BUKOWSKI

Checkmate

we are broken down bit by bit,

we

drain away by the minute, the hour, the week, the

month, the year, we

leak away

in cafes, backyards, stadiums, parking lots, in

parlors of chance, in movie houses, at church,

at clambakes,

we dissolve

we dissolve while

putting on our shoes, while

putting out the cat, while

turning out the light,

while clipping our toenails.

so we continually dissolve from substance to

shadow, endlessly

dissolve while listening

to bad music or in total silence,

forever dissolve

while reading old love letters and new books,

during peace and war,

on and off TV.

thus our lives dissolve and disappear between the helmet and

a high-heeled shoe, between an olive seed and a buried

corpse, between a lost key and the exposed film, between a

child’s smile and the magnolia’s scream.

 

Checkmate by Charles Bukowski.  Published in “Slouching Toward Nirvana – New Poems”  First Ecco Paperback Edition, Harper Collins.  2005.

 

Richard Brautigan

“My life has actually been without a dynamic for over a year, and I just keep taking too long to do very simple things, and my heart has been like a colony on the moon populated by unique icicles who have apparently no transition.”  Richard Brautigan.  An Unfortunate Woman. P. 57

 

 

“Probably the closest things to perfection are the huge absolutely empty holes that astronomers have recently discovered in space. If there’s nothing there, how can anything go wrong?”  random Brautigan quote

Federico Garcia Lorca

NEW SONGS – August 1920

(Vega de Zujaira)

The afternoon says:  “I’m thirsty for shadow!”

And the moon: “I want stars.”

The crystal fountain asks for lips,

the wind, for sighs.

 

I’m thirsty for scents and for laughter.

Thirsty for new songs

without irises or moons,

without dead loves.

 

A morning song that can shiver

quiet backwaters

of the future and fill

their waves and silt with hope.

 

A luminous and tranquil song

full of thought,

virgin to sadness and anguish,

virgin to reverie.

 

A song skinned of lyric, filling

silence with laughter.

(A flock of blind doves

tossed into mystery.)

 

A song to go to the soul of things

and to the soul of winds,

resting at last in the bliss

of the eternal heart.

 

Excerpt from BOOK OF POEMS

Federico Garcia Lorca

 

 

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