THE RECREATION GROUNDS GREEN SCOOP

all my memories
will fit inside
a dog walkers morning 

~

& the recs green scoop

& its cistern sky

i gimp past

at tea time

well its there

isnt it

like death is

or a flat tyre

CAGED BLUEBIRD TOO

look for the light

bukowski tells me

looming out the dark

its always there

~

people forget
its not all
beers & bars
with him

he had a caged bluebird too

THERE WERE TEN

bukowski counted the lions
he saw in a magazine
crossing some village street
& taking their own sweet time

there were 10

& the paintings he did
of cows in art class
looked better 

than anything
in spanglers bar most nights

& i think about ten lions now
& think about painting cows now
when the morning
woke up sick again

& no one knows why

BUK RULES

in the submission rules
for a little mag
it said 

 ' no bukowski style

   im drinking
   im writing
   its great

   sort of stuff 
   thank you '

maybe i get what they mean
and i cant drink anymore anyway
but i hear a snobbish drift
and pleas for rhymes about daisies

those small eclusions
hold essentials markers
of 
truth
creation
escape

and 
the screaming
at the thin end of it all

that theyve never heard
and wouldnt even know
if it blew out their arseholes
during their broadsheet sunday brunch

by buk from poetryfoundation.org

BUKOWSKI CALLED THEM GLASS PEOPLE (TV AND THE RUG)

bukowski 
called 
them 
glass people 

( private helicopter over golden paris )

i 
say
theyre
sealed-in 
stop-outs
corporate shills deep in a lying jag

( fantasy rebellion of a runaway beach bride )

they transmit simple code
in purchased dots of light
emoting in the plywood spaces  
somehow forever themselves 

( antique motorcycle in a £15 million mews )

their forever blue glow
shadows the living room rug
into a colourised moonscape
where the crumbs
rear like mountains 
and cat hair 
frets like wire in the wind

( dandy hipsters catwalk gentrified pavement )

the colourised moonscape
is terraformed frequently 
sucked up and gone by the free trial handhelds
moon 
unit 
snout

( cool nerds city square flash mob ) 

california invented the idea of lifestyle
some one said on tv the other day
he
was
a
glass
person
a sealed-in stop-out
being clever for treats

( western mysticism successfully exported )

and the gardener isnt coming
cos it rained out there today
all the things are heavy and wet
and i am relieved like a god is relieved
when all the bloody sacrifice stops 

i been up forever anyway
up on the living room rug forever

( fat builders dance-off with the cut-offs )

i hear iggy pop when i try to sleep

welcoming his chinese rug
or 
belinda carlisles heaven delusion

( all the good bits of a film 
  action turns to love / morality dead on halfway )

theres a man out the front window
in striped joggers 
a colourless shapeless top
hes walking a small dog 
invisible behind the wall
and the red berry bush 
busy with counterfeit bees
and hes stopped 
and hes staring up intently
and when he walks on 
he has to stop again
look back again
up again
the small dog worrying a taut lead
invisible behind the wall
and the red berry bush 
busy with counterfeit bees

( a horse runs thru nostalgic potted domestic history )

i go to look when hes gone
go out there 
look over and up
i see only roof tiles 
the metal ribs of the tv sky
and a grey heft of dishwater space

( people do their shopping
  with more / less money than you )

now movie stars
stars of the silver screen
the old school king cool
well theyre bonafide legends 
marketed that way 

good for selling watches
and tiny bottles of smell

( the modern polymath drives an electric blue hatchback )

i miss steve mcqueen 
and his square monaco
like penny-back-bottles
i miss larry olivier 
plugging polaroids
like a hang nail
i played with 
in the insomnia loom

( shop here says the ad
  we will let you leave with some change in your hip pocket )

tell larry i got the camera 
i say to the cat 
next time you talk to the dead
and apologise to steve
i
cant
afford
a
monaco
in these tight lean ebay days

from youtube.com