Artvilla.com Search Submissions and ContactMusic Lessons Art Lessons Poetry Videos Szymborska Bukowski Plath Lady Jazz

Grief Poem by Charles Bukowski

Consummation Of Grief
Charles Bukowski
I even hear the mountains
the way they laugh
up and down their blue sides
and down in the water
the fish cry
and the water
is their tears.
I listen to the water
on nights I drink away
and the sadness becomes so great
I hear it in my clock
it becomes knobs upon my dresser
it becomes paper on the floor
it becomes a shoehorn
a laundry ticket
it becomes
cigarette smoke
climbing a chapel of dark vines. . .
it matters little
very little love is not so bad
or very little life
what counts
is waiting on walls
I was born for this
I was born to hustle roses down the avenues of the dead.

***" "
Link to this page

Highlight the text and copy

..... .... ..... .... ..... .... ..... .... ..... .... ..... .... ..... .... ..... .... ..... .... ..... .... ..... .... ..... .... ..... .... .... ..... .... ..... .... ..... .... .... .....