John Antonelli’s documentary gives a slice of Kerouacs life from the early days to the publication of On The Road, it shows through comments how willing he was to suffer for his art as many writers and for that matter artists do
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Winning Bukowski Tweet #1: wine by Chris Lawrence
Thank you so much Bukowski On Wry and all your readers , all the best
and you know how to bake
around the mouth
cakemix stolen from the bowl
a taste of the unbaked
sweeter than expected,
holding back the urge
to lick lips noisily ,
washed it away
as a drunkard would
bottle sloshed whiskey
turned burnt caramel,
bowl slipped from edge
of table with enormous shatter,
pieces glazed
spread as his foot got cut
spilled as a sacrifice
for he was a prophet
born in anticipation
growing to expectation,
the world full of paraphernalia
that only a poet mends,
blood painted in circles,
scratching balls in shorts,
where was the thunder
to his profanity,
his stem to water
those fragrant vaginal daisies
errors and promises,
love had entered an interval,
trumps inflated cotton,
she came to see
shaking head
ash fell from her cigarette,
they had binds
beyond gold bands
and a chapel promise,
no atomic desolation would separate
leave it she would say
taking his hand
led to another room
more doors away from
the violent splatter on the walls
best to ignore
her voice sleepy not unsound
sat limply hung out to dry,
she stood adjusted nightgown,
it would be clean,
and wounds heal
maybe the interval was over
dVersePoets
Sunday Whirl
A poem for dVersePoets and Sunday Whirl , dVerse needed a beat sound and i hope i hit the notes
no more clapboard storehouse
seasons merchant brings the harvest
flesh ripened berries and firm apples
john deere’s wander fields
barns fill with crop,
barricades still out against winter
last flush of heat clinging on
birds on the cusp of migration
still hold a note in song,
and i face my execution
she had wanted me for years
now i was disposable,
unable to plow fields
and seed a decent crop
inverted hearts adorn the page,
and i find the porch
for sleeping some more,
i wish the merchant did not
expect so much,
being a simple man
i was now to be abandoned
she could make her heart autonomous
it had to turn inside
beneath her maiden outlines
no flesh expanded as she expected,
evicted to the car
its vinyl bench with no pillow
woke one morning and drove
leaving her and her field
to be sown by another
in spring
concupiscence
he fled those vicissitudes
and hid in the parables
that spread like marmalade
over his life,
as an intrinsic alchemist
transforming the jewels
that drew light into her eyes
nymphlike was not always,
she kissed his lyre
and lingered on the notes
crouched mouth to mouth
the dust of longness
passed between them
hands often released
and time again became frail
his tremors sounded as trumpets
with impossible sobbing
a deep reconciliation
a finger of saffron stained
the tongue
and wafted in embrace
yet he could no more
and neither she
amazed at speech carnivals
that wound words over
rolling track
pirouetting horses dance
to an inconvenient truth,
he listened to the stars
and read long passages
delirious now that it was
divisible,
tomorrow became perpetual
sinuous flow
word of the day your favorite word i got carried away again so i hope it works as i have not been functioning so well recently , all the best
velvetmedia 