Charles Bukowski – The House

THE HOUSE
from “All’s Normal Here” – 1985

They are building a house
half a block down
and I sit up here
with the shades down
listening to the sounds,
the hammers pounding in nails,
thack thack thack thack,
and then I hear birds,
and thack thack thack,
and I go to bed,
I pull the covers to my throat;
they have been building this house
for a month, and soon it will have
its people…sleeping, eating,
loving, moving around,
but somehow
now
it is not right,
there seems a madness,
men walk on top with nails
in their mouths
and I read about Castro and Cuba,
and at night I walk by
and the ribs of the house show
and inside I can see cats walking
the way cats walk,
and then a boy rides by on a bicycle
and still the house is not done
and in the morning the men
will be back
walking around on the house
with their hammers,
and it seems people should not build houses
anymore,
it seems people should not get married
anymore,
it seems people should stop working
and sit in small rooms
on 2nd floors
under electric lights without shades;
it seems there is a lot to forget
and a lot not to do,
and in drugstores, markets, bars,
the people are tired, they do not want
to move, and I stand there at night
and look through this house and the
house does not want to be built;
through its sides I can see the purple hills
and the first lights of evening,
and it is cold
and I button my coat
and I stand there looking through the house
and the cats stop and look at me
until I am embarrased
and move North up the sidewalk
where I will buy
cigarettes and beer
and return to my room.

Charles Bukowski's home DeLongpre Avenue

Charles Bukowski’s home DeLongpre Avenue

cumbria caravan , eastern view

20130728_163412.jpg

Cumbria, holiday

Chris Lawrence Phoneography

4:30am

spelltime hour of silence

light defaces the sky

and sun confronts glass,

i am a discordant instrument

out of tune,

field and track make profiles

in the light,

rabbit flashes white tail

crows beckon with raw calls,

everyone is sleeping,

alone without cellphone coverage

or far reaching internet,

my problems an essential alphabet

to be categorized and processed

without many answers,

flushed with a sense of panic

brighter light folds about me,

besides dad gone since january

people move about my head

reaching for my attention

often stumbling,

sipping coffee

i asked them to be patient

my service was slow

attention would come

from the sleep abandoned

most awake now,

allowing the light to reach my retina

but there it stopped,

inside was still a bleak landscape

of whatever,

and i had not cleaned it up yet

 

poetry , poem

Merry Christmas

christmas

 

Merry Christmas to all my friends and blog followers thank you for all your comments and support i really appreciate all of you and if you read this in passing on a blog voyage you are always welcome love to all , all the best and enjoy

For Those Today

that be idle on

half dreamy air

at evenings rise and wonder

near hearts gather

kin and kisses

sweetness not grown cold

gather and share

in touched whispers

vast spread of turkey trimmings

indulge in wine and pudding

near to unbroken

given to each other

 

 

 

Wendels Elm Moment

the leaves on the tree

are thinking of falling,

boats burn on lake at night

as descending sun

gives a moment,

the surge in your fig eyes

brings the languish

of body and spirit,

sweet seasons juice

almost quenched,

bringing bitter almonds

to my heart,

music dense in bone

we have to expect a something new

tentative bridges to fragile blue ice,

the surge will come

i will be at your door

under shivering boughs

backlit galvanized lights

fold into the night,

for it is to come,

but for now,

as silent gardens ponder

vague unfamiliar shapes,

the song still plays

as a moth takes descent,

it is a lonely outpost that i

maintain.