To The Whore Who Took My Poems

some say we should keep personal remorse from the
poem,
stay abstract, and there is some reason in this,
but jezus;
twelve poems gone and I don't keep carbons and you have
my
paintings too, my best ones; its stifling:
are you trying to crush me out like the rest of them?
why didn't you take my money? they usually do
from the sleeping drunken pants sick in the corner.
next time take my left arm or a fifty
but not my poems:
I'm not Shakespeare
but sometime simply
there won't be any more, abstract or otherwise;
there'll always be mony and whores and drunkards
down to the last bomb,
but as God said,
crossing his legs,
I see where I have made plenty of poets
but not so very much
poetry.

by Charles Bukowski

Comments (17)

Only Bukowski could write a poem like this! Excellent!
o poet, I offer you a great salute. excellent.
Clearly Bukowski is writing from experience here, and rather nicely I think. There is so much pain in his work, so much that is personal that I am drawn to it like a moth to a flame. And we'll all burn in hell together.
Stealing is stealing and also plagerism, I once was at a different poetry site when I saw that this woman so called wrote a poem but she stole it off a well known poem and changed a few words. This poem you wrote is what I call pure poetry written from you graceful hands Charles. thank you for sharing. I firmly believe in all that you wrote.
Hello your such a wonderful poet. Hope you to be my friend. Im already a fan of you. Thanks
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