Charles Bukowski

for Buk’s dad

/ mbrazfieldm / Leave a comment
Mbrazfieldm (c) 2024

the beach is really quiet today in spite of spilled ice cream and footprints left behind by a generation who still has not known the shores of old and the foxholes through which a reluctant liberty quietly arrives like a heart broken whore the breeze is desperate to make me smile and see me flicker my arms about my head like a puppet the breeze is not at all like the chiffon of the bride turned widow on that shore of ashen filled dreams collected by a letter delivered ten weekes later no these children with the ice cream and soccer balls and songs about a dance that is so disassociated from anything that i know will never understand these shores the way these shores have come to know me

for Buk’s dad

/ mbrazfieldm / Leave a comment
Mbrazfieldm (c) 2024

the beach is really quiet today in spite of spilled ice cream and footprints left behind by a generation who still has not known the shores of old and the foxholes through which a reluctant liberty quietly arrives like a heart broken whore the breeze is desperate to make me smile and see me flicker my arms about my head like a puppet the breeze is not at all like the chiffon of the bride turned widow on that shore of ashen filled dreams collected by a letter delivered ten weekes later no these children with the ice cream and soccer balls and songs about a dance that is so disassociated from anything that i know will never understand these shores the way these shores have come to know me

for Buk’s dad

/ mbrazfieldm / Leave a comment
Mbrazfieldm (c) 2024

the beach is really quiet today in spite of spilled ice cream and footprints left behind by a generation who still has not known the shores of old and the foxholes through which a reluctant liberty quietly arrives like a heart broken whore the breeze is desperate to make me smile and see me flicker my arms about my head like a puppet the breeze is not at all like the chiffon of the bride turned widow on that shore of ashen filled dreams collected by a letter delivered ten weekes later no these children with the ice cream and soccer balls and songs about a dance that is so disassociated from anything that i know will never understand these shores the way these shores have come to know me

a pleasant surprise

/ mbrazfieldm / 1 Comment

no thoughts
dry mouth
moist eyes
palms cold
heart throbs
feet tired
twisted back
fingers stiff
lips cut
throat silent
nails bit
legs bruised
arms cramped
nose stuffed
pockets empty
faith teeters
breath gone
stomach knotted
ass worn
scabby knuckles
piling bills
soul dead
spirit fleeting
the you
with cat

mbrazfieldm (c) 2023
four birds of the apocalypse
mixed media

*if you look closely you can see Buk’s ghost

blackbird

/ mbrazfieldm / 2 Comments

missing from my mind the blackbird looms
hoping to haunt my thoughts
but i’m beyond elusive
you must not take a step i whisper
or i’ll denounce you
expose you to the
wind
missing from my mind the blackbird looms
hoping to haunt my thoughts
and i withdraw my smile from him and send kisses to the gulls instead
the innocents and the vagabonds
and the coroner’s men
know the secret
in
my head
missing from my mind the blackbird looms
hoping to haunt my thoughts
but i’m beyond elusive
my lips pursed
fly up lest you drown
me up
in your desire to comfort
my pain
you want them to cry for me at the
Weingart
missing from my mind the blackbird looms
hoping to haunt my thoughts
and i’ve become so jaded inviting him
in the fire of the midday sun
and the eyes of the gods are away from me
i wish him so long
and happy he
aint
so he flies from me
with a quiet beak
out of my mind i cemented his
cry
and we wake apart in loneliness as such
without the
printed chants
bitter poisoned dreams
the ones where mercy sinks
and i wonder
do we

mbrazfield (c) 2023

poem inspired by Bukowski’s The Bluebird for NaPoWriMo 2023

high voltage

/ mbrazfieldm / 1 Comment
mbrazfield (c) 2021

let us praise sweet baby Jesus
for this liver of mine
these combat boots circa 1989
the fuck you nose in the air Lost Angelina flair
thank my lucky stars for me growing up between the nickel and old school Hollywood
i like a mold among the sparkly tinsel glow of all of those who have come and gone
but i am still here, ha!
and to the goodness let us thank you too for gifting me the shadows of Bukowski’s foot steps his words and his bungalows over on the east side
thank you universe for allowing me the courage or something to taunt my teachers with the scratching of my internal she balls
and my mohawk and knee scabs after countless drunken skateboard falls while attempting to take a calculus test
thank you God for the life You have let me have and the free will to let me feel the punching caresses of the days gone by

slumber, i’m here

/ mbrazfieldm / 2 Comments
mbrazfield (c) 2021

slumber, i’m here
see by your
side 50 years
b’tween oh what
the shit we’ve
seen words fed
me like a
bird later i
met your friends
among podiums raised
to you old
man western Blvd
we walked the
Hollywood falling bridge
west scoring beer
with publishers checks
me scoring in
other ways but
i got the
gist of you
don’t try you
said i said
let me see
you liked whores
i liked bus
stops pigeons in
the night we
both liked dive
bars hard boiled
eggs at half
past nine tough
you challenged me
but not before
the ham on
rye beer on
tap my imagination

when women pray

/ mbrazfieldm / 11 Comments

it happens any time

in any place

around the universe

and even under ground

where they bury us

or in jars

where our chemical composition

lays just there in a powder

when women pray

they are really talking

across wet streets

between cars

right on the division line

of light and dark

they really get into it

a rhythm only she angels can hear

the he angels

they’re pictures on Valentines

sent to Hank Bukowski

when women pray

they think of everything

dirty diapers pregnancy tests

pubic hair the national crime rates

they think of their breasts

the bruises by their mate

the love of a mother

the words not really carefully thought through

but the universe gets the gist

cars come and go

rush hour in the heart

fear and joy at being alive

when women pray

music dances off their tongues

penetrating embankments

concrete or otherwise

the lilts and little valleys

in their vocal chords

algorithms to the stars

when i pray

i pray for a strength like theirs