In the year of our Lord
nineteen hundred and twenty-three:
Over the mountain,
down the long valley,
across the cold river
there's a stately funeral
going on.
Note the children
dressed in black,
the wonder in their eyes.
The ashes from the red-tipped fires
settle in the snow white white;
they are lined into his face,
his eyes twinkle,
he smiles
dancing on Mrs. Applewhite's porch.
Says "two-fifty",
and she pops
so he'll leave
and she can clean
where the dirt has convened.
"pain, pain"
Lisa says
dressed in dark jeans
which make me think of licking things
and dead wood
which the carver cuts
with sharp knives.
"Rain, rain",
Lisa says
shifting the Popsicle
to her left hand
and pouting.
Etchings
beneath the white skin.
Scars
that say, do not come within.
The procession turns the corner,
the girls seem very calm,
the boys view the situation
with alarm.
Everything is as it always was,
but not quite the same as it's been.
Author notes
For Bukowski
Written January 3rd, 2004
In a list
What did you think
Comments
1 - 18 of 18
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Worm made a good comment here - back when he liked to read you and say nice things about how you make beautiful letter pictures.
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very nice read!! enjoyed it every much!! I hope u keep on wriitng ! take care
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mmmm made me think..
Flowed easlily, nice read. Dread to think what you mean when you say: "dressed in dark jeans
which make me think of licking things"
I'd like to really know.
Petit Moineau ( little Sparrow )
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Thiss write is good, your words seem to wander making difficult to understand. Not the best, defintely not the worst. Worth one applaud
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Like most of your commentators, I didn't understand this either (and I've never read Bukowski), but I was captivated by the imagery and the flow of the lines.
Bill
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Wow...this was very difficult to understand, but it was a good write. The title didn't really match the rest of it to me, but I didn't fully get it so I suppose it could. It would be interesting to hear the thought process behind this. I liked the ending.
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A very interesting read. A bit difficult to understand, but you have painted some good images here. All the best, Zach.
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I use to be a chimney sweep, never quit had anything like this poem happen to me But I have seen some pant that made me think of licking things. Good write.
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I am huge Bukowski fan and always have been. I admit that I didn't quite "get" all of this and may have to come back again so I am bookmarking it. I like it when I read something that is not only pleasurable to the senses but challenges my mind as well. You have accomplished both here it seems. Like so many others, I am somewhat fascinated with the jeans reference. How odd we all caught that if nothing else.
Thanks for providing a great read! 
♥ Kimberly -
I have a cousin in Europe who cleans chimneys. Not sure what I was expecting, but still do not understand what this is about, do not know who the others are talking about. Interesting read, though.
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You know, I found a book of Bukowski's short stories in a yard sell. Misty and Bill and I have been reading them aloud to each other as bed time stories. All very family-like and wholesome bed time stories are. But one I read the other day, I forget the name, had author (Bukowski?) and cell mate in prison cleaning pigeon shit and deciding to cut off the legs of a flightless pigeon and throw it on the roof so that the other pigeons get the message that they shouldn't be messing around down there shitting. Didn't like that at all .. even, briefly, very briefly, thought of quitting reading Bukowski. But I came back.
I dont' really know what to make of this .. I didn't think Bukowski at all when I read it .. though perhaps the reference to blue jeans making you think of licking things (love that) or, more sqeemish, making you think of carving things with knives (hate having thoughts of sharp knives in such close proximity to things in jeans that one might lick .. ick ick ick).
Death is so inconsequential. Everything is always as it was, basically.
I liked this, but I'm not certain I really get it.
Edited on Aug 21, 9:51 because 'I wrote "knifes" .. how embarrassing'. -
still wandering aimlessly which i don't mind at all ..
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"dressed in dark jeans
which make me think of licking things"
~grins~
I'll bet. I love that line.
I just read this for the enjoyment in it. It's hard to analyze this kind of poetry. One day you are going to have to write and tell me where all of this comes from.
In the meantime, I will come and get lost in the fable of it.
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Worm, in his Witlessness, missed this one. Sorry!
Bukowski: I suppose the Bukowski connection is between the Lute and his influences: it doesn't feel much like his style but then I've only read a handful of his. It's certainly very beautiful and very Lutean: 1923 was the year Schoenberg killed Romanticism with his nasty little formula. And the year TSE declared that he wasn't keen on the Waste Land after all. That year has always felt like a threshold to me, not entirely sure why. Did they still send kids up chimneys in '23? Anyway .....
Looking down on the funeral, death-memory-innocence holding hands in a circle, like Eichendorff's frozen river and the wedding long past - I love it. Gorgeous.
As for DOM's: has Mermaid encountered Lovespoon yet? If we are DOMs, I don't know what he is.
I have a block, in case you haven't noticed. Been reading Galway Kinnell - I confess it was me trying to educate the Zack. Stony whatsits, I fear - anyway, it makes me realise that reading good poetry is what stops me writing poetry. Of course I could just stop reading poetry and write foul poetry (no change there then).
Ah well. -
I can only assume you mean my dear Charles Bukowski! Another DOM I adore! Has that non-sensical feel to it that eventually finds it's misguided target.
---- Happy New Year!!! 
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Excellent work, Luty
A Horizontal Perspective
Sometimes
I become so tired,
that I am not amongst the living
anymore
I find myself being carried
off ...
I see eyeless skyscrapers
tumbling by
smokeless chimneys
blistered trusses of roofs
summits of weeping willow trees
clouded dreams
I see careless slip-knots of ties
solemn hanging chins
and dry nostrils
of those
who carry me:
why
don't they breathe?
myra
04.01.2004 -
'dressed in dark jeans
which make me think of licking things'. Hehehe.
I've not read much of his work. I think I'll start.
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Bukowski's been gone almost 10 years and I hear dogs are still pissing on his grave stone.
This is one of those pieces that just went over my head but that's okay 'cause I like it anyways. Like the last two lines, sorta wraps it all up and I think I hear them playing "Taps"
Desiree
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