On the clock
It’s two hours ‘til midnight,
just a few blocks from Downtown,
where lifeless leaves are falling
on stale whiffs of piss and
condemned food
cooking.
In a doorway
a human heart beats
beneath rags and bags
and yesterday’s chip paper news,
all wrappers on a meal fit only
for insects
and jackals. As sirens wail, she remembers her first day at school
and how a gold sun shone in her happiness.
At the lights
a lean streaky bacon of a teen
walks sharp as a wind gust
hood up and hiding
from bullet bent intimidators
and the short guy with a blade up his sleeve.
His mother waits up, contemplating refractions in her tight,
empty glass.
Down an alley
that cop who struts like John Wayne
stands secret in the snake dark.
Leaning back on hang meat shoulders
he tucks away spent manhood
as the zipper closes on another Tuesday blow job
from one of Alice’s girls.
Through a window
an asian guy who owns the corner shop
prays to his god through tobacco teeth
having closed his paint peeled door
one hour early
unusually
and settles down to an evening cup
brim full of
bonfires and suicide.
On a corner
one more bony whore
stands cold on a grey stone sidewalk
and feels the coal of her eyes
running in the rain.
She opens up another offering
and drops her price
again.
Between the lines
six hundred faceless voters
purr invisibly by
through wormholes
cocooned in warm dreams and SUV’s
aware of no-one and nothing
not even
nothings and no-ones.
I spit winter fat phlegm to the ground.
Guilt compels me
to rub it over
eight times
with one heavy sole.
A contest entry
- Beat Generation by GirlAnachronism.
475 points, ended September 29, 2008, 18 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - Your favorite by whispernthedark.
790 points, ended November 7, 2008, 56 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - Bukowski Inspired by Emmjay.
1175 points, ended April 27, 23 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - Charles Bukowski's Children by Budart.
550 points, ended May 9, 15 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
1 - 19 of 19
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Had to think about this a bit. It is a very good write. Clear, clean, and very visual. I enjoyed reading it.
It takes a view of human misery from an outside observers point of view. For the purposes of this contest I think it would be more appropriate to write about your misery, your guilt. What is your struggle with the horror like? How's it going? Thanks for the entry. Good luck.
Allan -
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Many thanks for your comment - in my 'defence' I just wanted to say that my guilt slips out in the last stanza and my struggle is constantly in the seeing. I hope this helps and I'm glad you enjoyed!
All the best, K
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A great interpretation from the eyes of a 'watcher'. I like the story here, almost feels like someone's experience while taking a walk to the store on a bleak early spring day.
The last verse encapsulates the poem perfectly, such a sick and tired moment...
Very well done
Thanks for the entry and best wishes in the contest.
-Emmjay
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You have really brought some subconscience thoughts to the forefront. Great poem, thank you for entering the contest. Good luck.
♥
whisper
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this is written soooo well...enjoyed reading this one too.
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You are a very observant people watcher. You are also a bloody good writer. Thats a wonderful combination honey. Im so glad to have read a little of your work. Im deffinately coming back for more... xx
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LOVE IT!!!!
I just love this peice, it's so wonderful, and entriging...
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WOW...your writing is so deep these days, or maybe it's always been and I'm only noticing now. This is a supiub piece...I love the ending, in fact I love all of this...
"Between the lines
six hundred faceless voters
purr invisibly by
through wormholes
cocooned in warm dreams and SUV’s
aware of no-one and nothing
not even
nothings and no-ones.
I spit winter fat phlegm to the ground.
Guilt compels me
to rub it over
eight times
with one heavy sole."
Especialy liked not even nothings and no-ones.
Just a pleasure to read and praise the talent that is you.
Until we meet again,
Shelly
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Growing up near San Francisco I loved to visit City Lights, a bookstore founded by Lawrence Ferlinghetti. I read all his poetry and couldn't help noticing how you have captured the essence of beat poetry in this work. As an example, "Two Scavengers in a Truck, Two Beautiful People in a Mercedes" begins:
At the stoplight waiting for the light
nine a.m. downtown San Francisco
a bright yellow garbage truck
with two garbagemen in red plastic blazers
standing on the back stoop
one on each side hanging on
and looking down into
an elegant open Mercedes
with an elegant couple in it
You have painted the same type of street scene with wonderful imagery and perception. You also have found the true rhythm of 1950's poetry, an incessant chorus that is meant to be vocalized. Very well done.
Peace, Liz
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Thank you so much for adding this wonderfully informative comment. Until recently, the only real connection I had with beat poetry was via the lyrics of Bob Dylan. In recent weeks, I made chance discoveries of some genius writers here at AP (Marc Creamore, Cinnary, Just Rob - to name but 20!) - and have now been browsing down works by Ginsberg, Kerouac, Bukowski - and shall add Ferlinghetti to the Bolognese. I love the way their language crackles and spits to capture a very unique soul of disenfranchised American thinkers and commentators. I am reassured that, despite the predominance of latterday glutz, at times yours can be such a talented nation! Thank you again.
L&P, K.
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Emotional way with the writing in this. Good descriptive piece I will admit! I especially liked the reference to John Wayne in this! THANKS!
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You have reached that higher level of writing (I sensed you were pushing against the veil separating you from it days ago).
I am envious. You write of society and the woes of others as if you have experienced them yourself - not with pity, not with disgust - with tragic realism.
Brings to mind two things:
1) Edna St. Vincent Millay's poem "Renascence" where she describes her desire to know, see, and feel it all - and the horror she felt as she discovered what knowing, seeing and feeling it all really meant:
"For my omniscience I paid toll
In infinite remorse of soul.
All sin was of my sinning, all
Atoning mine, and mine the gall
Of all regret. Mine was the weight
Of every brooded wrong, the hate
That stood behind each envious thrust,
Mine every greed, mine every lust.
And all the while for every grief,
Each suffering, I craved relief
With individual desire, --
Craved all in vain! And felt fierce fire
About a thousand people crawl;
Perished with each, -- then mourned for all."
2) Shinedown's song "What a Shame":
"There's a hard life for every silver spoon
there's a touch of grey for every shade of blue
that's the way that I see life
if there was nothing wrong then there'd be nothing right
for this working man they say can barely stand
there's got to be a better place to land"
Both of these works have been a great inspiration to me - to remind me that I am not the only one who hurts, the only one who cries - in fact, most have it far, far worse than I.
Now I can add your poem to my list of works to bring me back to reality - making it three!!!
Thanks for the inspiration.
Again, you are truly a magnificent and gifted poet. This is another one for your anthology
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Jolly fucking good. I love the bit about piss and the blowjob reference is top hole. You go onto my mother-f*cking favourites. Are you gay by any chance? Not that I am, of course, I am far TOO BUTCH!!!!!!!!!!
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Ta very much for the critique. I am not gay in the least - but I have to admit you are a fine looking young man.
Dr Dog, M'Sc.
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mmmm. this piece is great. it's amazing how you have connected all these different people together. it's long but the stanzas make it readable and you have chosen such wonderful words to put together. keep up the good work. thanks for entering
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To receive any award in your wonderful contest is a great honour. There were sparkling writes here. My acceptance speech is merely this: I received an award on the day of economic meltdown; I urge all of the world's SUV dreamers to stop shoving and start loving. Thank You.
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Jolly good. But a bit long. My last girlfriend used to like LONGNESS until she choked on my mighty p*nis one fine summer's day. But that is the subject of another poem.
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What does one say when the images hit you? I have always had a place to sleep and something (maybe not something good) to eat. This is the dark side, and every country has one. Your writing captured my thoughts and struck my heart with "she remembers her first day at school" - these are all people like me.
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Amazin'
The word usage was simply perfect! Keep up the amazing writing!
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