in other words

by: Charles Bukowski


the Egyptians loved the cat
were often entombed with it
instead of with the women
and never with the dog

but now
here
good people with
good eyes
are very few

yet fine cats
with great style
lounge about
in the alleys of
the universe.

about
our argument tonight
whatever it was
about
and
no matter
how unhappy
it made us
feel

remember that
there is a
cat
somewhere
adjusting to the
space of itself
with a delightful
grace

in other words
magic persists
without us
no matter what
we may try to do
to spoil it.

 

in other words

by: Charles Bukowski


the Egyptians loved the cat
were often entombed with it
instead of with the women
and never with the dog

but now 
here
good people with
good eyes
are very few

yet fine cats
with great style
lounge about
in the alleys of
the universe.

about
our argument tonight
whatever it was
about
and 
no matter
how unhappy
it made us
feel

remember that
there is a 
cat
somewhere
adjusting to the
space of itself
with a delightful
grace

in other words
magic persists
without us
no matter what
we may try to do
to spoil it.

Patti Smith | Louisiana Channel.

 

It's national poetry month!

Every month is poetry month for me. Every day poetry day.

Have a poetry hour. Happy hour. poetry by the minute

take a shot. one second of poetry. every second

international poetry life.

Ha ha! enjoy your words and eat them too.

Contemplating Love

love is tender
love is torn
love is weak
love is worn
love is tempted
love resented
love repressed
love in question
love defined
love exploited
love denied
love beyond reason
love in season
love in style
love, the cable channel
love, the brand
love, the series
love, the act
love, the feeling
love betrayed
love strayed
love stayed
love in heat
love, the mystery
love, the misery
love sweats
love gambles
love bets
love pays the price
love in pieces in the street
love like tears
love like bombs
love explodes
love in ashes
love dying
love reviving
love, the lie
love, why?
love, try
love comes
love disappears
love everlasting
love supreme
love without answers
love with open arms
love pulls the trigger
love’s last breath
love’s first glance
love’s a flickering shutter
love, the gift
love, the chance
the love trance
the love dance
crippled love hiding in houses
drowning in bottles
standing on bridges
hanging from garage rafters
love that lies dormant
love that needs rain
love that showers
love that eases pain
love in the dirt
love in the soil
love that hurts
love that spoils
love that kills
love that heals
love that ships
love on wheels
love and loyalty making deals behind closed doors
love, the secret song
love turns for right or wrong
love burns
love’s cold
love is wind
love is bold
love lasts as long as now
love that could have been
love stabs
love flinches
love finches
love birds
love words
cut and paste the days away
to fill love’s void
in love and paranoid
take the steps
roll the ball
knock the pins and make the split
love’s a game

love’s a name
love and shame share a room
at the heartbreak hotel
love is a story
love is fiction
love is fact
love is magic
love doesn’t lack
love is a saxophone solo
with rhythm and bounce
love is secret
love in an ounce
love shrewd
love is restless
never rude
love is the blues
love is sacred
love is nude
love in a roadhouse romp
love is serious
love in a marriage bed
love laughs
love snaps
love snarls
love raps
love rolls
love bowls
love is pound
love smokes
love rocks
love’s high in the fog
love is a dream
love is day
love is life love is a home
love is a wife
love is a mistress
love is a knife
love is a knock on the door of the soul
love is a four letter word
to love is to fuck
the world shouts love!
and we fuck and feel love
love is a field that I want to plant
love is a song I want to play
love is a power chord
a symphony
a lone yodel out on the prairie
love is a rant for peace
love is eating chinese
love is in the water
love is stronger than poison
witchcraft crumbles at it’s knees
love is a tower of strength
love is meek and mild
love goes any length
love is a child
love is a furnace burning fierce
love is electricity in every room
love is a belly full and clean clothes for a day
love is a new cd on new release day by a beloved
artist at the local record shop
love radiates
love grows love grows love grows
love is stronger than ecstasy
love evolves
love deteriorates
love responds
love does and is reborn
love fights
love lays down
love floats
love drowns
love is the sky
love on the fly
love is murder
love is mad
love is happy
love is sad
love is sappy
love is bad
love is crappy
love’s a fad
love bends
love breaks
love mends
love aches
love sends letters, writes poems
composes graffiti
loves slings rocks, breaks windows and hearts
love is sword
love, the seed of the crusades
love, twisted
love out of hand
love untamed
love unglued
love and terror
love abused
love is a church
love is a prayer
love is a crutch
love is dare
love is forgiveness
love is in the air
love is a light on a hill
love is an act of the will
love is dagger
love staggers
love swaggers
love is and always was
love before the beginning all points in between
love in the now and hereafter
and where we don’t understand
love in motion
love at the end
love starts all over again
love in perspective
love out of focus
love is a lonesome highway with the sun going down.

(c)2006, Peculiar Publishing, Jerry Oliver

Final Words

I'll never forget the way he slapped
his own face
in disbelief

Shook his head
trying to knock the cobwebs out

His wife of sixty years
closed her eyes
He kissed her
"I love you"
she said

Real Gone Poets presents this audio version of Nashville experimental blues duo Spider Poets performing Jerry Oliver's poem The Death Of Poetry (On Trial). 

We've also posted the print version for those without audio capabilities.

Click the Soundcloud link below and please enjoy... 

and download for free.



Soundcloud

 

the death of poetry (on trial)


though there is no direct forensic evidence proving it,
I still think there can be a case made
I mean, how can you say anything without a body?
no fingerprints left behind
missing perhaps, but dead?
what did you see when you used luminol?
were their eyewitnesses?
can we get a fair jury?
will we even get to trial?
was there a whacking?
who? how?
do words escape you?
did you ever think you’d keep them behind bars?
were there privileges 
just because you were the last generation to diagram sentences?
do you receive a stanza at a time on an electronic device?
who’s asking these questions
and how do they pertain to the defendant?
who and where is the defendant?
I’m looking to the judge for guidance and order
and only comprehend chaos
the mystery of the black robe
they should still wear wigs
because once they get out to the car and plug in their ipods
they can remember it was just a job
no need to bring it home
it will all be in the paper in the morning
no one will remember anything like it in their lifetime
and when they let him off
he cried
went home
hung himself
and still no murder weapon found
just cut up magazines and newspapers
and a desperate wind
scissors with the DNA of a prophet on the blade
but no blood

 

 (c)(p)2009,2012 Jerry Oliver, Odd Records, ASCAP

Real Gone Poets is a collective of poets associated with poet/rocker Jerry Oliver that range from a wide variety of ages, genders, backgrounds and  beliefs but have one huge thing in common; a respect for and love affair with words, particularly poetry that speaks to the times and streets we live in. Kinda like good rock and roll, which most of us have in common too. 
     So far Real Gone Poets has been more of an idea than any concrete action other than my own poetry that has been published online, but there has been some slowly evolving collaboration going on that will start with this blog posting some guest poetry. 
     Almost a decade ago I was perusing the AllPoetry website and I came upon some poetry that hit me between the eyeballs. I mean... this stuff was not just graphic and filled with imagery that made you swallow and wonder why you were reading on, no... you knew why, you wanted to know what was coming next! Before I read a line of her poetry I was instantly taken by the name Abby Eyeball. The poetry and subject matter was quite mature even though the cultural references could be quite young. I knew she had to be a unique and eccentric individual, especially when I realized the poets Sidney B. Valentine and Rachel A. Love were part of her multiple poetic personality disorder. 
     These days she is known in the world of Real Gone Poets and beyond mainly as Abby Eyeball and we introduce her today with one of her most current poems. Watch for Abby, and perhaps her alter egos Sid and Rachel too, to be involved in some upcoming Real Gone Poets, music/spoken word poetry/video/art/photo,  collaborations.


it comes


impossible, it seems

to wake up without these fingers

being clammy


 

If you can't think straight
Come in at an angle
If you can't pray
Quit trying

If you know all the answers
It's time to sober up
Admit she's gone
Go home

If you can't feel the beat
She broke your heart
Bend your strings
Call it art

If all you can do is drink a beer
Dedicate a song to her
Practice your scales
improvise

You tell me

Was there an accident in your incident?
an arrow in your love?
poetry in your prose?
terror in your heaven?

Did you open a door that you can't close?

You tell me

Did music spill onto the canvas?
the words go up in flames?
Is there poison in your cure?
happy in your sad? 

 

 

 

 

(c)2012, JerryOliver