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Charles Bukowski - Consummation Of Grief

I even hear the mountains
the way they laugh
up and down their blue sides
and down in the water
the fish cry
and the water 
is their tears.
I listen to the water
on nights I drink away
and the sadness becomes so great
I hear it in my clock
it becomes knobs upon my dresser
it becomes paper on the floor
it becomes a shoehorn
a laundry ticket
it becomes
cigarette smoke
climbing a chapel of dark vines. . .
it matters little
very little love is not so bad
or very little life
what counts
is waiting on walls
I was born for this
I was born to hustle roses down the avenues of the dead.

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Added: Feb 20 2003 | Viewed: 1574 times | Comments and analysis of Consummation Of Grief by Charles Bukowski Comments (2)

Consummation Of Grief - Comments and Information

Poet: Charles Bukowski
Poem: Consummation Of Grief
Poem of the Day: Jan 14 2006

Comment 2 of 2, added on July 18th, 2014 at 4:50 AM.

6WbxuC Thank you ever so for you post.Really thank you! Really Great.

link building from Norway
Comment 1 of 2, added on January 14th, 2009 at 4:32 PM.

I used to call him America's only living poet.
Then he died.
What made him great, besides his ability to put down the real quivering guts of the matter at hand, was the fact that anyone could understand his poetry. You did'nt need a degree in poetry, or to be able to read half-a-dozen languages. I hope that the people who translate him into all those other languages do a good job, because the world needs to hear him plain and straight.

andy middleman from United States

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