Who is This?

I try texting this doll face

I’d enjoyed some dances from

At a hole in the wall club

Years ago. Absurd, I know.

Then I get the inevitable

reply: “Who is this?” Without

punctuation of any kind.

The reply opens up a

Pandora’s box of worms.

So I leave the lid closed.

A few minutes later I get

a cryptic text from a different

Number with a different area

Code:

“We haven’t seen you

in a long time how have

you been” I reply: “Who is

this please?” A few minutes

later: “Is this not Elly? This is

Danielle. Don’t you remember?”

And that reply came with a pic

of a professionally dressed cute

Asian lady. What are the chances

I smirk and sigh. Like Charlie

Brown with the football I have

to try. Long story short a few

texts later I determine the sender to

Be a scammer unrelated to the

baby faced black girl from the

trap.

Who is this? Who is this?

It’s the question Emperor Wu

Asked the Bodhidharma.

It’s the question Jesus asked

his apostles. The question we

ask of someone we thought

we knew until…

and it’s the question

I ask you

and myself

too

–Fyodor Bukowski

Buy my novel on Amazon.

Johnny Depp, Rock Star šŸ˜†

I sometimes chance upon a

video so ludicrous that it makes

me smile. Once involves a certain

Hollywood actor famous for playing

a pirate based on the mannerisms of

Keith Richards. I don’t watch films, but

that’s all well and good. I understand

his character brings great joy to young

and old. But to see him barely playing

guitar while costumed like a reject from

a Guns n Roses cover band and sharing

the stage with Jeff Beck no less is a

bit much, especially for a guy like me who takes

shots of Pepto-Bismol to get through

tbe day. Keith Richards

gave everything he had to his music

and that’s why he’s still legit up there

while guys like Johnny just don’t deserve

that stage. Is Jeff Beck so starved for

attention? Does he think he might get

Sloppy seconds on some of Johnny’s

teenaged fans? I smile as I think of all

the starving and talented guitarists out there

Who could be saved by playing with Jeff.

Then I find that Johnny’s talents extend

to the world of painting and who knows

what else. It’s gratifying to know that

That his paintings sell while Van Gogh

died unrecognized. Of course, the moronic

Will attribute all this to envy and hate,

But I don’t begrudge the man his acting

Accolades or his wealth. In fact,

I googled “Johnny Depp animal rights” in

The hopes of finding some nugget about

Wonderful things he’s done for animals,

But what came up was an allegation

From his ex that he dangled their dog

Out a car window and threatened to put

It in a microwave. Hollywood Vampire

And cartoony Keith Richards knock off

Pirate, man of myriad talents and owner of

one

Hell of a greasy self satisfied smirk, I

Salute you, American hero, Johnny Depp.

— Fyodor Bukowski

Sneezin’ Jack Splash

I was teaching guitar lessons

at a mom and pop music shop

when Jack and his pop came in.

He wanted to play classic rock,

which was what I was weaned on,

so I got him into Wolf Marshall’s

Basics 1 book and before too long

he was playing “Sympathy for the

Devil” and “Jumping Jack Flash,”

etc. though he seemed a bit slow

in some ways and clearly preferred

playing Dungeons and Dragons with

a collection of nerds on the net to

practicing his minor pentatonic scales.

All in all, he was an ok kid, though his

progress was glacial, I liked his musical

taste because he smiled when I

demonstrated this or that piece or let

loose with some licks. One day he came

in ranting about what someone had said

about something Bill Gates had said, and

Though I soon steered his attention to

musical matters at hand, it struck me as

Strange that he should defend old Gates

with such vehemence, but I chalked it up

to honor among nerds. Well, it was the

year of COVID, and before long Jack

developed a nasty habit of sneezing in

that tiny lesson room, which in itself was

ok, except for the fact that he never

Covered his mouth and one sneeze hit me

across the face like a splash. I presented

him with one of the clear face shields the

owner of the place handed out, but Jack

always managed to take it off in the

middle of the lesson, sneeze up the place,

then saunter into the lesson room the very

next week like nothing had happened.

Long story short, I ended up calling

his mom and explained the matter in

a message. With much finesse, I said

that he was a great kid but might be

allergic to the cat hair on my clothes, etc.

and suggested he try one of the other

teachers. And while it wasn’t a “gas gas

gas” to have to fire him like that, at least

I’m one nerd less likely now to get another

splash of spit across my face.

— fyodor bukowski

What Happened to Who I Used to be?

What happened to that me

Who picked up old receipts

Off the road half-expecting

To see messages from God

Written on them

Or that me who rode my mini-bike

Past the lovely girl’s house

Dozens of times a day

Half expecting to see her

Walk down that long driveway

To wave me into her life

Or that me who got into that old

Nash Rambler with my half-psycho

Father every Sunday to suffer his

Lies and cigarette smoke and farts?

What happened to that me who prayed

for a UFO to land in my backyard to

take me to a planet full of honest

full-time fathers, a God who spoke

directly to all who called,

and a lovely girl with my name

In her heart?

— Fyodor Bukowski

Read my novel on Amazon.

poem i couldnt write

there is pain so great

it cant be written

or sung

there are poems

that should never

grow tongues

great pain when fresh

writes no poems

it knows only

contorted faces

acid tears

ugly howls

and silence.

i would have

Made myself

Silent and

softened these

features forever

Were it not for

Those innocent eyes

which accomplished

what religions

and women

failed to do

because if i open

that drawer

and end this pain

with one pull

what would they do

but starve

and go mad

with questions

not to be answered?

their innocent wide

Moist eyes

like little worlds

exerting gravitational pull

enough

to keep me

bound to this

howling rock

for God knows

how long

When the Brain Bleeds

i was writing an epic poem

in ottava rima and was told

by a few of discerning taste

and acerbic tongue that

it was funny, and witty, and

original, but after a day

followed by many others days

of

crushing labor and a neighbor’s

barking dog and a hard on with

nowhere special to go it’s all I

can do to write like this:

a desperate poem

from a desperate man

to other desperate souls:

when the brain bleeds

the pen screeds.

christmas day

driving around

Looking for a place

to order food

but the only spot

open is a Chinese

place where a stunningly

lovely girl works, but I can’t

have her for Christmas and

there are too many man-

sized children standing

around

Wearing baseball caps

so I drive off

with only my liberty

and dignity intact

Of limited use is any

holiday when the dumb

slaves get the day

off too

Beggars

I was in a small wooded area

bordering a field

As I glanced all around

Ready to dump the

Shopping bag of

Cat food

I spied a green couch

at the far end of

the field

and a ragged man rising

from it. I dumped

the bag and started

back for the car.

“Hey!” the approaching

beggar exclaimed.

I calmly entered my

car and started to

drive away, but knowing

humanity and

realizing there was

a chance that

the beggar would

stomp or spit

in the food

out of spite,

I pulled into an

abandoned lot,

popped the trunk

and dumped more

dry and then wet

cat chomps into

a bag, doubled back

and dumped that

near enough

to the field for

Hungry cats to smell.

I saunterd back

To my ride,

A .38 on my hip

feeling as good

as it gets

theses days

–Read my book on Amazon

Bye for Now, Mama

she came to my back door

winters ago

with two kittens

in tow

i took them in

the vet said all three

had feline leukemia

the kittens passed

soon after

and mama took to

grooming me instead

licking my thinning hair

until strands of it

hung from her tongue

I would pet mama

and tell her she will

one day see her

babies again

and when I cried out

“Mama!” when the

nightmares came

as they’d come since

i was a child, mama cat

was the only one to run

to my side, lick my face,

and remind me that i

wasn’t motherless

after all

this went on

for several years

Until this morning

as i was leaving for

work, having already

counted my other cats

i then found mama

open eyed and on

her side partially covered

in her own urine

though she’d seemed fine

just yesterday

the vet said it might

have been a heart attack

I whispered goodbye

and told her

we will be together

again. And the pain now

Can’t be explained.

For her, and myself,

I prayed the

Rainbow Bridge prayer

and to St. Francis and

Jesus too, then I

searched for a Buddhist

prayer, and though

it spoke of animals

as being our mothers

in past lives,

it would have

me pray for her to be

reborn human, and I

love Mama too much

for that. She was and

still is my Mama

in this life.

–fb

Cam Girls of Colombia

As the world is poisoned

and enslaved

by technology

and since romance

and the days of my youth

were slain years ago

I’ve taken to peeping in

on the cam girls of Colombia

Especially one with a sweet

petite figure, ravenesque hair,

and a mouth full of braces.

her life force bursts through

My Android screen and leaves

me gasping at glimpses of what

could have been and probably

was for her ancestors dancing

In grass skirts on

Some unspoiled island,

flowers in their hair, as the

drums announce the arrival

of my ancestors wearing

Frilly shirts on some

sailing ship while staring through

crude telescopes at the laughing

island girls wading towards them,

honeyed breasts glistening under

the sun. And now I lay on my

worn futon watching this

Cambodian babe

who could make me so happy

laughing and making rap

video hand gestures as

the (other?) peeping perverts send

virtual margaritas and

she rocks happily to the drums of

“Highway to Hell” as if we haven’t

traveled that road long ago

and arrived at our

eternal destination.

— FB