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

The Only One

When they taught us that

Evil entered the scene

Because Eve ate an apple

I told the other kids

the nuns were lying

I was the only one

at that school anyway

And when the other punks

were playing in cover bands

I said that a cover band

is just a cheap jukebox with

flesh and even a crappy

Real band is better than

a good clone group

any day

And I was the only one to

start an original band

on my bloc

And when the tards

blasted their

brainless bass beats

day after day

through everyone’s walls

and skulls, I was the

only old timer

to to put a stop to that

on my street

And when the lot owner

sent his goon to

tell us who were

feeding the strays to stay

away, I was the only one

to laugh in his face and

keep returning to put food

out in places near enough

for the strays to smell.

And when they silence

those who tell the truth, I share

their words at drive-throughs

and I’m not the only one

but it seems like it

most days

–Fyodor Bukowski

On Seeing a Fallen Squirrel in the Road

I’m not going to launch into my

usual disgust for humanity. I’ve

waxed that before, but would it

have been too much for whatever

fat vaxxed slob who hit him

or her to have checked to make

sure he or she was out of misery

before moving the squirrel out of

the road? Well, once again the God

of Creatures left that up to slovenly

me. After seeing that he or she wasn’t

moving, I grabbed the tail and pulled

the squirrel onto a large envelope

and carried him or her into a shaded

little alcove off the road. Of course to

be eaten by other creatures , a far less

obscene fate than to be smeared across

the road by fat vaxxed creatures I never

want to meet.

–fb

The Rotting Retreads

once in a while I can’t help myself

and check the old social media

to see what the old friends

and hot asian girls I’ll nevet

are up to. today I made just

that mistake. An old pal

posted a video of his new

band made up of old farts

in splashy shorts playing

and singing “Respect” by

you know who. And the

rest of the set list was

just as dusty. Far better

it would have been to

have written and played

anything original, even

if screamed or whispered

to the most basic of chords.

Yet by all appearanced the

fattened human cattle

there would disagree..

how they shook their

grey locks and sang.

And how they clutched

onto (like there will be

no tomorrow)

the pizza slices that

they got for taking

an experimental vaccine.

–fb