"I am hearing poetry when awake, dreaming poetry when asleep, breathing poetry with each breath, I am living in a poem."

Sunday, April 23, 2017

Bukowski's Bird Baiting

“Holy tongues preach lives
outside their consecration
are incredible fuck ups,
back wash, rainbow trash can liners,
pointless dreams.”
Come on Bukowski, I walked
right through your bird baiting
and never acknowledged the hypocrisy.

Those winged congregations
know how to sing harmony.
We loners sing solos at the top of our lungs
until the world throws us a finger to shut up.

Let’s have a beer, foam our upper lips with silence
until we get a little rose color on the horizon.
We might not reach harmony, but surely we
can find enough unity to create a melody.

Life is always gold before the tarnish.
Honey will eventually spoil if it is
tin spooned with Armageddon.
We can be the soft landing when
blackbirds no longer trust the nest.

  ©Susie Clevenger 2017

Poetic reference for today's poem


gillena cox said...

Wow!! You really rough up Bukowski, Susie

A thrilling read

Have a good Sunday

Much love...

Kerry O'Connor said...

Wow! Susie.. Rock on, sister!

Sanaa Rizvi said...

Oh my goodness this is absolutely spot on brilliant, Susie! Especially love; "Life is always gold before the tarnish. Honey will eventually spoil if it is tin spooned with Armageddon."

Jim said...

Oh Wow!Susie. I never would have dreamed of a poem having "bird baiting" as a subject or title. It is about as controversial as trump jr. going to Colorado to shoot the little ground squirrels, this week I think. (My poem is about this practice although I didn't mention trump jr.)
I had an "old", much younger than I am now, mean, really mean--made his secretaries cry, boss at NASA. All summer he would recruit his 'clan' to go to Junction, Texas, and feed his deer. That got them used to coming. Then when hunting season came he would throw out the corn, climb into his deer stand, and wait for the deer to come eat so that he could shoot them.
Oh yes, I did have a choir director (the world of your poem) in New Hampshire tell me more nicely (than your world's "shut up") not to sing, he would rather not have me in his choir.
TMI here,

Rosemary Nissen-Wade said...

I much prefer your poem to his!

Martin Kloess said...

Wonderful composed thoughts.

paulscribbles said...

a beginning of a correspondence perhaps? ;)

De said...

This is powerful, Susie, and so well done.
"Let’s have a beer, foam our upper lips with silence"

I wish I wrote that.

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