<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=535605" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Instead of the Griffin Prize* All I Get is the Griffin** or What I Get for Reading Too Much Godd*mned Charles Bukowski - A Poem-in-Cheek</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><i>for Karthik gone almost a year now, <br>'so much for mythology'</i></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Many clips of poets, some known enough, <br>some not known, at least to me. I live <br>beneath a rock under a rusted old half- <br>bridge beneath the only cloud on earth<br>that doesn't move unless a rare bird, <br>a big one, flies beneath it. And so I <br>try them, 'the Winners.' Some I can't <br>bear to look at. I swear, <br>THAT'S NOT A POET! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I swiftly move to the others, one by one.<br>They don't know that they're all being <br>weighed, I admit it, in unfair balance, <br>GUILTY AS CHARGED. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But I'm magic.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I scream and curse the worst at them, <br>even more when they are undeniably very good, <br>HOW DARE THEY! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The rare bird, large, flies beneath the <br>only cloud that doesn't move except to <br>avoid any attachment other than to me. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sh*ts on my head. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I go make a cup of tea. <br>Listen to Bach (J.S) , Gould's, <br>The Goldberg.***</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Keep pointing to the radio.<br>Shaking my head muttering.<br>Whistling between fragments. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I open the curtain at midnight and wait <br>for the lights of the big planes to shine <br>directly in on me. Like that godd*mned <br>bird, they're in my flight path. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I am nervous. <br>But they don't fly over me. <br>Nor do they sh*t on my head. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Still, I wait there till very early in the <br>morning, till just before sunrise. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Close call, ' I say. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then I draw the curtain. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I fall hard into bed covering my <br>head with a pillow, that gold multi-mirrored <br>pillowcase a gift from the most beautiful <br>of lovers (both from India) </div><div style="margin:10px 0">just in case.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Warren+Falcon">Warren Falcon</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=535605" data-title="Instead of the Griffin Prize* All I Get is the Griffin** or What I Get for Reading Too Much Godd*mned Charles Bukowski - A Poem-in-Cheek" data-description="Many clips of poets, some known enough, /some not known, at least to me. I live /beneath a rock under a rusted old half- /bridge beneath the only cloud on earth/that doesn't move unless a rare bird, /a big one, flies beneath it. And so I /try them..."></div> </div> </div>

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