Conselho  amigável  a  imensos  jovens  adultos

Vai ao Tibete.

Anda de camelo.

Lê a Bíblia.

Tinge os sapatos de azul.

Deixa crescer a barba.

Dá a volta ao mundo numa canoa de papel.

Assina o Saturday Evening Post.

Mastiga com o lado esquerdo da boca apenas.

Casa-te com uma mulher com uma perna e faz a barba com uma navalha de barbear.

E grava o teu nome no braço dela.

Escova os dentes com gasolina.

Dorme todo o dia e trepa às árvores à noite.

Sê um monge e bebe buckshot e cerveja.

Mete a cabeça debaixo de água e toca violino.

Faz dança do ventre diante de velas cor-de-rosa.

Mata o teu cão.

Concorre a Presidente da Câmara.

Vive num barril.

Parte a cabeça com um machado.

Planta túlipas à chuva.

Mas não escrevas poesia.

Charles Bukowski

the laughing heart

your life is your life
don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.
be on the watch.
there are ways out.
there is a light somewhere.
it may not be much light but
it beats the darkness.
be on the watch.
the gods will offer you chances.
know them.
take them.
you can’t beat death but
you can beat death in life, sometimes.
and the more often you learn to do it,
the more light there will be.
your life is your life.
know it while you have it.
you are marvelous
the gods wait to delight
in you.

Charles Bukowski

[para a mariana - and i agree with mr waits, that's a beauty]

no help for that

there is a place in the heart that 

will never be filled

a space 

and even during the 

best moments

and 

the greatest 

times

we will know it

we will know it 

more than 

ever

there is a place in the heart that 

will never be filled

and we will wait 

and 

wait 

in that 

space

Charles Bukowski

Writing

often it is the only 

thing 

between you and 

impossibility. 

no drink, 

no woman's love, 

no wealth 

can 

match it. 

nothing can save 

you 

except 

writing. 

it keeps the walls 

from 

failing. 

the hordes from 

closing in. 

it blasts the 

darkness. 

writing is the 

ultimate 

psychiatrist, 

the kindliest 

god of all the 

gods. 

writing stalks 

death. 

it knows no 

quit. 

and writing 

laughs 

at itself, 

at pain. 

it is the last 

expectation, 

the last 

explanation. 

that's 

what it 

is. 

Charles Bukowski

as the poems go

as the poems increase into the thousand you

realize that you’ve created very

little.

it all comes down to rain, the sunlight,

the traffic, the nights and the days of the

years, the faces.

leaving this will be easier than living

it.

typing one more line now as

a man plays a piano through the radio.

the best writers have said very

little

and the worst,

far too much.

charles bukowski

it got away

lost another poem

in this computer.

it’s like reeling in

a fish

and then it

escapes the hook

just as you reach

for it.

only this poem

wasn’t a very big

fish.

the world won’t

miss it.

it has swum

away to the

Netherlands.

and i’m baiting

my hook

again.

waiting for

light,

the big

one.

charles bukowski

defining the magic

a good poem is like a cold beer

when you need it,

a good poem is a hot turkey

sandwich when you’re

hungry,

a good poem is a gun when

the mob corners you,

a good poem is something that

allows you to walk through the streets of

death,

a good poem can make death melt like

hot butter,

a good poem can frame agony and

hang it on a wall,

a good poem can let your feet touch

China,

a good poem can make a broken mind

fly,

a good poem can let you shake hands

with Mozart,

a good poem can let you shoot craps

with the devil

and win,

a good poem can do almost anything,

and most important

a good poem knows when to

stop.

Charles Bukowski