sometimes you climb out of bed in the morning and you think,
i’m not going to make it, but you laugh inside
remembering all the times you’ve felt that way, and
you walk to the bathroom, do your toilet, see that face
in the mirror, oh my oh my oh my, but you comb your hair anyway,
get into your street clothes, feed the cats, fetch the
newspaper of horror, place it on the coffee table, kiss your
wife goodbye, and then you are backing the car out into life itself,
like millions of others you enter the arena once more.
i’m not going to make it, but you laugh inside
remembering all the times you’ve felt that way, and
you walk to the bathroom, do your toilet, see that face
in the mirror, oh my oh my oh my, but you comb your hair anyway,
get into your street clothes, feed the cats, fetch the
newspaper of horror, place it on the coffee table, kiss your
wife goodbye, and then you are backing the car out into life itself,
like millions of others you enter the arena once more.
you are on the freeway threading through traffic now,
moving both towards something and towards nothing at all as you punch
the radio on and get mozart, which is something, and you will somehow
get through the slow days and the busy days and the dull
days and the hateful days and the rare days, all both so delightful
and so disappointing because
we are all so alike and so different.
you find the turn-off, drive through the most dangerous
part of town, feel momentarily wonderful as mozart works
his way into your brain and slides down along your bones and
out through your shoes.
it’s been a tough fight worth fighting
as we all drive along
betting on another day.
**************************************************
I've been reading this poem a lot lately. Not much new to report, still suffering minor setbacks and minor triumphs. But as Bukowski also once said, "It's been a beautiful fight. Still is."
I'm making my way back.
I've been reading this poem a lot lately. Not much new to report, still suffering minor setbacks and minor triumphs. But as Bukowski also once said, "It's been a beautiful fight. Still is."
I'm making my way back.
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24 comments:
oh i love the quote, sweetie. you are such a sharp and beautiful soul.
Great poem, fabulous fort! I wonder why we ever stopped making forts? :-) Sending you love and hugs,
xo,
Marion
xoxo
Oh my dear, I think I've been reading this poem inside my head the past few days without even knowing it! I'm so glad to hear you are on your way back. I do hope the moments of triumph start to outnumber those other ones! And I really really wish you hadn't given me the idea of creating an entire makeshift fort next time I want to crawl under the covers and hide! Which may be tomorrow.
I like that fort as well... I used to make things like that out of Mom's bed spreads when I was a kid... thank you for jogging that memory.
Everyday is a crap shoot..
I do believe that each and every day is what we make of it. A good friend of mine tells me that my comments such as this are trite and are nothing more than drivel.
Maybe so, but I do believe I am a happier person than she is.
I do think you are going to be ok...
~shoes~
May all your setbacks be minor. Now, if we could only majorize those triumphs though.
I enjoyed the writing above. This seems to be the life most of us live or lived for much of our lives. Now in the second phase of life, partially retired, I have to think hard to remember the days when I wasn’t too engaged in whatever I was working on at the time, or dreaming about doing, or lost in whatever fiction I was reading at the time, or the latest movie, that took me to some imaginary world, to take the time to think about what is written above, to actually think about the life I was living.
Didn't we all make forts like that when we were kids? Out of towels, sheets, whatever. I even had one under a willow tree in the summer. Protection from the outside world.
When we grow up, we can't hide anymore. It takes courage.
My best friend passed away a few years back from cancer and I always wondered how she felt when she woke up in the morning, not knowing how many days she had left. Did she wake up thinking everything was all right and then got slammed with the truth? It's made me treasure every day.
Since it has been a while for me, I am just stopping by to say hello!
My kids build forts like that. My son will blanket-tent his entire room from dresser to bed to window to bookshelf and sit under it playing video games and legos.
It's the summer doldrums, if you ask me, stealing your steam, or steaming your steel, get it?
I have been sleeping in, refusing to follow the de facto rule that I somehow for some reason need to be at work on time to sit at my desk and telecommute from my office, emailing people a few cubes away, making phone calls to people down the hall, and setting up meetings to which I attend via web ex and teleconference.
Why do I even come in? I could do all that from the local coffee shop, my favorite of which is not a Starbucks, but I suspect may have this month been bought out by the behemoth. It's all right. Their coffee's still black, ain't it. Just don't stop selling beer!
Yes, they serve beer, good stuff at this coffee house.
There's a bar a few doors down, an Irish Pub -- my FAVORITE -- who also has WAN. I could work from there. Hell, I could live there. What bar has a wireless network and ten different Black-n-Tan mixes on the menu!
Lord in heaven.
So why do I crawl out of bed and roll into work and telecommute from my office?
Hell if I know.
Let me know if you find out the answer! We'd all love to hear it!
- Eric
Ah, I hope he made it through the 405 today.
forts are well known to make everything better, i am an expert builder of them, call me if you need me.
You either need to invite us all into the fort or come out more often, I miss you.
I never climb out of bed in the morning and think I'm not going to make it.
Fantastic! I truly enjoyed the visit. :)
Great poem.
The "newspaper of horror" is a toxic piece of merchandise that I never buy or read. (=
This is a great poem. I love it! And I love that fort, too!
normally i don't "GET" poetry, but i get this one. ugh. life is not easy. lately all i can think is HERE WE GO AGAIN and/or ARE WE DONE YET, which isn't a great way to approach life. sigh. must work on that.
awww Bukowski so straight and to the point. just makes smiles curl up all over my face.
Yes, a beautiful fight, indeed.
xox
I've been such a lousy blog reader!!! But you always manage to peep at mine and leave such good comments when you can. AH!!! Makes me love you. When I do finally browse the blog circuit (about once every 3-4 months as of late) I am always delighted by what's happening 'out there.' Particularly with you - as you have always been one of my favs!! Much much love & strength and respite your way! xxx akka b.
i love this post-and i love you. It's been long...missed you! xx
thanks for this. never read it before.
cool fort is right:)
Checking in with one of my favorite people. Hope all is well and glorious, the way it should be.
- Eric
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