The Martyr

On the playground

At St. Mary’s Elementary,

I had a fantasy, really I

Had many. One featured

Me dying while defending

The sweetest-looking blue-

Eyed girl in school. Another

Fantasy starring me was about

A motorcycle race that had

Mysteriously been arranged

So that she herself was the

Winning prize. Both fantasies

Ended with me dying valiently,

As bloody and tragically-

Handsome as Jesus himself

Hanging on on the cross in

The Lord’s house. But I died

Happy both times, because in

Each fantasy, I breathed my

Last as she held me in her

Snow-white arms and didn’t

Even mind the blood

On her uniform dress.

I didn’t know then that first-

Prize girls don’t bother with

Losers, especially if they shed

Blood for them.

And so many

Love those who

Spill blood,

any blood,

Instead.

–FB

Couldn't

Had a poem in mind–

Real life with a theme,

But I just couldn’t

Type it up for you

Tonight. I’ve had too

Many at this titty bar

Tonight to type it up

For you right. I feel that

Soft music inside me,

As I drink these pale

Ales and do dance after

Dance with a baby-faced

little black dancer who

Sees me as a creepy-assed

Cracker even though I

Drive 20 miles to feed

Stray cats. You’d think

That if God was good

He’d make old guys

Love old girls, but it’s

Not like that. I’m spending

Har-earned cracka cash

On a five foot Bratz doll

Black girl who’s Betty Boop

Lashes and plushy ass make

Me feel alright for now even

Though my readers never

Buy my novel and I’m

Doomed to hell with no

Deliverance in sight.

The Unlovely Unloved

Sure, you can claim that beauty Is subjective, etc. But that’s only True to a limited degree. There are beautiful types and vice versa in any human society, and the love they get far outweighs that bestowed upon the unlovely. Well, I guess I know what it is to be both and neither. There have been those who’ve considered me attractive, and a few still do. But since I’ve spent most of my life alone, unloved by most I was attracted to, I have to recognize that I am one of the unlovely. Well, it’s not the worst fate that

Can befall a human being. Lacking attractive force is like lacking one of the senses. A person who is unloved by those he or she could love romantically has more time to study, to express, to self-actualize really. And time enough is no small consolation prize. Lacking attractiveness can lead to a heightening of the empathetic-sense. Look at those who help out our fellow creatures of the not-so-human kind. And while it won’t win you or me the love of any super-models (no matter what some will claim), or get either of us 10,000 likes, empathy, sweet empathy, is a kind of beauty too.

— FB

Beware the Halo

There’s real danger

In canonizing

Anyone, and by

Canonizing

I mean looking at

Anyone as if

They’ve got a halo on.

Appreciate a person,

but in

A realistic and limited

Way. Don’t put a halo

On anyone, you’ll

Be safer this way.

— FB

The Kingdom is Within

This might just be

The closest thing

To a feel-good

Xmas missive

As you’ll ever get

From a guy with

A pen-name like

Mine: I consider

My Christmas as

Having begun

After work on the

Friday before the

Holiday itself. On

The way home to

My roof-leaking

“Mobile Home,” I

Pulled into the

“Executive’s Den,”

Where hardly an

Executive ever

Roams, but among

The dancers there

Who didn’t do much

To raise my Christmas

Cheer, I spied a doll-faced

Brunette with rockabilly

Tattoos covering only

Part of her Santa-sized

Ass. She sat curiously

Alone at the bar, so after

Having been propositioned

By a few of the others, I

Went up to the brunette

And asked for a dance.

And she was good

Enough to raise the

Lazarus moldering

In my shorts. She also

Claimed to have saved

A kitten in traffic, which

Raised her stock in my

Book too. Well, as I paid

Out the going rate there,

10 bucks a dance

(I’d been there only a week

Before) plus a cheery tip,

She held up the bills and

Said, “But this is only 65.00.

It’s 20 a dance.” I smiled and

Inquired when they’d changed

The price. She said only a little

While ago and added that all

All the girls there charge 20.

Well, I scrounged up the

Difference. I’d heard this

Song before. But she had

Delivered the dances, and

I hadn’t asked about her

Price first. Of course, after-

Wards I learned that no one

Else there at the time charged

20.00, and the house price

Hadn’t changed at all. I’m

Not mad though. This

Morn, as I approached

One of my makeshift

Homeless cat shelters

In the hood,

Several kittens ran out.

I emptied the bag of

Cat food, then I stuffed

Some fresh straw in the

Shelter. And I’d 

Managed to do it all without

Getting caught. I know that

Karma and heaven are myths,

But seeing those kitties snug

In the shelter made me feel

Good. “The Kingdom of

Heaven is within,” as Mr.

Christmas said, and his

“Father’s house has many

Mansions,” too, and one of

Those mansions has a

Leaky-roof, another has

A makeshift shelter full

Of homeless cats, while

Another has a lovely,

Lying strip-club dancer

Whose rockabilly

Rear-end

Raises the dead. The

Kingdom of Heaven

Is within.

— FB

Buy my book on Amazon: Mail-Order Annie by Fyodor Bukowski.

War Prize

Life is warfare,

Just ask Sun Tzu.

And to the victors

Go the best booties.

I’ve been through

Many battles, and

Have won more

Than a few, but I’m

Still struggling to

Win the big booty,

Or big booties, I

Should say. I’ll know

I’ve prevailed when

My nose is ass-deep

In a sumptuously-

Sculpted fresh one

Bending over my

Rented bed in an

Anonymous hotel

Somewhere. I’ll

Inhale the musky-

Sweet scent of

Victory-at-last. And

You, dear reader,

Can help my dream

Come true. So like

And share, far and

Wide. And why not?

I care for homeless

Cats, haven’t killed

Anyone yet, and provide

Free entertainment

To fellow wage slaves

Like you. If trash like

Vick can afford the

Best booty, why shouldn’t

I, or perhaps even

You?

— FB

 

 

 

 

The Clearest View

I was Googling

A quote I half-

Remember, some-

Thing like “The clearest

View is from the bottom.”

Forgot who said it, but I

Know it’s true. Anyway,

My Google search led

Somewhere else: a quote

By Matt Haig: “The bottom

Of the valley never provides

The clearest view.” Well, tell

That to the gazelle being

Eaten alive by the lion,

Which never occurs in

The atmosphere, and tell

That to the guy at the

Bottom of any corporation,

Or corporations, since a

Bottom guy needs more

Than one job these days.

Anyway, I’m sure Matt

Sells a lot of books, with

Thoughts like that, since

Truth is a gazelle, and

The Lie is a Lion

Who always eats well

At the bottom

of any valley.

 

— FB

 

 

 

 

Seeing it Coming….

Like the seers of old

I see things coming:

heartbreaks,

absurd situations,

ugly episodes,

tragedies

both

private

and macrocosmic;

and like those hapless

seers of old,

there’s not much,

if anything,

I can do

to prevent

these tragedies

from playing

out

while the gods

and goddesses

look on

cold,

indifferent,

or non-existent,

as I stand

or fall

on the

raised altar,

a sacrifice

to pay for

the insipid lust

of the ancestors,

who,

after centuries

of hard-fated

tragedies,

and silent deities,

might have

known better.

 

— FB

 

 

 

 

 

 

Under Something Ugly

Always under

something:

The gun,

The thumb,

The idiocy of

Institutions,

The soft sadism

Of so-called

Friends,

The hard-edged

Disrespect

Of “neighbors,”

The ugly desire

to dominate

Common to bosses

And bankers….

Always under

Something

I don’t want

To be beneath,

But never

Again to be

Under the

Soft thick

Thighs of a

Lovely woman

Who lusts over

Me,

Much less a

Rainbow leading

To a pot of gold

Big enough to

Buy my way

Out of slavery.

— FB

 

 

One Blogger Likes This (for Eric Clapton)

Okay okay so I read

Another rock-star

Autobio, this one

By old slowhand

Himself. Yeah I know

He did great work

With Cream, Sunshine

of Your Love and all

That, but truth be told,

Any halfway decent

Blues-rock guitarist

Would have sounded

Great playing with

Ginger Baker and

Jack Bruce, the J.S.

Bach of the bass.

And those stunning

Lyrics were penned

By unknown poets,

Of course.

And really, everything

Original Eric did since

Was pretty lame stuff.

The first line of his

Book nearly put me

Off from reading it:

“Early in my childhood,

When I was about six or

Seven, I began to get the

Feeling that there was

Something different

About me.” Well Eric,

Most of us get that

Felling, so don’t wax

Too special.” But after

That the book got

Pretty good, and I was

Surprised to find that

Clapton was a fan of

Kenneth Patchen. But

As Bukowski wrote, it’s

Possible to like someone

If you don’t know them

Too well. Something like

That. So I wasn’t too shocked

To read that, after earning

Millions, buying cars, and

A barely-legal wife, old

Eric ruined my mostly

Positive view of him. As

He wrote: “…it was pigeons

Roosting in the eaves of our

House (mega mansion), cooing

In the evenings and waking up

The kids at five in the morning,

That tipped the balance. I went

Out and bought a shotgun…

Ethically it was never a problem

For me…” How lovely. Now I’m

A guy who loves peace and sleep,

But the sound of birdsongs never

Bugged me a bit. And even if it

Was an annoyance for his kids,

There had to be a better solution.”

So screw

Eric Clapton. Another “hero”

Bites the dust. But the crowds

Still scream his name in

A stadium near you, while

Robert Johnson died in

Agony as a very young man.

And as for me, who would

Cry for joy to hear the cooing

Of birds instead of blasting

Stereos everywhere, well, I’ll

Be lucky if one Blogger likes

This.

 

— FB