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

 

 

 

 

 

 

Another

Another day

That started

Too early

And ended

Too late

Another 24

Closer to

The ultimate

Fate

Another open-

Eyed opossum

Dead in the road

As the procession

Of scum

Drives by

Another punk

With nothing

Better to do than

Throw M80s

At frogs and

Other buddhas

Too enlightened

Now to ever

Come back

Another high

School teacher

 And her class

Disecting some

Defenseless

Peaceful creature

Or other

Another splitting

Skull ache

And aching back

As the carnival

Of ugly pain

Sets it’s tents

And bloody

Banners

Ever higher

Into the sky

Long empty

Of gods and

Goddesses

Who might

Be willing

Or able

To supply

A reason why

So sling me

Another

Over this bar

As the sad,

Ageing,

And less-than-

Stellar girls

Dance. Some

Had the magic

Healing power

Once upon a

Time but

Wasted it

On the

Cruel and

Worthless.

Knowing

That helps

Me curb my

Natural sense

Of sympathy

So I’m not

Tempted to

Tip them

Too much

 

— FB

 

 

 

 

 

 

Keith Richard’s Mouse

When he was a lil Keef,

way before the Stones,

he had a little white mouse

named Gladys. He kept her

in his pocket, brought her

to school and fed her

from his lunch and dinner.

In his autobio he wrote that

“Gladys was true and trusted,”

which is more than can be said

for some so-called humans

from his or any other

life.

 

Well, his mother killed the

little mouse, and  Keith

“never forgave her for that.”

And it’s nice to know that

on some balloon-filled

stadium stage somewhere

in the world

under all that

tough-guy swagger

and bravado rolls

a pretty sweet

soul.

–by Fyodor Bukowski    Read his IndieReader-Approved novel: MAIL-ORDER ANNIE (a Story of Passion and Compassion)      *ALL proceeds go towards feeding and “fixing” homeless cats. (Proof available upon serious inquiry)

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