hydrants and wrinkles.

stones feel
red hot
bottoms of
pink toes and
hard heels

we took
pleasure in
the tower
of wet

in white cotton
and store bought
we darted
and jumped-
the red man
from above.

shiny hair,
matted locks
on backs,
swollen eyes
and out of breath.

we were the same.
loving the moment
till the light dimmed
and our teeth
in the summer
evening heat.

My First Attempt At The Biography Section.

So I have started reading Charles Bukowski. I have also started reading Pablo Neruda. I knew that they were influential writers of the 20th century, but did not know who they really were until I started reading. As dissimilar as they first appear to be, their emotions parallel. So, if I got any of this wrong, would someone tell me? I’m new to the whole “biography of poets I hardly know” thing.

Bukowski (Heinrich Karl Bukowski/Henry Charles Bukowski) was born in Germany to a reportedly abusive father. He went to college out of high school for two years. At 24 he was published, and then again two years later. He stopped writing for almost a decade, disenchanted with the publishing process. When he DID write, he wrote about Los Angeles. He said, “You live in a town all your life, and you get to know every street-corner. You’ve got the layout of the whole land. You have a picture of where you are. … Since I was raised in L.A., I’ve always had the geographical and spiritual feeling of being here. I’ve had time to learn this city. I can’t see any other place than L.A.”

From what I’ve read so far, there’s some recurring themes… roses, beer, bums, women, sex, death… he seemed very attached to the life. He seemed very depressed and unhappy.

Neruda (Ricardo Eliecer NeftalĂ­ Reyes Basoalto) was born in Chile. His father didn’t approve of his writing, but received encouragement from others. By the time he was 16, he adopted his pseudonym. Neruda took his pen name from Czech writer and poet Jan Neruda. He later changed it to his legal name in 1946. He was a writer and communist politician.

Neruda writes mostly in a romantic, high emotional way. However, like most poets, he also has his dark moments. He was often forced to leave his family, friends, and home because of his beliefs. That sadness was also reflected in his works.

His poems range from amazing love poems, political views, historic poems, to odes to common objects. He has been called one of the greatest and most influential poets of the 20th century.


A 30 Second Dream

in the dead blue night
the solid hard still cold
the steps are small
darting and weaving
for sure footing
to find the journey end

feet entwined
reaching for
familiar and exquisite
i find her

her tear soaked
her warm chest
fumbled hands
know the skin
that has never touched his

it is calm
and still he cries
not hearing her voice
but feeling her words

in the still warm comfort.

found, cold and ashamed.

awkward feet
stinging in worn
drenched with mud

shame and sweat
stabs in chest
from the cold air

tired hands
shaking in the dark

found her
silent, cold
blue and

her chest
is still
her breasts
do not heave

he would gaze
from afar
as she curved
and softened

he felt her
marble cold face
touched the skin
he longed for

took her innocence
she never lost
when red love coursed
in her thighs