Bukowski Stories

❝It wasn't your kind of freedom, or my kind of freedom, but it was his.❞

excerpts from my first poetry collection, due out by the beginning of the year. it's going through processes of getting published as of now so i figured i'd post some excerpts here to see interest.

(SET IN THE 1950S) Evan peters, a mental patient in the 1950's has fallen in love, the only problem is, well he's fallen in love with a women who murdered her husband and is mentally unstable. Can he discover a truth about her that no one else dares to uncover, or will he end up like her last man, and what secrets will he expose about himself?

Un Relato básico que busca encontrarle sentido al vacío y a los pocos momentos de luz entre las sombras de la mente y el arcoíris de la vida.

collection of my favourite quotes (or more like charles bukowski compilation)

Another short poems, prose, and things I had written and dug up from the trash, there is an intro to why I called it the way I did, read it for yourself. Just read and enjoy, my garbage. Check out my previous poems and prose on Hell Is Like A Dog Kennel and my prologue based on a Vocal Media challenge called The Botflies Libracymbalspoems , check my Instagram

A poem I wrote at the turn of the Century and it got second placement in the IBPC.

Quotes and Poems that really hit me.

BUKO

"So Vincent, did it hurt? When the razor sliced into the cartilage of your ear? ... Yes, it had to have hurt. But it never hurt as bad as being an incomplete piece of art." "Unearthing the Damned" could have also been named "Finding Myself". It's a journal really, or based on a true story of my life- A 17 year old girl who is losing herself in a weird becoming of age phase. I'm not sure how I could describe the plot line, but I'm sure many aspects of this story will relate to you. All in all, this is about me, spiraling out of control, never knowing when to stop, everything is going fast and darkness is strangling me. Lost. I got lost.

Es una poesía , rara diferente

11 poems and short writings written by me.

Poem

Just a poem

10 more poems. !!!

Poems by an Italian guy who moved to Dublin. Cheap loves, cheap beers, bad jobs. And fights. Bukowski would have probably been disappointed. But you always were, Hank, weren't you?

'Tis my world,' professes the disheartened Dennis as he turns his back on his wife, his family, his work and all his vocations. When you leave all you knew behind... what's left, is only the furtive sputtering's of splendour! Told with prescience, heart and insight into the human conniption.