Reflections on the Centennial of Charles Bukowski (Part 2)

Reflections on the Centennial of Charles Bukowski (Part 2)

just for the hell of it

I remember you

you beautiful son of a b*#%

writing alone and without god

finding your way out of the ordinary

by digging pearls out of piles of shit

and the pieces left behind mounds

from years ago —before you wrote

the epitaph on the tombstone

of all humanity

punch drunk and foolhardy —

you were willing to write anything

to enflame and disgust

every depraved drunk and whore

who read your poetry

out of obscurity —

climbin’ out of the ooze and muck

like a latter-day Lazarus —all for the chance

to be re-released as a car salesman

robbing the empty vaults of banks

just for the hell of it.

Michael C. Seeger

Michael lives with his lovely wife, Catherine, and still-precocious 16 year-old daughter, Jenetta, in a house with a magnificent Maine Coon (Jill) and two high-spirited Chihuahuas (Coco and Blue). He is an educator (like his wife) residing in the Coachella Valley near Palm Springs, California. Some of his poems have appeared recently either published or included in print anthologies like the Lummox Press, Better Than Starbucks, and The Literary Hatchet


  1. Bukowski definitely required a better PR agent than himself. Like they say on the street: only a fool represents himself. Commendable work.

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