Main Street Poets

Bukowski

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Main Street Poet’s

 

Our stories are told today by

young and old Barflies, how

we bloodied our knuckles

and blackened our eyes in

back alley slug outs, behind

puke decorated seedy bars

on Main Street.

 

Now pour us both another

cheap shot of whiskey will

you please and sit back and

relax, while we spin our tales

of woe and charm all the

whores squatting, with cracks

on squeaky old vinyl covered

smoky bar-stools.

 

These luscious beauties of the

night are our only companions,

sharing our lice and like

slithering cockroaches’wanting

their fix we are their delight.

 

We harbor our roach infested

shabby room and sip stale

whiskey and beer, passing

sexually transmitted, we

don’t give a care, it’s only

the two of us lost in despair.

 

The evening’s yet young, but

we are old dog’s street wise

and full of fun tricks,

tormented by lies and deceit

we are always on the run.

 

Working where and when we

can to pay the man our bar tab

and rent on demand, week

after week, money earned,

spent and drained, hopeless

we are a pair who don’t care

about living or dying on the

street called Main.

 

Just give us your spare change

we’re on our last dime, we’ll

favor you with a rhyme two

or three to make your head

spin, let us bend your ear,

so please lend us your time

its money well spent.

 

A fag will do if your broke,

cause it’s often better to kill

us with your kindness and

smokes in place of cash, for

poet’s we need our fix and

smokes are our dope to help

us cope through our late

nights, we stroke each

chosen word we wrote.

 

Under dimly lit rooms sparking

our wish to scribble in vain

our insane mundane on crumpled

up paper, filling baskets we spill

over with writings, they claim

our mark of blood spilled efforts

from two lost soul poets on Main.

 

So call us what you will our ink

has faded, at last our words are

shouted for future generations of

lost barflies, while editors beat

us up reviews, with disdain our

writings from the streets of Main.

 

We will be remembered by all

barflies as two Poets, without shame,

who thrived and died, leaving their

names in every city on a street

called Main.

A poem dedicated to Chuck Bukowski and all barflies

who spent lots of time slugging it out on streets called Main.

 

© Copyright Vincent Moore. All Rights Reserved.

Vincent Moore

Vincent Moore

Vincent Moore pens his thoughts about many things and has a style all his own. Sometimes, he parties with words excessively and it becomes necessary to publish quickly lest his work be lost in the dark corners of his room or his mind. Vincent will lead you into mysterious worlds that are strange yet somehow familiar, worlds that will leave you unsettled and breathless for more.

He was born and raised in Montreal Canada among the Irish, Brits, Italians and French. Point St Charles (commonly called The Point) was the Hell’s kitchen of Montreal. He played, cried, laughed and fought on the street corners, survival was an instinct and watching each others back important. Vincent left home at 17 to find his way in the world, failure and success he had plenty of. He studied the Arts and loved to draw and paint. Took acting lessons and envied those on the stage under the bright lights and hoped to some day become an actor, writer, playwright or painter. Vincent welcomes you to his world of mystery, fantasy and solitude. You can find a few of his writings in one of 3 books he's published.In Absinthia- In Melancholia and In Passionata.
Vincent Moore

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Vincent Moore

Vincent Moore pens his thoughts about many things and has a style all his own. Sometimes, he parties with words excessively and it becomes necessary to publish quickly lest his work be lost in the dark corners of his room or his mind. Vincent will lead you into mysterious worlds that are strange yet somehow familiar, worlds that will leave you unsettled and breathless for more. He was born and raised in Montreal Canada among the Irish, Brits, Italians and French. Point St Charles (commonly called The Point) was the Hell’s kitchen of Montreal. He played, cried, laughed and fought on the street corners, survival was an instinct and watching each others back important. Vincent left home at 17 to find his way in the world, failure and success he had plenty of. He studied the Arts and loved to draw and paint. Took acting lessons and envied those on the stage under the bright lights and hoped to some day become an actor, writer, playwright or painter. Vincent welcomes you to his world of mystery, fantasy and solitude. You can find a few of his writings in one of 3 books he's published. In Absinthia- In Melancholia and In Passionata.

12 thoughts on “Main Street Poets

  • October 5, 2018 at 3:54 AM
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    Nicely penned with vivid imagery and the gritty feel of those bars and hangouts in Main Street. Well done my friend.

    Reply
  • October 5, 2018 at 3:52 PM
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    Awesome story my friend. Sounds like you have some experience in this scene. But dont the best stories involve liquor somehow some way. Nicely penned rhymes within lines to describe a rugged time. Well done.

    Reply
    • October 6, 2018 at 5:45 AM
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      Thank you Paul, yes indeed I’ve had some experiences in the seedy world of the streets back in my past. It was a struggle but camaraderie was always there with certain people. A rugged, tough and often bitter time for sure. Appreciate your comment my friend.

      Reply
  • October 6, 2018 at 3:37 AM
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    Vincent I absolutely love what you write. The imagery is real and I can even smell the smells. Sadly I relate to this piece more than I would care to admit. You sir I know also have lived those Main Streets. Your poetry flows forever from your soul my friend.

    Reply
    • October 6, 2018 at 5:47 AM
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      Yes Kurt, I’ve lived some of that type of life in my early years, I connect with the streets and bars and have fortunately left them all behind from my past. It toughened my soul in many ways, some I don’t care to mention nor am proud of, yet I survived them and very thankful for learning the lessons I learned. Much appreciate your understanding and connection as well my friend.

      Reply
  • October 6, 2018 at 7:42 AM
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    Thank you for a wonderful read this morning Vincent. I enjoy Bukowski and Plath and am excited to read the next poet poem. I once glorified the barfly poet and thought the lifestyle was romantic. Now that I have been sober for a while my life is a different world completely. But the bars and people hang out in memory, even if fleeting. Jamie

    Reply
  • October 6, 2018 at 8:28 AM
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    How true your statement about the lifestyle being romantic, I felt the same as long as the booze flowed through my life at the time, but really, it’s not a very glamorous lifestyle, yet I’m okay having lived through it and come out the other side. Bukowski lived the lifestyle hardcore, drank profusely, smoked his brains out, and his profanity had no barriers, yet through all this he was a bar- fisted brawler, gut wrenching hero to many. His poetry showed this immensely. I admire the man not for his posture, uncouth and often ugly behavior, but his rawness and telling it like it was in his world of drugs, booze and drama. I tip my hat to you Chuck, RIP…Congratulations Jamie for your soberness, I pray you remain so, it’s a struggle but many survive and thrive with their new life, such as we. Peace my friend and thank you for your comment, much appreciated.

    Reply
  • October 9, 2018 at 10:00 PM
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    Vincent, this was so “real” and felt like it was actually written while living that life on the streets of “Main.” I could sense, feel, and smell the scenes you described.

    Reply
  • October 10, 2018 at 3:37 AM
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    Well John, I lived some of it in my time, not unfamiliar with the street life out of necessity my friend. Happy that sensed the realism in this work, letting all your senses take over. There is no doubt it’s a lifestyle all of it’s own. My hat is taken off to those of us who survived it. Thank you for your descriptive comment.

    Reply
  • October 21, 2018 at 3:52 AM
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    As I read I could vividly imagine every word. Your words drew me into the world of the barfly poet, well penned.

    Reply
  • October 21, 2018 at 6:52 AM
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    Well thank you Anonymous, I am happy to have drawn you into my work, hope you read more of it. Appreciate your comment about the barfly affect.

    Reply

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