A Poet's Alimony Poem: At a loss of words

I sent you all the words
From the poems I wrote

Everything you demanded
In your curt little note

I hope you are happy
Now that I am broke

Someone Else's River

For years, your love flowed freely
By the simple act of gravity,
Filling the reservoir of my heart
To its capacity
But now that river has stopped flowing
And the water has either seeped
Back into the ground
Or evaporated up into the sky
(Water has so many places it can hide)
Leaving behind a dry river bed
Cut into the earth like a scar

But the water will flow again
When the mountain snow melts
And mixes with the spring rain
And in time, even the scar will heal
But the river will not be the same
It will be someone else‘s river
And I will call it by a different name

A Poem Built For Speed

I like a poem
That is sleek
And swift -

A poem
That can zip
In and out
of traffic-

A poem
You can use
To cruise
Past the exits

That takes
You out
To the wide
Open spaces

Away from
the crowds
Away from
The faces

To Charles Bukowski

Charles Bukowski
Knew how thin skin was
How it barely covered the bones
How it hardly kept the soul warm
How it wasn’t wrinkle resistant
Or impervious to blood stains
How it was your only home
Through thick and thin
How it made us human
(Or inhuman if you prefer)

And when it was worn out
And time to give it up
To the check-in girl in Hell
She’d take it and hand you
Back a blank claim ticket
And send you on your way
A rickety rack of bones
And then call out...next

And Bukowski also knew
That because you didn’t tip in Hell
She’d rifle your pockets
The minute you were gone
And rob you blind
Right down to your last cigarette

After all what did you expect?
It was Hell - Death has no etiquette.

Bukowski also knew
That life was a knife fight
Mostly with yourself
Where you would slice
And be sliced but not fatally
So you could live to tell the story
Another day

But what he knew the most about
Was the bluebird
That he kept locked up in his heart
That he said he’d never let anyone see
But which he let sing freely
His whole life
Loud and undisturbed

The Scrap of a Dream

At four A.M.
Emerging from a restless sleep
I witness the final moment
Of an encounter
between my conscious
And unconscious mind
Over the last scrap of a dream

I remember seeing
the unconscious mind
time a perfect leap
and tear it from the jaws
of the conscious mind
Like a vicious scavenger
And then just as quickly
retreat deep into memory
Leaving the conscious mind
Looking on helplessly
And still hungry

Opportunities

They hang
just above our heads

And ripen
like fruit in season

But before you can reach
Up to pick one

from

A low hanging branch
They have all fallen

at your feet
And you’ve missed

your chance

To taste
life’s sweet profusion

And now must wait
another season