Friday, May 23, 2008

To The Whore Who Took My Poems by Charles Bukowski

"To The Whore Who Took My Poems"

some say we should keep personal remorse from the
stay abstract, and there is some reason in this,
but jezus;
twelve poems gone and I don't keep carbons and you have
paintings too, my best ones; its stifling:
are you trying to crush me out like the rest of them?
why didn't you take my money? they usually do
from the sleeping drunken pants sick in the corner.
next time take my left arm or a fifty
but not my poems:
I'm not Shakespeare
but sometime simply
there won't be any more, abstract or otherwise;
there'll always be mony and whores and drunkards
down to the last bomb,
but as God said,
crossing his legs,
I see where I have made plenty of poets
but not so very much

-Charles Bukowski

A poem by William Carlos Williams

As the cat
climbed over
the top of

the jamcloset
first the right

then the hind
stepped down

into the pit of
the empty

-- William Carlos Williams.


It was 3:30am on the dot when I heard gun shots outside my window. A deep bass and crack from somewhere filled the silent night. I sat in my room wondering who was shot and if there was a dieing man at that very moment taking his last breaths. Violently gasping for air, gargling and choking on his own blood as it filled his throat. I heard police sirens in the distance and some more gunshots, so I knew there was a fire fight. What were they using? Shotguns, glocks, .357 magnums, they had to have been using something with a punch because after a couple of moments of silence a final deep drum like thud rushed into my ears and I knew it was over. I imagined that last shot to be a desperate man's escape from a justice system that would have locked him away forever. A shotgun to the head I imagined, leaving nothing but a bloody mess and a haunting image for whoever was unfortunate enough to witness it. After that last shot I could hear dogs howling in the distance, some barking in the wake of the chaos and some howling to the moon. What happened out there in that night? There must be a bloody crime scene out there waiting to be investigated, dead bodies lying on the ground in unnatural poses, brain chunks sprayed around sparatically, empty shells sprinkled over the ground, dead faces waiting to gaze deep into someone's subconscious. Whatever happened was no business of mine but that fear ran down my spine because I knew it could have easily become my business. Someone died that night and I heard the sounds of that death. A double barrel grinding against his teeth and then click, nothing left but a disturbing image ready to keep me awake at night. For me the night rushed back as soon as silence filled the air but out there, the night had just begun.
-Armando Torres

Tuesday, May 20, 2008


In the darkness that lingers around us all there exists something that tells us, tempts us, chooses us, and crushes us inside a paradox of sweetest things. He knows when you think of him and pounces all at once to where ever welcomes him. He sits in your room looming ever closer as your mind wanders towards him. Knowing the very moment to engulf your reality, overwhelming your eyes in horrors you never wanted to see. Granted all you know has some truth for there would be your proof to believe because in all that was misleading in his words there would be a base to fake his truths to you. But as your strength falters nothing you knew would hold true when the temptations overwhelm you. You would never know you gave in so long ago. Beginning your own demise in your eyes of a few moments before you so blindly gave away all that was of worth. His words have burned through your soul tearing apart your mind leaving the shell of a man, lifeless and hallow. A man who will never understand all he wanted to know. A man in eternal damnation burning in the fires of misery never knowing the lies were the only truths he realized.
-Armando Torres

Those ominous gray Clouds

"Those ominous gray Clouds"
I chased you, ran after you, followed you but I couldn't keep up. I lost you and there I stood under those ominous gray clouds looking up teasing me to give up but everytime I gazed above I could see your face only a distance away. So I ran, I ran until the air in my throat burned and my lungs pushed out against my chest, until the very tissue of my muscles tore away and my legs collapsed; there to lay under those ominous gray clouds with sweat dripping from every pore. I stood with the fire burning in my legs as they begged for no more but I couldn't stop. I saw nothing ahead of me and nothing behind but I continued to try and find you. But here I now lay eyes upward toward those gray ominous clouds watching for your face and I see it only a distance away. I lay here a tattered tired man who has given up running and has found you only a distance away.
-Armando Torres

Saturday, May 17, 2008

The Dead Night

Here is my piece that was a finalist in the Wordclay writing contest. I have posted this on my other blog; After Dinner Mint but I thought I should share it here as well.

"The Dead Night"
There I sit in the quiet darkness of it all wondering how it came to this; hearing the tiny chirps of the crickets outside the window seal and the soft midnight breeze brush against the leaves. Nothing is left but the calmness of the night; the dead calm of it all. The night sky sitting above watching, with thousands of eyes, the things we do to satisfy that moment of urge. There I sit in silent darkness with my witness above and my eyes below; there I sit to wonder how it came to this. I sit with my head hung low inside my chair whose squeaks are the only other noise to slice the dead silence of this night. I rock my chair this night like never before and for the first time, I can hear the silence of black, the calmness of night; I can feel the cold chill of darkness. Drip dripping the cold blood on my hands; trickling to the floor staining a deep red. Drip dripping the cold blood not of my own. Drip dripping this silence of night off my hands. I stare with my head hung low by the window seal at the dead calm of it all. I sit in darkness wondering how it came to this but realize the silence of my answer. Nothing is left but the calmness of this night.
-Armando Torres


I entered the Wordclay seasonal writing contest for poetry and was one of 100 finalists chosen. I, along with all the finalists and the winner were included in the Best Modern Voices: A Poetry Anthology. I just thought I would share one of the poems I liked from the anthology, this one was the runner up. It's a very well constructed piece and resonates far after you've finished reading.

I used to be an ocean vast and filled with life. I could account
for everything, for I'd been there for all time. I used to stretch
for miles; I used to take up all the earth. I used to be everyone's
everything; you'll just have to take my word for it.

I used to be a great lake. I used to be the biggest one. I was the
womb from which the moon was birthed when the sun had finally
gone. I used to glitter all the time, rain or shine, and day or night.
I was the place you brought your girl to ask her hand in marriage.
You used to contemplate your days at my water's edge.

Then I turned into a pond perfect to sail upon. The best of friends
spent many times together, fishing and laughing until the day was
done. I used to be the spot you watched fireworks burst on the
fourth of July. And I froze up in December when you learned your
best friend had died. I even used to hug the ground where your
family dog now lays.

And then I was a river, quickly flowing over time. I used to carve
sharp rocks into perfect skipping stones. I used to breathe a
constant pace. I used to carry my own beat. You used to come to
me just to wash your dirty feet. We watched the stars together; we
used to spill the same amount of tears. I watched you bloom and
grow; together we shared the best of years.

But now I am a creek, under a bridge somewhere unknown. Time
has shrunk me down, and I am here to rest alone. Some days are
better than some others; my water flows and then dries up. It
would help to have some company; it would help to have my friend.
But I just don't really know when I'll ever see her again.
-Daniel Bristol

Thursday, May 15, 2008

those Glowing eyes

"those Glowing eyes"
I sit and write my very last words; for these words have come on their own accord to describe the hidden horror that surrounds me this very moment. I cannot escape anymore for the darkness surrounds me all around. The voices whisper deep as my eyes bleed those invisible tears that burn away any hope of sleep. The voices tell me the darkest thoughts of night singeing my mind and burning deep to where all exists as a distant memory. It says nothing less in a cesspool of lonesome questions and there I see those glowing eyes. They burn with red inside my head for those eyes live to haunt me this night. The darkness of black drips on the walls and the silent moans of the wind creep in; the trees whisp back and forth outside and the howls of lurking creatures are heard in the distance. The suffocating night makes louder the sounds as the soft gloom of the moon hides behind dense black clouds, tis all for the hidden horrors to find their way back. I wait for the chirps of singing birds and the morning chill of day but my eyes are blurred in this cold stillness of gray. It says nothing less as I see those glowing eyes, for the darkness has me deceived that I cannot leave. I hope for something more but see only those glowing eyes. I wait for something more but see my haunting lies.
-Armando Torres

Wednesday, May 14, 2008

The Genius Of The Crowd by Charles Bukowski

"The Genius Of The Crowd"

there is enough treachery, hatred violence absurdity in the average
human being to supply any given army on any given day

and the best at murder are those who preach against it
and the best at hate are those who preach love
and the best at war finally are those who preach peace

those who preach god, need god
those who preach peace do not have peace
those who preach peace do not have love

beware the preachers
beware the knowers
beware those who are always reading books
beware those who either detest poverty
or are proud of it
beware those quick to praise
for they need praise in return
beware those who are quick to censor
they are afraid of what they do not know
beware those who seek constant crowds for
they are nothing alone
beware the average man the average woman
beware their love, their love is average
seeks average

but there is genius in their hatred
there is enough genius in their hatred to kill you
to kill anybody
not wanting solitude
not understanding solitude
they will attempt to destroy anything
that differs from their own
not being able to create art
they will not understand art
they will consider their failure as creators
only as a failure of the world
not being able to love fully
they will believe your love incomplete
and then they will hate you
and their hatred will be perfect

like a shining diamond
like a knife
like a mountain
like a tiger
like hemlock
their finest art

-Charles Bukowski

That Blue Glow

"That Blue Glow"
He sits by the window, moonlight dripping on his face from the soft blue glow resonating from the crescent moon. He plays his guitar as the world sleeps and cries for those who do not weep. She wipes the tears from his face in elegance and glides to his window; she glances to the crescent moon to smile for those who cannot. He drips his tears onto his strings and sings their song as she can only smile into his eyes. Her haunting blue eyes hide the melancholy of her smile and his tears show the joy of his music. The softness of the night is hardened as the extravagent blue glow drops into the horizon. The night becomes a little more quiet and somber as the music and smiles are lost in the sea of darkness that washes over the world, a little more quiet and alone.
-Armando Torres

Red Wine

"Red Wine"
I poured you my finest red wine as your eyes pierced deep into my soul and we sat there among the candle lit flames. Your lips glistened in the gloom as the deep red of your lipstick burned inside my every lustful thought and we kissed.

As your soft lips caress mine I lose myself inside my closed eyes. Strong shivers run up and down my spine as our lips begin pressing in mounting passion. The night lay silent leaving only our long deep breaths and the soft sounds of our skin sliding against each other to break its stillness. The wine sits still inside its glass and the candles burn slowly; the house lay quiet except for our moving bodies slowly moving inside the candle fire casting our shadowy shapes onto the walls. In the midst of our ballet of lust you ignore the ringing of your phone; we can't hear anything but the next deep breath we take. Nothing exists for us except the next deep thrust as the phone keeps ringing. On its display it reads 'husband' as our bodies keep moving under the candle fire. We ignore as our shadows cast our lust on the walls and floor. As the mounting pressure, ring! of every moment, ring! piles on, ring! my eyes close tight and the uncontrollable shiver of pleasure shakes me to my spine. I lose myself everytime and this time I lost myself again. I lose myself inside you and this time I lost myself again.
-Armando Torres

Too Hard

"Too Hard"
Its too hard sitting outside with the sun overhead with it so bright my eyes cannot comprehend. The warm sting of its rays blankets my face as I look up into that yellow ball of flame. Today is warm like yesterday, I can't remember it but I know it; today is warm like yesterday. The sun is overhead with the hot sounds of heat making their way to my ears, the sweat drips from my brow and I imagine tomorrow to be like this. Its too hard to see the clear blue sky and the warm green grass, too hard to feel anything but the hot sting of the sun. All I feel is the burning concrete ground against my feet and the thick hot air wandering in front of my face. Thick heat waves rise from the ground, my nostrils fill with hot air and it seems I can't get away. I run to the cool escape of the sprinklers trying to elude the summer dread but its too hard to escape. Too hard to feel anything but the hot sting of the sun overhead.
-Armando Torres

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

Cool drops of Water

"Cool drops of Water"
It’s that time of year again and I fight not to remember. But the December white brings oh so much and the cold grey that lingers above seems only to accompany that memory. That unnerving pressure behind these sad eyes is present again but never do I let that tear remember you. I look out at the blankness of it all; it lets me remember, lets me fill the space with whatever I want and the one piece of my life I’d rather leave behind is the only thing I can see in this vast white canvas. Swallowing the knots in my throat seems like tradition this time of year just like the big boulders of every shade of grey the kids make. I just linger away and disappear into the seemingly endless cold and fight that one tear that cries out but I will never let it remember you. Anxious for the moment when it all starts to melt away, waiting for those warm rays to touch this vast white blanket that has overlaid itself on me. Watching as those drops of cool relief drip away this white December. I look out at the warm yellows and reds from over the horizon and feel the cool water droplets of my winter stream down my face. I remember you, so goodbye finally.
-Armando Torres

In a moment

"In a moment"
Oh so softly touching your sweet skin; there's something in the way you move, in the way your curves play to my most primal desires. Feeling our skin touch, wanting my hips to fit in between your legs and my lips to brush up against yours. There's something in the way we move, in the way our bodies play to our most lustful desires. I can feel the warmth of your breath upon my lips and it uncages those carnal cravings I had locked away until this moment, where I'm rubbing up against you this moment, touching you, feeling you, locked until this moment. Forbidden until this moment, wanting you, lost in you. Watching your eyes glow in the soft light that blankets us, looking deep into mine; feeling complete trust in those eyes I lose my most sound reason inside you in a moment. Feeling you in that moment, loving you in that moment.
-Armando Torres


Awake again in the middle of the night with the soft glow of the television spattered on her face. Dark rings have found a home around her weary eyes and the droopy bags under them are just another reminder of her dreary life. Sitting alone in the dark trying to sleep she searches for the strength to keep hoping life will get better. Wrapped in one of her few ragged blankets as she tries to fight the chill that creeps into her small apartment every night, she prays. Her tired eyes finally find that slice of sleep she's been waiting for and a familiar image waiting in that darkness re-opens them and she cries. Staring down so low the salty reminders stream down her tired face and she remembers. She remembers the way she felt when she held her in her arms, the look of her tiny face and her tiny mouth. She remembers again and stays awake watching the dismal glow of the television screen. She couldn't do anything about what happened, there was nothing she could do when she had nothing. No money, no insurance, no friends, no family. She did all she could with all she had. She prayed everyday as she watched her baby die. She prayed everyday.
-Armando Torres

Last Thought

"Last Thought"
Silently sitting inside that chair staring blankly into the blue glow of the television burning against the backdrop of darkness. Specks of color are splashed on his gray unmovable face. The blues and reds and greens dance on his empty walls and he just stares blankly into the dim glow of the television set. He pictures himself hanging from the ceiling and wonders what his last thought would be.

A meaningless thought forever trapped in that one moment, no where to go but into the endless abyss awaiting all that he is. That last thought forever telling him in a moment, you will never forget. Like that last conscious moment before the veil of darkness drips over your mind and you drift to sleep. A meaningless moment forever existing.

Stepping up on that chair he slides his head through the loop; just like falling to sleep he whispers. Looking to the television set, he knocks over his goodbye and a flash of better days appears before his eyes and a hint of regret streams down his face as everything fades to black.
-Armando Torres

The Knife of Love

"The Knife of Love"
Carefully slicing away tender tissue, ripping apart muscle and cutting pass bone until the tip finally reaches the one place this knife should never be. As the blood flows out of your body and the tears in your eyes roll down your cheeks, the knife carefully cuts and makes your heart in two. The final piece of warm flesh and tissue holding it as one rips apart; your eyes glaze over, your warm tears turn cold as ice and your blood dies at it touches the air. Your mouth stays slightly open as if to say something it once said but now will never say again. The thought of it dies in your mind and behind your eyes where it once lived no longer can it be seen because your eyes have glazed over with dead pain. Those three precious words that meant so much to you and I no longer have meaning. They were weapons of deception but sweet deception to the bitter end. I would have loved you through anything and beyond any limit that you could have imagined but now that knife has killed you and you can never come back.
-Armando Torres