Let me spice up your winter

With this little poem

My darlings,

I have a habit I can’t kick - I cannot stop reading Bukowski poems.

Sometimes I find myself reading Bukowski’s poetry and getting angry, thinking: I’ve known men like you, why am I still reading this? And then he discloses some vulnerability or offers some glimpse of wisdom I need to hear; pushes that sweet spot between the sacred and the profane, and I am powerless to resist. I can almost hear his typewriter as I write this.

My husband and I rent out big volumes of his poems from the library and read them aloud to each other. For our honeymoon we took a collection of his poems called “Bukowski on love.”

All the poems I wrote on our honeymoon are thus a little bit Bukowski-esque.

If you’ve seen my cabaret Love Story you’ll know the big man gets a shout out in the show. The men who come to see Love Story always like that bit. He captured something about the experience of being a man that still fascinates us all.

Thanks Hank - hope it’s nice where you are now. We love you.

Love always,

Eleanor Flowers

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Season

When we are stranded in the dark

This winter

In Oslo

I will read you this poem

By the fire

And remind you

That not long ago

We lay on the bed

With windows

And arms open

Celebrating the song of the

Seagulls outside the riad

We were a little bit

Damp and salty

Soaked in the

Sea's prayer

Had run out of cash

So we stayed in

And read love poems

By Bukowski to each other

And took turns

Kissing

Each others

Fingers

Remember darling how perfectly we

Were seasoned by Essouira

I love you so much

I could eat you

I tell you this

 .

 You throw the

Phone out of my hand

And mess up my poems punctuation

I begin my feast