UNDETERRED

I could whine

about Ginsberg

or Rupi Kaur

or the general state

of the universe

and it would be

hollow complaint

falling on deaf ears

waiting to dismiss me

waiting to tell me

I’m nothing compared

to Corso or Dunbar

or Dickenson

or any other poet

my run on sentences

paraded publicly

as profound verse

fooling next to no one

but I continue

undeterred

with minimal complaint

I live and let live

They do their thing

and I do mine

I’ll likely be content

when I meet my maker

imperfect, ever brutish

I followed my own muse

Undeterred by critics

I dug into the vortex

entirely at my own pace

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/georgeschaefer/poem/1121280

OCCUPATIONAL HAZARD OF A BUKOWSKI WANNABE

Having a chat

with someone about getting old

I hear him declaring

“I don’t like hangovers anymore.”

And the thought triggered,

“Did you ever really like them?”

It just seemed like

such an odd comment to me

I simply have to ask

so I query,

:Did you ever really like them

at any point in time?”

and I watched him

and listened to him

stumbling over his own words

hopefully coming to realize

the absurdity of his statement

I just laugh it off

The bartender persuades me

to get a full liter pour

for last call

I guess, like it or not,

it’s going to happen

from time to time

just an occupational hazard

of a Bukowski wannabe

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/georgeschaefer/poem/1107668

GUILT FREE ENVIRONMENT

I always dig the old bars
paint peeling;

names etched on the stools;

floors chipped over time

and time,

we never have enough   

and yet

there’s always time to kill

I can while away minutes

and then hours

softly sipping or chugging

the bath

 room wall

will alert me who to call

for a real good time

but I’ll avoid contact

a dreary afternoon

suddenly

a dreary evening

time I didn’t have to waste

deftly killed off

in a guilt free environment

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/georgeschaefer/poem/1096870

OLD FOGEYS

This song never gets old

But your conversation does.

“This song never gets old.”

I hear you telling the person 

on your other side.

We’re listening to “Can’t You See”

and an old fogey

has to ruin it

with the standard old fogey complaint:

“This song is a classic.

Everything new sucks.  

It’s all forgettable.”

I can remember a day
when even older fogeys

were making the same rip

on his favorite tunes.

I remember when Tom Petty

was a pedestrian rocker.

I remember when the Clash

and the Talking Heads were

called disposable by fogeys.

You are right about one thing.

This song may never get old

but you damn sure have.

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/fuche_bu/poem/1063766

NO BETTER PLACE TO BE

It’s Tuesday afternoon

we should

probably have jobs

we should

probably have better things to do

and yet here we sit

A loud belch

from across the bar

recalls a shot of cheap whiskey

and another bottle of beer

is placed in front of me

Freddie Mercury is singing,

“Fat Bottomed Girls”

on an old fashion jukebox

I realize that I really

have no better place to be

a bum I might otherwise

look down upon

throws a kernel of popcorn at me

to keep me from nodding off

A guy wearing too much cheap cologne

occupies the stool next to me

I have to face away

as the fragrance of cheap booze

is more palpable

I down a shot of tequila

and reminisce about a girl

that I used to know

oh so many years ago

Somehow,

that all got messed up

My beer is 3 quarters full

and depressingly, sadly

I really don’t have

any better place to be

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/georgeschaefer/poem/1102807