The Laughing Heart by Charles Bukowski

your life is your life
don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.
be on the watch.
there are ways out.
there is light somewhere.
it may not be much light but
it beats the darkness.
be on the watch.
the gods will offer you chances.
know them.
take them.
you can’t beat death but
you can beat death in life, sometimes.
and the more often you learn to do it,
the more light there will be.
your life is your life.
know it while you have it.
you are marvelous
the gods wait to delight
in you.

— by Charles Bukowski

For the Moon, For the Sun
By Marina Stant

My solid rocky moon,
I’m the star that’s shining on you.
And though we are stuck in our revolving places,
Dutifully singing through the airspaces,
I can feel myself expanding slowly,
And I’m waiting to explode!
My released energy will come soaring
And crashing into you ,
In ecstasy of the merging of two,
My darling, soon,
I will rest in your dusty dunes,
I am your star, and you are my moon.

My flaming blazing star,
You are a singer in a midnight bar,
My love, I admire you from a far,
Shining your light to the lonely drifters,
I reflect your light, I am your uplifter,
But soon all of your songs will be sung, and
You’ve belted your beauty to everyone,
My darling, douse your flaming lungs,
Come and rest in my dusty arms,
I am your moon and you are my star.


Maria y Me
By Marina Stant

In the mornings
I drink chai tea
At a wooden kitchen table
With Maria sitting next to me

She speaks English
Mixed in espanol,
Thick, chopped, hard to enterpret,
Much like her scrambled eggs with cactus
That tastes to me like aloe vera

Maria says chee
Instead of she
Spanish words flow out like
A silky red rose
Her English is jerky, a backhoe
Driver on his first day,
She asks me to translate
From Spanish which I don’t understand.

Soon her daughter and her
Grandbabies will be acomin’
Maria makes spicy red salsa
And Zuccini bread for them that she said
No haven mucho shugarh

Maria tells me,
The granbabies liken ta be in dayard
They say, no want beach, only in dayard.
Maria says, “My daughter called
And she said to the kids ‘oh we go
To granmas tomurrow,’ and they was

We watch Mexican films at night,
And the landscape there is like
She say, “It’s like California
Por que
Is part of Mehiko”
She says it because I didn’t know.

Maria is my mama
Here in California
Since I’ve been gone
From Indiana.
She is teaching me some Spanish words,
(I dont really want to learn)

She is feeding me mashed beans
And spicy rice with corn
And stove top tortillas
Homemade tamales
Motherly Love, hugged
In boiled corn husks
When I leave for my date, she says,
“Yea, yous looks pretty,”
For her I wont be out too late;

She is keeping me a grown up gal
Doing what’s right
No sleazy boy in my bed tonight

She’s looking at grocery store coupons
Eyes lighting up at the deals
Telling me how she’s going to make a steal
Talking like she haggled those tapatios
Down to $1 per ounce

I just agree and eat my rice and beans,
Shes talking with her friend on the phone,
The room is buzzing with California-Mexico.


By Marina Stant

I drink too much coffee
And it makes me twitch
My feet bounce
on the floor.
But my shadow is running out the door
Too much sunlight blisters the room
The green tomatoes were plucked too soon
I watch them, waiting,
Wanting them ripe and red,

In my placid haze I watch the olympics
And I understand the athletes,
Waiting four years to taste metal in their mouth
It’s time to perform

I want it all now,
That red iron on my tongue
I need it like Bolt needs to run,

I need to feel how I did that night that
love barged through the door,
Threw me on my knees,
Arrested me,
That I will do anything to have it again,
I will send all my love away
I cant hold onto it anymore
Love is a pain
I cant ignore
I’ll sacrifice my blood to taste gold.

Random Snippets…

I hear of evangelical girls
With secret plans from God
To restore the land of our fathers,
But they are poor
Sleeping on cheap LA apartment floors
Waiting for that whispering voice
Is that you? Or is that the
Schizophrenic neighbor downstairs?
20 year old girls left alone to discern the truth from the
Groans of feeling alone.


I hear of people in Guatemala
Eating plain tortillas
And breathing
The air where
There are toxins, unaware,
That their lack of education is making them
Thirsty in a circle game for gain of water and nutrients,
While oil sands shrink into pipe lines that stripe the
Americas not horizontally
But vertical like the flag staff that
Was pushed with a laugh into
Capitalized land in the hands of
Men who murdered mass amounts of humans.