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Jack Kerouac

Jack Kerouac

Trees

But a tree has
a long suffering shapeIs
spread in half
by 2 limbed fate
Rises from gray rain
pavements
To traffic in the bleak
brown air
Of cities radar television
nameless dumb &numb mis connicumb
Throwing twigs the
color of ink To white souled
heaven, with
A reality of its own uses

#BeatGeneration

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Other works by Jack Kerouac...
Haiku (The low yellow...)

The low yellow moon above the Quiet lamplit house.
 1
149th Chorus

I keep falling in love with my mother, I dont want to hurt her —Of all people to hurt. Every time I see her
 1
One Flower

One flower on the cliffside Nodding at the canyon
Portrait of Mlle Rachel, by William Etty
On Tears

Tears is the break of my brow, The moony tempestuous Sitting downIn dark railyards When to see my mother’s face Recalling from the waking vision
 3
241st Chorus

And how sweet a story it is When you hear Charley Parker tell it, Either on records or at sessions, Or at offical bits in clubs,
Bowery Blues

The story of man Makes me sick Inside, outside, I don’t know why Something so conditional
 2
Nebraska

April doesnt hurt here Like it does in New England The ground Vast and brown Surrounds dry towns
Bus East

Society has good intentions Burea… 5 years ago – other furies other l… America’s trying to control the uncontrollab… The essential smile In the essent…
The San Francisco Scene

Now it’s jazz, the place is roaring, all beautiful girls in there, one mad brunette at the bar drunk with her boys. One strange chick I remember from somewhere, wearing a simple skirt w...
 1
2nd Chorus Mexico City Blues

Man is not worried in the middle Man in the Middle Is not Worried He knows his Karma Is not buried
211th Chorus

The wheel of the quivering meat conception Turns in the void expelling human… Pigs, turtles, frogs, insects, nit… Mice, lice, lizards, rats, roan
The Taste

The taste of rain —Why kneel?
 1
Tenorman

Sweet sad young tenor Horn slumped around neck Bearded full of junk Slouches waiting For Apocalypse,
 1
3rd Chorus Mexico City Blues

Describe fires in riverbottom sand, and the cooking; the cooking of hot dogs spitted in whittled sticks over flames of woodfire
The Scripture of the Golden Eternity

Did I create that sky? Yes, for, if it was anything other than a conception in my mind I wouldnt have said 'Sky’—That is why I am the golden eternity. There are not two of us here, read...



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