There's a Bluebird in my Heart

My post about song lines got me thinking about poetry in general.  When I was younger and playing at tortured writer I read and wrote A LOT of poetry.  The stuff I wrote is awful and shall remain tucked away in a notebook far from the public eye.  The stuff I read is a different matter altogether Sylvia Plath, Pablo Neruda,  T.S Eliot and e.e. cummings.  Recently, I discovered Charles Bukowski and I am smitten (although I am not sure that’s the right word to use for him).  Did I mention I am usually behind the curve?  Well I am.  Anyway, I thought I’d share my favourite part of my favourite Bukowski poem:

There is a Bluebird in my Heart

There is a bluebird in my heart that

wants to get out

but I am too clever, I only let him out

at night sometimes

when everybody’s asleep

I say, I know that you’re there,

so don’t be

sad.

Then I put him back

but he’s singing a little

in there, I haven’t quite let him

die

and we sleep together like

that

with our

secret pact

and its nice enough to

make a man

weep, but I don’t

weep, do

you?