The Silent Poet's Song

“Bluebird” by Charles Bukowski

there’s a bluebird in my heart that

wants to get out

but I’m too tough for him,

I say, stay in there, I’m not going

to let anybody see

you.

there’s a bluebird in my heart that

wants to get out

but I pour whiskey on him and inhale

cigarette smoke

and the whores and the bartenders

and the grocery store clerks

never know that

he’s

in there.

there’s a bluebird in my heart that

wants to get out

but I’m too tough for him,

I say,

stay down, do you want to mess

me up?

you want to screw up the

works?

you want to blow my book sales in

Europe?

there’s a bluebird in my heart that

wants to get out

but I’m 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 it’s nice enough to

make a man

weep, but I don’t

weep, do you?

“The Silent Poet” by Connell Green

there’s a poet at the bar who

likes to drink alone

but we talk sometimes,

because I know

he prefers argument to

conversation

so I argue with him

about the best dogs

to bet on.

there’s a poet at the bar who

likes to drink alone

but I pour whiskey in him

and he talks

slowly

like he doesn’t quite know where his

words are going

but he knows exactly

where they’ll never go,

he’s always walking the line

between anger

and

silence.

there’s a poet at the bar who

likes to drink alone

but he watches you with eyes

that see too much

because they’re so far

away.

there’s a poet at the bar who

likes to drink alone

but I’ve read his poetry

so I know

there’s a bluebird in his heart that

wants to get out

but he’s too tough for it,

and, though I long

to hear

its song,

perhaps the appeal

is in their

secret pact

of silence,

and anyway I know

he’ll never let it

sing, will he?