REPOSTING (original 4/30)
music first for once. dude rocks
Mike Watt warbles my little wren
When I was a child, maybe six or seven, something within me, not of my Catholic school education or even of some sort of parental admonition led me to compose a small poem, maybe eight lines; off it went to grandma. It was simple testimony to growing awareness of my place in the universe, my desires and an inevitable mortal fact;
I’m a little bluebird oh so melancholy…
ready to soar, knowing I must someday fly…
geez, I hope I’m remembering correctly…
THIS GUY NAILED IT
Bukowski “Bluebird”
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
I believe my mother must have my little effort, now just a weathered child’s composition book page, no doubt folded and held precious in a fashion exactly like I witness every day with young Abigail.
Her scribing is more in depth; media influences, daddy’s broad vocabulary, maybe the fact eight these days is like ‘going on twenty’ — her ‘booklets’ have elaborate themes
Monster in the Day Light Part 1 by Abby C——-
Fild Gide of Dinosorse!
Abbys Book of Fear
that last one is a fascinating work in progress…
she is cataloguing the various stresses the girls at Monster High
(look it up) endure as they grow into adolescent precociousness
far from a bluebird, but majestic in it’s singular abbyness
maybe for me, my bluebird has materialized in Abby
my ship to the stars is embodied in her
countin’ on ya’, babe
find yer center, whatever it is…
and get there, too
Daddy did.
BUKOWSKI ‘BLUEBIRD’ excerpted
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 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?