Henry Charles Bukowski (1920 – 1994), was a German-American poet, novelist, and short story writer. His writing was influenced by the social, cultural, and economic ambience of his home city of Los Angeles. His work addresses the ordinary lives of poor Americans, the act of writing, alcohol, relationships with women, and the drudgery of work. (Wikipedia)
Bukowski has become something of a cult hero. For some, his life-style, his aphorisms, the spirit imaged in his poetry, have become a way of life. An image of one such itinerant was caught on camera by a Canadian friend on the Pacific coast of British Columbia. This photograph occasioned my verse below . . .
my life I confess in my poetry it is the vagrant life tale of a loafer lowlife laureate being a bummer suited me no carbon copy king of the underground pulp-fiction hero I made the running took to my heels and ran with the wind lusted after life stopped on a whim ate when the food was there or I stood still and hungered took my fill of loving the casual way I didn’t try kept a wandering eye the man who got lucky lay in wait for inspiration caught a glimpse of Paradise nurtured that bluebird in my heart laughed and scorned smoked the weed that thrills loved the life that kills lived it versified it crucified it until it crucified me.