Bluebird

My friend loved Charles Bukowski,
would quote his poems,
wrote symmetry in words
and held a bluebird
which he finally let free
on a sunny day in June.
I remember crying for days
his passing, his soul
he wrote a library of words
from a hospital corridor,
or room, I wasn't there,
we were just friends
and lived in different worlds.
On the day he died
I sat in the sunshine
and drank wine
and a robin was my companion,
not the bluebird
but I am sure Steve was there,
gently mocking me,
telling me to think about that
trip we took on imaginary bicycles
to Beverley, a place I have never been
and how we lay in mythical corn fields
and swung our legs as we rode,
letting our inner bluebird free
for a moment.

I read bukowski and laugh
at grandmothers farting,
I feel Steve's breath on my ear,
gently, as he always was
telling me, showing me
that fear is fear
but beauty is there
on a bicycle trip,
swinging our legs to Beverley
setting our bluebird free.




Poetry by Elle The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 686 times
Written on 2015-10-17 at 19:11

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Jamsbo Rockda The PoetBay support member heart!
A wonderful tribute. We all need to set our bluebirds free.
2015-10-21


Nancy Sikora
This made me very sad, especially because I have a best friend who is a poet and who lives in a different world and I would be devastated if he died.
2015-10-17


Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
I'm with the others. This is a touching tribute, and good poem.
2015-10-17



loved the redundancy of the last paragraph. it's a fine eulogy. not easy to write. well done Elle.
2015-10-17



A beautiful poem, a loving tribute tinged with sadness.
A truly lovely write:)
2015-10-17