Charles 'Hank' Bukowski

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I love his writing, it's honest.

Poems, novels and short stories; love them all.

He punches each letter and word, it's raw and honest and I can relate.

Anyone else?

my second favourite writer is Sylvia Plate(sp? lol)

I eat up anything Bukowski! I have recently developed a fondness for his short fiction when I read his The Most Beautiful Woman In Town anthology. I plan to get another collection of his short stories soon, called Hot Water Music.

I'm currently reading Bukowski's Hot Water Music, and it is simply hilarious in all its irreverent humor about art, sex, alcohol, and lack of employment.

This is the first time I’ve seen Bukowski referred to as “Hank.”

the laughing heart has been my favorite poem for years and years.

I've always loved Sylvia Plath the most though. I remembered this website the other day that I used to go to in high school everyday: http://www.angelfire.com/tn/plath/

I can't believe it's still there. Enjoy!

My suggestions for Plath poems are "Elm" and "Lazy Lazarus."

Also I have a poem you might like by Anne Sexton if you're interested. (:

Go on then, hit me with Anne Sexton.

I hope the ton is just part of her name and not what I'm getting hit by.

Also, yes I could look her up, but when someone throws a poet at you then you should let them pick the first poem, or punch as it were.

“The Ballad of the Lonely Masturbator”

The end of the affair is always death.
She's my workshop. Slippery eye,
out of the tribe of myself my breath
finds you gone. I horrify
those who stand by. I am fed.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.

Finger to finger, now she's mine.
She's not too far. She's my encounter.
I beat her like a bell. I recline
in the bower where you used to mount her.
You borrowed me on the flowered spread.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.

Take for instance this night, my love,
that every single couple puts together
with a joint overturning, beneath, above,
the abundant two on sponge and feather,
kneeling and pushing, head to head.
At night alone, I marry the bed.

I break out of my body this way,
an annoying miracle. Could I
put the dream market on display?
I am spread out. I crucify.
My little plum is what you said.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.

Then my black-eyed rival came.
The lady of water, rising on the beach,
a piano at her fingertips, shame
on her lips and a flute's speech.
And I was the knock-kneed broom instead.
At night alone I marry the bed.

She took you the way a woman takes
a bargain dress off the rack
and I broke the way a stone breaks.
I give back your books and fishing tack.
Today's paper says that you are wed.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.

The boys and girls are one tonight.
They unbutton blouses. They unzip flies.
They take off shoes. They turn off the light.
The glimmering creatures are full of lies.
They are eating each other. They are overfed.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.

Reported for dirty language and lingjuice also.

Disgusting.