Henry Charles Bukowski, the German-American poet, novelist, and short-story writer, is a favorite, and I usually read him every other day.

His work examines the daily lives of the poor. He has written extensively — about 40 poetry books alone.

No one has written better than him about alcohol, whores, relationships with women, and work struggles. 

In fact, he was Mithun Chakraborty of American literature, the highly talented yet ignored by the mainstream literary scene for many of his creative years. 

He was published extensively in small literary magazines and by small presses.

Those unfamiliar with his work should read the poem below and also watch his videos on YouTube, which feature excellent background photography.

Read the poem titled “to the whore who took my poems” -

some say we should keep 

personal remorse from the poem,

stay abstract, 

and there is some reason in this, but jezus:

12 poems gone and I don't keep carbons 

and you have my paintings too, 

my best ones; it's stifling: 

are you trying to crush me 

out like the rest of them? 

why didn't you take my money? 

they usually do from the sleeping 

drunken pants sick in the corner.

next time take my left arm or a fifty 

but not my poems:

I'm not Shakespeare but sometimes simply 

there won't be any more, abstract or otherwise; 

there'll always be money and whores and drunkards 

down to the last bomb, 

but as God said, crossing his legs, 

I see where I have made plenty of poets 

but not so very much 

poetry.