the old dog (+audio)

he was a very old dog and
he left hairs everywhere he sat
yet despite all that
she let him sleep in the bed besides her

Only because her family
said it was wrong

By definition
everything those people called wrong
was right and vice versa

So the old dog slept with her

The old dog was all she
had left

The old dog was the only one who
stood by her side
that time she overdosed on sleeping pills

The old dog was the only one
who didn't agree with mother when
she said, "Oh joy, another suicide attempt.
I wish she'd succeed at
something for once in life but…
well, no such luck, I guess."

The old dog had died
four days ago
but she still kept him in bed
besides her
Yep, I know I’ve the voice of a 96 year old man on his deathbed despite being in my 20s. Also my pronunciation’s all over the place due to lack of practice (English ain’t my 1st language). But behold I got drunk and silly one afternoon and told a few friends about my poetry blog. You know how these things end up. Here I am now recording my own voice — with intonation, mind you — reading my poem.

You never left

It's the little things that tell
the difference
but many times there's no observer
to notice them

Little things like
ignoring all the beer in the fridge
and going straight for the cupboard
where the tea bags
stood untouched for years

Chamomile
Caramel
Pear

A fine combination

He took out one little bag
and filled the kettle with water
and placed it on the electric stove

and looked out the window
while waiting for the steam to whistle

Rainy weather outside
Overcast weather inside, in his heart

Also he had no smokes left
and no one to smoke them with
so he took the lighter from inside his
pocket and lit it
against the glass of the window
and said to the flame, "You said
you'd leave. But you
never left. It was a lie. Else why do
I feel you closer now than when your
body stood right next to mine? Doesn't
make sense. You never left…"

The glass started to blacken around
the flame and he retreated it

"You never left," he said. "You are so close
now and had taken over so much
of my mind that I started doing
the things
you loved and I hated."

The kettle whistled
behind him

He turned around.
"You never left…"
Yep, I know I’ve the voice of a 96 year old man on his deathbed despite being in my 20s. Also my pronunciation’s all over the place due to lack of practice (English ain’t my 1st language). But behold I got drunk and silly one afternoon and told a few friends about my poetry blog. You know how these things end up. Here I am now recording my own voice — with intonation, mind you — reading my poem.

today I don’t wanna die

She walked on tiptoes around the
house and
bounced a few times and
spun like a ballerina
and sang, "Today I don't wanna diiIiIIie."

It was rare for her
but he sure
was glad to see it. Glad and now
a bit anxious
not to do something that would
disrupt her
happiness. It could be anything really

She grabbed a towel and wrapped
it around his neck
to bring his body closer to hers
and said, "Let's open a wine
bottle and make love."

He smiled and nodded
and instinctively brought a hand to
his head to feel the
scab from the last opened bottle of
wine
Yep, I know I’ve the voice of a 96 year old man on his deathbed despite being in my 20s. Also my pronunciation’s all over the place due to lack of practice (English ain’t my 1st language). But behold I got drunk and silly one afternoon and told a few friends about my poetry blog. You know how these things end up. Here I am now recording my own voice — with intonation, mind you — reading my poem.

You continue because of it

it's a bit cold
I'm sitting by the margin of the river
Fishing
A bit upset
There were too many fish who escaped
my nets

I sigh
throw 'em again

wait

I catch one
pull it out and stomp on its golden head
rip it apart from the body
and drink its blood

...

Yeah, bullshit
I'm sitting in the office

night shift

supervising casinos through
CCTV cameras

it's 05:53
and I'm ignoring work to write poems
like this one

and something always comes up
and makes me forget my ideas
The phone rings
Some customer causes trouble in some casino
Some other customer is suspected of cheating
A bouncer falls asleep on his
chair due to lack of activity
The game attendant flirts with a customer
There's a bill fallen on the floor and I've to
determine its owner
A bunch of idiots are being too loud
Some other idiot keeps demanding alcohol
but his bets ain't worth shit
and so on
and on
and on

And the goldfish escape through my fingers
and the eyes of my nets are too wide
and that just sucks, man
It really does

But I pick myself up
and tell myself what I always tell myself

A writer writes
A writer writes
A writer writes

Just like a fisherman fishes

And you don't stop because the catch
is rickety

You continue because of it

Yep, I know I’ve the voice of a 96 year old man on his deathbed despite being in my 20s. Also my pronunciation’s all over the place due to lack of practice (English ain’t my 1st language). But behold I got drunk and silly one afternoon and told a few friends about my poetry blog. You know how these things end up. Here I am now recording my own voice — with intonation, mind you — reading my poem.

Mr Bogdan Has Drawn a Friendly Kitty for Poet Don’s Class

The Flippant, Comic, and Serious

FCS focuses on humour,
offbeat poetry and exploring things different

Poet Don and class

Hands up all those who like kitties?….

(Sea of hands….)

Mr Bogdan has drawn one specially for you

/_/
(=’ ᴗ’ )
(, (“) (“)

Oooh…..

What do you say?

Thankyou Mr Bogdan…..

The children seem impressed with your drawing ability. Have you considered a teaching aid art book for kiddies? Stay clear of (◉ܫ◉) though. Bit scary for them…..

View original post

infinitely unhappy girl

Oh, infinitely beautiful girl
you are not alone

she wrote with
scarlet lipstick on her mirror

But words alone
don't
change hearts

and she was infinitely
unhappy

cursed

doomed

All the boys and men
said yes
to her

but her brother still
said no

Bleed ’em to death

"Eh, sorry, sorry," she would
say
but the wound would be already
open

She would close her eyes
squint them
poke her tongue out
and shake her head
"Sorry."

She liked to bite
couldn't help it

"You're gonna kill somebody
one day. Bleed 'em to death or
something."

"Sorry, sorry."

but some people
some girls
are just impossible to stay mad at

Despite her words
there was
no remorse for opening the wound
no remorse for licking it
making it bigger with her tongue
And no remorse for sucking
the blood out of it

She never swallowed
Just swirled it around her mouth,
loving the saltiness
and the taste of metal,
and then let it drip down her chin

She was arguably
one of the
greatest
among the great ones

run wild

Run wild
That was the motto

Of course it didn’t address
running wild
in the streets
and away from angry shopkeepers
and the police
and rival gangs
and betrayed friends

It all starts with a
run from responsibility,
evading reality

“Think you
can live like that?” father had said.
“Go ahead and try. C’mon, not
like you’re of any
use round here. Go!”

He went

and the years have passed and
he was never missed

But tonight he would return
with a couple of
friends
some rope
and a few sharp objects

A dim light was flickering in the kitchen
meaning the old man
would be at the table with a belly
heavy with drink
and a head light with fumes

So not much changed

"Well, let's go."

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