Daydream
and then, maybe, write about it
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FeaturedFACING THE DARK CORNER – New collection of dark poetry
NEW Poetry Collection – FACING THE DARK CORNER
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FeaturedREALITY CHECK – New Collection of Dark Poetry
How can you tell what’s real in reality?
I don’t know. But I can struggle to find out.
Poetry seems like a good place to start. -
parasite
“It’s completely harmless,” she says
as she shows me a
five legged frog that struggles
and fails
to get free from her dirty
hands. “The extra limbs
are the result of
a parasite infection.”“Is this your new pet?”
I askShe shakes her head. “Not really. It’ll just
leave as soon as I let go
of it. If I let go.”“Damn. How about letting go
now?”“Does it freak you out?”
“Yeah. It’s a five legged
frog. Why and how the hell did it grow
an extra leg in the back like that?”She turns the poor frog
in her hands like it’s a
card about to be shuffled
in a deck. “The parasite
causes mutations. It causes extra
limbs to grow, but they don’t help
the frog. Hell, they hinder it. Make it
move slower, clumsier.”“Why though?”
“Why? So that big birds can catch
it easier and swallow it.
The parasite’s aim it not
to reach the frog, but the bird.”“Damn, what does it do
once inside the bird?”“Once inside the bird, it’s over.
It’s the parasite’s version
of heaven.”“You seem to know a lot
about parasites,” I say“And heaven,” she adds. “And something
tells me you’d rather
hear about the latter than
the former, correct?”“Nah, I wanna listen to all
of it. Everything. Spare no
details.”“Hahah! I knew you’re a
parasite too.”“Am I?”
“Of course. Not the type that makes
the host grow extra legs,
but the type that makes the host
grow extra tongues.
You know how to make people
open up
and share more than they would
normally.”“In other words, I know how
to listen?”“Nah. It’s not that simple.
You don’t listen like a therapist.
But like a thief. You’re going to
use all the info
in one of your silly writings, aren’t you?”“Damn,” I say, raising a hand. “You
got me. Most of my victims
don’t. But you did.”She throws her head back
with laughter
and
since she doesn’t stop
in four seconds
I join herYeah, I’m a parasite, alright.
I take people’s stories
and blow them out of proportion for
my own entertainmentI turn them into
twisted little stories
of my ownBecause…
I don’t know
Perhaps I too
am haunted by a parasite
who pushes me towards
such behaviorsI wonder where it’s
trying to arrive to
-
interesting times
Man, I love this vitamin water
I don’t care how healthy or
unhealthy it isI just love drinking it
So here I go
straight to the grocery store
for some bottles
deep into the nightwhen I see this massive
pile
of women’s shoes
discarded in the parking lotIt’s the size of
a small carAll shapes
all colors
all with crazy high heelsI go inside the store and
ask the cashier
about the story behind all
them women’s shoes in the
parking lot“Some trucker dropped them
from his truck.”“Really?”
“They’re all worn, by the way. No pair
is new. He must’ve stolen or
kept them as tokens from
all the hookers he hooked up
with along the
years.
Truckers using the services of
hookers is no stereotype, you know?
It’s almost always true.
And this one… must’ve been some
type of psycho for real.
Vitamin water as usual?”“Uh, yeah, sure. Give me one with
Magnesium and one with Zinc.
Both cold if possible.”“Not possible, sorry. Fridge is full
with cans of energy drinks. They’re
in way higher demand.
Nobody walks in here asking
for vitamin water when they can
have energy drinks. You’re the
only exception to
the rule.”“Damn. Perhaps I’m a psycho
in my own right then.”The cashier doesn’t laugh.
Just scans the two drinks
and places them on
the counterI pay with my card
“So anyway, this crazy trucker
who left the shoes an’ all…
Well, why did he leave in
such a hurry?”“I honestly don’t know. Just saw him
dump the shoes from
the back of the truck and leave in
a hurry like he had
the devil a stride behind. But I’m used
to weird individuals. Some are
worse than others. My biggest problem
now is having to
take all them shoes to the
garbage cans. I don’t wanna
touch any of ‘em.”“Damn. Did you contact the manager
about it?”“Did you work even one
day in retail? One day in your
whole life?”“Yeah. I’ve been a bartender once.”
“Good enough. Well, then you know
problems aren’t solved by
addressing them to the managers.
They’ll only ask you
to take care of ‘em and that’ll
be that.”“Well, damn…”
“Yeah…”
“Say, what if you set them on
fire? The shoes I mean, not the manager.
It would be a sight to see
at the end of a shift, no?”“Nah. Too much plastic. The smoke
would get me in trouble. You want
anything else?”“No thanks. Just the waters.
Well, take care and
have an easy rest of the shift. See you
later.”“Later.”
Outside
the shoes look weirder and
weirder the
more I stare at the pileWhat a strange world
I open up the
Zinc water
and take a gulpwhen the local homeless
dude approaches and
asks, “Hey, got any booze?”“Nope. Just water.”
“You sick?”
“No. I just like the flavor of
this water. And don’t ask
me for smokes or lighter either.
I don’t smoke.”“Aight then. Fuck you.”
And he’s off“Wait a sec,” I call behind him
He turns. “What?”
“Them shoes in the parking lot. What’s
with them?”The question brings a smirk
to his face. “Heh. Why, of course
it’s the result of living
interesting times, don’t you think?”“What?”
“Come now. Don’t act like it
ain’t what you prayed for
all along.”I shake my head. “I don’t get it.”
“Interesting times, my friend. You wanted
them
now you have them.
So, what does a writer who lives
in interesting times do?
Well, you tell me. Or better yet
show me.”“What the…? How?
How d’ you know?”He gives me a shrug
and starts walking away.
“Like I’ve said. Interesting times, my friend.
Interesting times…”I keep starting at his back
as he departsthen I take another look
at the big pile of shoes
in the parking lotthen I drink some more
vitamin waterand finally take
my leaveInteresting times
indeed -
Innocence
normally the work day would
end at
6 PM
but today he got out
at 3
to visit his mother
in the hospitalSoon as he
stepped out of the
police station he forgot all
about the
maniac who nailed his
daughter’s little hands to the
kitchen table and
made her watch him
deliver no less than 106 stabbing
wounds into her mother’s
bellyPeople went insane on a daily
basis
but very few went that farAnd what’s even more
insane
is that the little girl not only
forgave but
loved and never stopped loving
the monster who did that to hera daughter’s love for
her father sure is
something to be studied in
criminologybut there’ll be time enough
for thatThe rest of today
would have to be dedicated
to perhaps saying one final goodbye
to a motherShe looked so incredibly tiny on
that hospital bed, hooked up
to all the life support shitFrom a distance
she looked almost like a childlike her son imagined her
looking as a childUtterly innocent
Indeed, innocence is something you
come to truly value
when you work in
criminology like he didand as he dropped to
one knee
by the side of his mother’s bed
he remembered
that story he knew about her from
when she was a childthe story of how
she and another friend
of hers
have been taken shopping by a
friendly neighbor
and he bought them lots of
cute clothes, many of them swimwear,
and took them to his house
afterwords and
took hundreds of Polaroid pictures
of them
and then drove them back to their
homesA few years later
when the police accused the
same man of some dirty deeds
with other girls, they were quite shocked
to find that
all the girls he dealt with not only would not
speak ill of him, but would straight up
defend his actions‘He was good to me,’ they’d all
sayGoods, how innocent
they wereridiculously innocent
one could say“Mother,” he whispered
by her side. “You look like a little
girl again. Can I tell you a story?”She was not dead yet
but neither could
she replyshe just listened
innocently to her
son’s teary voice -
what else could they possibly take away?
all shapes and sizes
and colorsthe empty bottles stood
like soldiers at
attention before himbut was he really the
commander
while crouched on his
knees
with soiled trousers
barefoot
six week beard
stained and burned t-shirt
frozen eyesNo, he was more like
their executionera vampire that sucked them
dry and displayed
their bodies like
trophiesstill
he found zero pleasure
in admiring his workThey put up a hell of a good
fight
those damn bottlesThe phone kept ringing
in the other room
and he thought it
was musicsome distant
battlecryBut whom to dare
come and attack him now?and what else could they
possibly take away from a
man who found no
satisfaction even in
victory? -
eternal maternity leave loop
“Look, it’s simplicity itself,”
she said, spreading her
legs. “All you gotta do
is get pregnant
then get a job
then tell them that you’re
pregnant and you’re done.
Maternity leave!
You’re free for the next two to
four years!
An’ you don’t even gotta keep
the baby. Just give it up for
adoption or whatever
and then you’re free to
do the whole thing all over again.
As long as you’re fertile
you can live good an’ get paid
without working. Well, you’ll work
a bit, but just a bit.
Sound good?”For just a moment
he took his eyes
away from
the key-chain he was playing
withthere was a little
anthropomorphic rubber sheep
hanging from itpink wool
covered its gray skinthe poor thing had
quite the
expressionyellow eyes with
black dots looking up
in a ‘please end my suffering’
combined with
a ‘punish me harder, daddy’ wayWho in the hells
even designed shit like this?“Heey!” Her hand waved
before his face
making a rock-paper-scissors
motion and
remained on scissors
and moved the two fingers
close to his eyes slowlyHe turned away
“I’m thinking,” he snapped
“And doing it like
a man without a brain,” she added
with a roll of the eyes“Whatever. Look, if it’s so great a
plan as you say, how come
there aren’t more people actin’ on it?”“Ph! Buddy, you ever seen
an orphanage before?”“C’mon, you can’t tell me all
the kids in orphanages are
there
because their mothers applied
the eternal maternity leave loop.”“I didn’t say all. Just a lot
of ‘em.”“How d’you know?”
“I was one of ‘em.”
“What?”
“Yep.”
“That’s crazy. So instead of breaking the
cycle…”“Yeah. Fuck that. Why break the cycle
or do anything for that
matter
without a good enough reason, eh?
What’s in it for me if
I break the cycle?”morning found him still
thinking about itBut she was a woman of
action
so she spent the time
poking a few holes in a few
condomsMan, who would’ve thought?
One day your lowlife ass
follows a random girl into
a backalley
and catches up to her
and places the tip of a rusty knife
against her spine
and tells her not to move
while your slimy hands get to
fondle her partsand the next day
that same woman
takes you home after knocking you outand shows you
what real insanity feels likeYeah
life just won’t give us a breakthe good, the bad,
and all in betweenit keeps toying with
us alland it’s hella creative
lately,
isn’t it? -
jars of bugs
he rides a rusty bike
in the cold
nightsliding like a
fish
from alley to alley.He’s going up
the hill again.All he’s got on him
besides
his clothes
and the bike
is a thermos filled with
coffee he got from
the vending machine
at the mall,coffee bought with
money earned
from a day’s work of
standing by the traffic lights
at the intersection,
waiting for them to turn
red
and offering to wash
someone’s windshield.Once on top of the
hill
he leaves the bike at
the base
of the water tower
and climbs the cold
iron ladder.There’s no one to stop him
at this time.He sits down
cross-leggedopens the thermos and pours
the coffee into
the cup partand sips.
Ahead of him
the city sleeps.Only a lone light shines
here and there
in some window.If a light is there
he’s watching itsmiling to himself
and thinking that
each one of
those houses
must contain its own
drama, its own
tragedy.Each house is like
a jar of
bugs and worms
and other crittersAnd here he stands
alone
observing them all
as he sips his coffee.Feeling utterly
blessed. -
god’s ways
mornings aren’t made for
waking up,
he used to say.
In the morning
one should just start his
second sleepthere weren’t a lot of people
who heard him say
the words, but the few who did
dismissed them as
silly ramblings of a drunkHe was in his early thirties
breaking his back in manual labor
at a construction site
during the day
and getting wasted at nightHe reached the point where
six beers were no longer
enough for a suitable high, yet the
hangover seemed to
never endThis morning too
he wouldn’t have woken upwork started only
at 1 PMbut somebody knocked on
his door
and was quite insistentAs he got out of bed
he stepped on a cracked beer
can and
cut his footstarted to hop around the room
and curse and throw
random stuff at the wallsReady to give whoever knocked at his
door a bit of venombut then he
opened and was met with
her“Remember me?” the girl
asked through
an inquisitive grin, her eyes
looking down at his
bleeding foot“Who in fuck’s name
are you? What d’ you want?”“Um… to apologize? Yeah, I
wanted to apologize.
Are you okay?”“Apologize
for wh…?”
In that moment he rememberedSome ten, twelve years ago
he stole that bag of
weed from her
and she got so angry she
told everybody he raped herso they nearly lynched his ass
an’ he had to
run away on the other side
of the worldand now here she
was againCan’t run from one’s past, but
“I ain’t done nothing!” he
shouted in her face. “And you know
it! You fucking know it!
Takes a special kind of piece of
crap to call theft a rape, you know?
And you are that
piece of crap, you know?”“I do,” she said. “That’s why… I’m here,
I guess.”
She pointed down at his foot.
“You’re bleeding. Can I come in?”“Why? So you’ll tell everybody again
that I’ve raped your crazy ass?”“No. So I could talk to you
about what happened, and… Help you
with that injury, I guess.”Well
God, it turns out, doesn’t want
people to be alone for
the rest of their livesbut God’s ways of bringing them
together
sure are weirdSix months later
they were marriedNot because they loved each other
so much
but because she threatened to
yell ‘rape’ again if he
refused to make her his wife“Joke’s on you, I guess,” he said. “I was
God’s loneliest and most
desperate motherfucker anyhow.”“I know,” she said
and in that
moment
God’s brilliant masterplan
for his subjects
shone once more -
the body and mind will find other ways
fourteen years ago
at the birth of his
daughter
the wife made him swear before
the holy cross
that he’ll never touch
drink again
in his lifeHe kept the promise
Also
fourteen years ago
the wife made him swear
before the holy cross
that he’ll never
touch a slot machine or
a poker table in his lifeHe kept that
promise alsosix years ago
the wife also made him
swear before the holy
cross
that he’ll never touch himself
again in his lifethis had nothing to do
with keeping the family unit
together in a healthy wayit was only his wife’s
whimshe would not have
her daughter
provided for and educated
by a sinful manHe kept that
promise tooeven though the wife
was as ungenerous as one
could be when it came
to taking care of his needscopulating without the
aim of creating life
was a sin, of course. So it had
to be avoided“Goddamit, Jesus! How d’ you keep
yourself sane livin’
like that?”
some of his coworkers had askedThey called him Jesus,
not because
he partook in his wife’s zealotry
but because he had
a hole in his left handright between the
bones of the middle and
ring finger“They’re called metacarpal bones,” the
wife had saidShe knew about the injury
and knew how he’d
made itDozens of times
she’d watched him insert
a thin knitting needle through that hand
and then pulling it backward
and forward
while moaning in painShe respected and loved
him for the ritual“Subjecting yourself to a fraction of
what He had gone through,” she’d said
in admiration. “Darling,
this is worthy of praise. Finally you’re
the man I wanted
you to be. A true man of
Christ!”Indeed
she had that opinion
of him and his madness
and with her own madness
they formed the happiest Christian
familyShe didn’t need to know
that the ritual
caused him to ejaculate, for the
body and mind will find
other ways to
get rid of excess seed
when the normal means are
blockedand God didn’t need to
punish him
for he wasn’t
exactly touching himselfWhat doesn’t a man
do for his family? -
birch trees
His was the only house
painted pink
in the whole neighborhoodIt looked silly in the
warm season
and creepy in the coldsmall trees dotted the front
and back yard
and further
beyond a forest began to
gain contoursIt was a forest of
birch treesand he visited it every time
the pink house
felt like it no longer wanted
him insideand unfortunately that
was almost
every night“I feel it in the vibration
inside the walls,” he said. “It’s
akin to a baby’s cries. She
doesn’t want me
here.
Never did want me here.”He was talking about a daughter
who departed
some eight years ago
along with his wifeThey wanted the house to
be painted pink
and he did it for themIt was one of the requests
they made while he
was sobereverything they asked while he
was sober was grantedproblem was
they rarely caught him
soberSoberness meant it was
time to talk about
all the
shit he’d done while drunkso he’d drink some more
to forget
and then do
other stuff worth talking
aboutOne of the most
vicious circles in
realityand the hardest to
break“A circle only breaks when
there’s nothing
sustaining it,” he said to
the birch trees behind
the pink house. “And now
I am nothing.”He walked up to one of the trees
and circled it with
his arms
and bit with his lips at
the few pieces of peeled bark
and closed his eyesit was close enough to
hugging his
wife, for she was pale
and thin and bony
as the birch tree, and biting
the peeled bark
was close enough to
biting her hair and…Well, better not to think
about itBetter to just ask
how in the hell did he hug
the tree in
daytime
and closed his eyes
and when he opened them
again
it was nighttimeWhat the hell was
this birch tree magic?He went back to
the pink house
and sobered upSwore to himself that
he’ll never get
drunk againand opened
another bottle of vodka
to celebrate that -
getting metaphysical
there’s gotta be
some kind of metaphysical
lesson here, he
thought as
he turned away from her
in bed
and got slapped on the face
and had to turn
right back
and hold her in his armsno exchange of
words between themIt’s been only a few months, perhaps
three or four, since
he broke into her
car
and stole her backpack with
money and her ID
and books and other stuff,
and returned it to her door
the next dayPretending he was
this hero
who brings back the stolen goods“A guy tried to sell me
these books to
get money for meth,” he said
when he gave it backand from one word to another
the hero
eventually invited the
damsel in distress to dinner
and from then on
they became
a couple“Know what you want in life
and go after it,” his
father would’ve saidIt made sense, but…
attaining the object of one’s
desire
certainly isn’t always
a good thingIf we’re to get really
metaphysical here, people
are nothing more
than children in the grand scheme of
thingsand children sometimes
desire to touch the hot stove
or to lick at the
blue flames thinking they’re coldWe think that the
fulfillment of one’s wish
translates into happinesswe’re so
damn wrong, aren’t we?“Did you remember to set the
alarm for 6:30 AM?” she asked
in the darkness“Sure,” he said.
“Good. Now squeeze me tighter. And don’t
let go even as you fall asleep or
I’ll slap you again.
Gods, love, sometimes I think you’ve
the mind of a child.
Why else won’t you understand that
the right dreams
come only as I’m being held tight,
squeezed in a man’s arms.
This night
the spirit guardian is going to
reveal to us
what grave to dig on the morrow. So
squeeze me right
while I tune in to hear, okay?”“Uh… Right. Good night, love.”
“Good night.”
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Happiness comes two ways , my father taught me, BY faith, and Hard Work, enjoyed your writings.
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Thank you (^_^)
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I believe there may be a few philosophers left. Their voices may have been drowned in the multiple seas of social media but I think poets are somewhat philosophers, They dream and think outside the box. Thanks for stopping by Poemattic.
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Hope things are cool and hot DR., I’m a bit curious, I was looking over your work, and wonder if you do any strip writing ? I ‘m working on a book that will be a finish play. I don’t want it to get to much graphic dialog but need the iron words to push these concepts. Any suggestions. Like instead of B, or F, MF, I thought Bush Wet, Funk n Fish, Mold Food, well if you get a minute, Thanks.
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Hey hello, so nice meeting you! I saw you liked my post on trees, thank you so much!
Lovely poetry by the way!
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ʕっ•ᴥ•ʔっ
I thank you
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When I initially commented I clicked the “Notify me when new comments are added” checkbox and now each time a comment is added I get several e-mails with the same comment. Is there any way you can remove me from that service? Appreciate it!
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I am a little confused about your logic?
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Sure.. as an idea-unfortunately doomed to fail in practice, never mind eh?
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NvGaiprOcdbI
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uZyxIhpBWE
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hi this is a awesome website that you have thanks for sharing it with the world.
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hi this is a great site that you have thanks for sharing it with the human race.
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hi this is a awesome site that you have thanks for sharing it with the world.
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found you thank god
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you think he’d buy me mozzarella sticks
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you think so image
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Brantley
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Bellissimo lavoro,bravo continua cosi!!
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Very interesting site. Visually, on all fronts. Nice. “They” just posted a thing saying we aren’t real–just players in some virtual reality game. I have always done a lot of daydreaming and writing, but not much poetry. Looking forward to reading your work. Might get me back at mine…
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God, I LOVE “Fasting for Muses.”
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٩( ^ᴗ^ )۶
Thanks!
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Hello Bogdan,
You liked one of my Umbriate posts so I thought I’d drop in. Intriguing writing. Reading through your poetry I find…well, not sure how to put it–it resonates is the best thing that comes to mind. Glad I dropped by and will be returning. Thank you.
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Thank you very much for stopping by, Eric!
I’ll check some more of your stuff as well.
Subscribed 🙂
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