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. -
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.”
-
swineherd
after 22 years
he returned to
his old townI was just a kid
when he left
so
I didn’t recognize himbut some of the older guys
were quick to
offer him a
drink“Who’s he?” I asked
and the only answer I got
was
“Swineherd.”They called him
the swineherdHe was an okay
fellowknew a few bar tricks
and showed us all his
glass eye
and the hole it coveredshit looked like
a butthole when
he removed that thingHe spoke about how good it
was to be back
and the guys asked him
if he’s gonna
swineherd again
and they all laughed together
like it was the
craziest
inside joke everI went home drunk
that night
and it was the kind of
drunk that doesn’t provide
inspirationSo with nothing
to write about
I checked out some random
news on my feedOne title caught
my eyeFARMER ARRESTED AFTER
BEING CAUGHT
TRANSPORTING COCAINE LODGED
INSIDE PIGS’ ANUSESHmm…
Well, I’ll be damned
Suddenly
I knew what to write about
and got to it -
nothing’s weird at this point
“They call it demon possession,” she
said, her hands
busy struggling to open a
beer bottle
that was already opened.“Maybe you should
stop drinking,” I said. “It really
looks like you’ve had enough.”but of course
she doesn’t hear that. She only
hears what she wants toPeople talk to her
but their words have
to pass through
the thinnest filter I’ve ever seenher mind
So because she didn’t hear me, or
rather her mind did not
register my words and
their meaning, she went on with
her story and
with trying to open an
already opened beer bottle.
“I think I was only… um, sixteen. On that
night I shot my older brother in his
sleep. Killed him dead.
Stole his keys and took his
car and went for…
what d’ you call that?”“A joy ride?” I said
“Hahahah! Yeah. A joy ride.”
Now she did hear me. Cuz I
behaved according to
her script“I did not crash the
car. Didn’t even scratch it! I never
went through driver’s ed
but still I drove
better than my bro. I was made
for driving. But then, you know, I just
returned home
and I told my mother everything
that happened. With a smile on my pretty
face. I mean, it was super pretty
back then. You should’ve seen me.
I have pics, but they’re still nothing
like the real thing.
You would’ve soooo wanted to
fuck me back then, I guarantee.”“I would’ve been fourteen
back then,” I said. “Would you have
left a boy two years your
junior hit?”But it was another thing
her mind didn’t
register“It’s all I could think about. I don’t know,
is it weird to say that… That
a car ride, that joy ride had
caused my sexual awakening?
Perhaps the surge
of adrenaline caused me to
become immeasurably… um, horny.
D’ you think it’s weird?”“Nothing’s weird
at this point,” I said, actually
taking the beer bottle away
from her handImmediately
her hands went to her
hair
and grabbed at random
and pulled
playfully
while she bit her lips.
“Ah, a long story follows.
Mother called the authorities
and I was taken
into this… uh, this place for
troubled teens. Was too young to
go to prison, haha.
And the biggest issue here was…
I mean, I was really disappointed. Not
one, not a single one of
the staff members
wanted to… you know, to do
it with me. Not the men, not the
women. Not even the other
teenagers.
Can you believe this shit?
All those stereotypes of
mental asylum workers abusing
their patients… Fake! All of them.
Couldn’t even get
a smile from them, let alone
a fuck.
And eventually they quenched
this desire of mine. With
meds.
I don’t even know what they
gave me, but
in time, they numbed me for good.
And now… I don’t even make
the difference
between penetration
and wiping with toilet paper.
Feels the same to me.
What good is a body if it can’t
make love?”“It can tell stories,” I said
At this
she smiled
and leaned over
and took the
beer bottle from me
and drankI’m still not sure
if my words
were registered into
her mind
or notbut maybe not knowing
makes it even
better -
one more coffee
A customer spat into
her face
todaysaid the coffee she prepared
was too hotand she refused to
get the authorities
involvedtold the manager
she forgave the guyShe was like that
Every time someone wronged
her with something
she’d be as quick to forgive as a
childIt was nice working
with herThough she was also
one of those people who were
a bit too good for
their own goodHence she never got a raise
in over five yearsthey just knew she wouldn’t
mind. She’d just
forgive and move onIt was exactly
soAt the end of the shift
she went back to her
one room apartment
and stared
at the
blank wall
and smiledLife was still so much
better now
than back then
when
the CPS found her
locked in the dog cage
and took her
away from a mother and
father that didn’t even care
that much“Forgiveness,” she says, “is what
turns the human into
a god. If you can
do that
then you can do anything.”I think she’s right
that’s why I always
leave a big tip
at the coffee shopOne day I’ll muster up
the courage
to ask her
to be my museI just know she’ll answer
with, “Darling, I already am.”But until then
I’ll just have
one more coffeeThank you
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Daydreaming as a profession 
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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