Many thanks to LatinosUSA —English edition for featuring my poem, "should’ve been a poet"!
Check it out HERE!
Thank you!
should’ve been a poet
Într-o căsnicie deschisă
(⌐■_■)–︻╦╤─ Read the English version HERE
▶️ BASA: POUR WHISKEY OVER MY HEART AND SET IT ON FIRE | Bogdan Dragos
2022 | © tea solon
Mandaue City
Philippines
Taking a short break from doing translation work and now devouring Bogdan‘s 2020 poetry collection PourWhiskey Over My Heart And Set It On Firewhich carries with it the signature images that scandalizes, tears, and undo me every time. I love how Bogdan’s poetry disturbs the psyche and annihilates moral boundaries that sometimes Boccaccio’s The Decameron comes to mind and marries every heinous psychological thriller film there is. Great afternoon read!
Pressure by Bogdan Dragos
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she slept with a small,
thin Batman plushie
between her
breasts
and often woke up
with it
soaked in sweat
The poor Batman looked
diseased,
crushed,
and suicidal.
Clearly he was facing a
villain he could
not hope to defeat
It was the dreams
that made her
sweat so
There was much pressure
in her dreams
The last one
was about her lower jaw
pressing against the upper
one
until the teeth came out
of their socket, all of them,
and she swirled them
around her mouth
like tic-tacs
and eventually swallowed them
one by one
until she choked
In another dream
she pressed
her thumbs against her
temples
until they went in with
a crunchy sound followed
by complete silence
and pain
but the worst dreams
were those in
which she applied pressure
to others
and not to herself
There was a lot of
pressure
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Bogdan Dragos
the father and I are one
She got very deep
into spirituality
at her mother’s
sound advice
A lot of people,
including her mother,
got into spirituality
as a means to calm
the feeling of having
no control over life
whatsoever
But behold,
there are those who
go through spirituality
and come out knowing
that it none of it’s true
Suddenly they know
and understand we have
one hundred percent control
over our own destinies
Today she was one
of those people
“It’s all a matter of
how we manage our
thoughts,” she said
“How we organize
our minds. You attract
what you focus on
most of the time.
It’s that simple.”
The guys at the bar all
nodded, each hoping
to get some private
lessons out of her
And one of them did
He took her to his place
where he found out that
she was on her period
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Doar un trotuar
(☞ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)☞ Read the English version of this poem HERE
our very own patron saint By Bogdan Dragos
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he was a doctor
Goddammit, they were looking at
a doctor
He came into the casino in a suit,
the same suit every day and night
dark gray
shiny with grease around the
elbows and lower back
smelly
patched up in places
he kinda forgot what it was like to be
sober
and lately he kinda forgot what
it was like to win at the slot machines
he forgot how to perform surgery
how to diagnose a patient
forgot what the company of a woman felt like
forgot what love was
he was a machine that consumed cheap
but strong alcohol
Rubbing alcohol filtered through bread
That stuff was 70% alcohol
his liver knew it
"Ah, pleaseeee, for the love of God, don't
make me work with this
stuff again," he would scream while
playing at the slot machine
and the bouncer would walk up to him
and say, "Hey…
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sometimes you don’t have to lead the insane to happiness, but to follow
By Bogdan Dragos
he would start whistling Very random and very loud even at night in bed and stopping him was very much a gamble The caterpillar-like stitches on his wife’s arm were a testimony to that He’s never been the same since his head injury Poor fellow just had the terrible, terrible luck to walk underneath an overpass while some teenagers were throwing big rocks for fun Now he kept calling the emergency number and crying that his wife had gone missing when she’d be just in the other room or at work The neighbors filed noise complaints because of his nightly whistling and apparently he no longer knew how to use the toilet paper. He always smelled and it was worse when he climbed in bed besides his wife It was hell and hell broke people and tonight again he started whistling and woke her up and as…
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Pour the Whiskey Over My Heart and Set It On Fire by Bogdan Dragos
What Da Cover Says: Horror Sleaze Trash proudly presents the poems of Bogdan Dragos.
What I Says: I have followed Dragos on WordPress for many years now and he has entertained me all that time with some bloody good poems, you are guaranteed to get something dark and fucked-up that will give ya a chuckle….unless it’s just me giggling.
Horror Sleaze Trash presents this mighty fine collection from Dragos, it contains some of his most twisted material, I love how again and again he is able to surprise me with how the poem ends. In my opinion the tone of a poetry collection is always set by the first one, it has to be strong and it needs to get some kind of rise from you or you ain’t gonna enjoy what’s next, Dragos starts us off with “some things can never be put back together” a brilliant start, messed…
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A Cracked Shell by Bogdan Dragos
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“Lack of love,” she once told him, “can turn
a man into a cracked shell. Turn
his steps into rotten
butterfly wings falling. Turn his
breath into ether. His heart into a sick slug
struggling to escape a haunted bog.”
Sure, sure
but then again his parents told him
long ago when he was a child
that if he kept making ugly faces
he’ll remain like that forever
Well, now his parents weren’t here
and she wasn’t here
He was all alone
with his cat who gently licked at its genitals
besides him on the other pillow
Other than the cat’s saliva
breaking apart in contact with its fur
and skin
there was no sound in the room
it was all so peaceful
There was a gentle drizzle outside
just enough to keep people
and noisy children off the streets
It was perfect
Had she been here
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Daydreaming as a profession 