Daydreaming and then, maybe, writing a poem about it. And that's my life.
Here it is. THE MUSE'S BAD TOUCH A collection of dark poems highlighting the toxic and deadly relationship between poet and muse. DISCLAIMER: suitable only for a mature audience. D' you like the cover? I designed it myself ∩(・ω・)∩ Check out the free sample poems (and maybe leave a review). Thanks! I don't wanna say that the poems contained in this book are dark. It would sound pretentious right off the bat. But, yeah, between dark and light, you know already where they stand.
(╭☞•̀o•́)╭☞ English translation HERE!
de Bogdan Dragoș
ecranul tastatura camera îngustă ușa închisă ușa încuiată fereastra închisă jaluzelele trase care țin soarele la distanță un scaun un stomac gol care te imploră să nu mai torni țuică în el mai multă țuică încă un pic ești gata acum poți începe să scrii
Imagine de Waldemar Bajda de la Pixabay
https://bogdandragos.comVolume publicate:
(Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash)
I recently embarked on a Poetry Book Reading Marathon since so many of my WordPress friends have created and published poetry collections. Since they’ve been supportive of me, I want to support them! I will be posting a series of reviews of their books.
The Muse’s Bad Touch by Bogdan Dragos (2021). Available on Amazon.com.
Bogdan is a Romanian poet who appears regularly on MasticadoresIndia, MasticadoresRomania, and Gobblers & Masticadores. His poetry is dark and rich, like strong expresso, and leaves you questioning your own reality. He explores the darker side of life with characters that can only be described as eccentric, exotic, and deeply disturbing. His ability to test acceptable social boundaries and express a point of view that would shock most people, is what defines his work. In this collection, he writes about his dark muse:
“After all
a poet…
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A man's whole life revolves around his work that's what we've been raised to believe, haven't we? What right under the heavens have you, a man, to demand acceptance, love, gratification, without giving something in return? From the very days of creation you have been told: “By the sweat of your brow you will eat your food until you return to the ground, since from it you were taken; for dust you are and to dust you will return.” Put in the work, man. Put in the work. There's no way around. There just isn't. The words were carved deep with a hunting knife on the top of his desk, and whenever he'd fling and hurl the papers and pens away he'd see and read them and then cover them back with papers and pens Being a writer is just as hard as any other job but you can make…
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“Getting drunk to write
is stupid,”
she said,
“not to mention
utterly pathetic.”
And I said, “Yeah, I agree.”
“Good. Then
why are you drinking now?”
“Well…”
Shit, she got me. There
was nothing
I could say. I didn’t know
what the hell I was doing. There was
still so much about
existence that I
had no explanation for. I didn’t
drink for inspiration. I
didn’t need
inspiration. Just the courage
to write.
Suddenly I felt like the cowardly
lion from
The Wizard of Oz.
The poor fool wasn’t missing
courage, was he?
No, he just needed someone to
tell him that he already
had courage. It was
inside him all along.
Me, if I do drink, it’s never
for inspiration,
but rather the courage to
throw my written words
into the abyss
at editors
and publishers
and so on
I never seem to be ready
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she'd never seen a room so barren before Only white walls, a brown door and large windows with white frames Yet someone was living in it Someone who wanted it to be this way Her younger brother sat, as always, in the wheelchair by the window “Uh, forgive me if I'm being a nag,” she said, “but I gotta ask again. Are you absolutely sure you don't want anything in this room? Not even... I don't know, a bed maybe?” He wouldn't face her. Only the large white framed window “I don't sleep in a bed,” he replied. Why do you even ask?” “Ah, s-sorry. I just... I wanted you to feel like home in here, you know?” “Oh, dear sister, but I do feel like home. After all, isn't this what home felt like all along as we grew up?” She lowered her gaze to the gray floor as…
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funny thing was that they
were still kids
yet they loved each other much like
grown people did
They ran behind the barn
and behind a haystack and he had his
hands wrapped tightly around her
neck and squeezed hard
and moved like he tried to unscrew
something stuck
It left some nasty
red marks
She had her eyes rolled upwards
to the point where only white
was seen. White as the
froth around her lips
He let go
She blinked a few times
and spat. “No, what are you doing? Why
did you let go like that?
Oh my God, you’re so stupid! Just when
it was getting really good.”
“Sorry,” he said. “I was… M-my hands start
hurting.”
“What? Oh, you’re so lame! That’s
so weak!”
“Sorry,” he said
“Shut up and put your hands back. Get
some gloves if you have to.”
“Aw…
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(´⋆‿⋆` ) English translation HERE!
de Bogdan Dragoș
Unii oameni mănâncă vise la micul dejun și prânz și cină și nu-i nici măcar din cauză că n-ar avea ce pune pe masă
Imagine de Biljana Jovanovic de la Pixabay
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she sat him down at what she judged to be the most isolated table in the restaurant and then seated herself across from him took off her shoes and did what she always did when they shared the same table placed her feet into his lap and began to work around the belt and the zipper She was getting quite good at it. Unnaturally skilled. Her toes having the dexterity of fingers “When will you get tired of this?” he whispered She smirked at him and said, “To get tired before the climax is a sin.” It was true. In her world. But her world was a most weird one If not in the restaurant, she'd only want to get intimate in the back seat of some bus. If not that then in the bathroom of some gas station. If not that then in some changing room of a clothing…
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he rides a rusty bike
in the cold
night
sliding 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-legged
opens the thermos and pours
the coffee into
the cup part
and sips
Ahead of him
the city sleeps
Only a lone light shines
here and there
in some window
If…
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father was very patient today after he came back from work patient enough to wait for diner to be over and the table to be cleaned and the bedroom door closed before he started shouting at mother Well, she couldn't just sit back and take it. She shouted right back, louder, and just like that another fight exploded there Fights were always a problem A growing boy can't jerk off to drawings of busty women having great fun with tentacle monsters on the screen of his computer while his parents are fighting in the other room It breaks the immersion, goddammit So he turned off the computer and stood with his pants and underwear about his ankles and jerked off to the fight itself Shit, sometimes it's harder to stop the horniness than it is to stop a war An ungodly accumulation of energy has to be released somehow, else…
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Daydreaming as a profession 