songless bird By Bogdan Dragos

Gobblers & Masticadores

a songless bird

that would be the nicest
name she’d been
called

the others,
far more common,
being
that little wench
your bastard kid
the little rat
useless piece of shit that came outta you
and others

She liked the term
songless bird
It was a title worthy of her in
all the good and the
bad ways

The songless bird stands
locked in her room
and knocks and waves in
the window
for she has no voice to sing

She gives silent cries to the
neighbors and
the passersby when the noises
from the other side of
her door
get too violent

or when it smells
of smoke

Which happens
every now
and then

View original post

Bogdan Dragos

Horror Sleaze Trash

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

View original post 85 more words

Will Not Get With the Times by Bogdan Dragos

Don't forget to check out and follow MasticadoresIndia to find more writings to enjoy! Thanks! 
(´。• ᵕ •。`) 

MasticadoresIndia // Editora: Terveen Gill

The side blurry profile of a bare chested man covering his ears with the palms of his hands
Image Source: Snappa

he just wanted to write

Very old-school character

Used pencils and paper

But the city

wouldn’t let him. The city outside

his four walls stood like

a sea of noise

against his dreams

“Listen,” his wife said, “these days

they don’t even accept snail mail

submissions. You have to get

with the times. It’s done digitally,

by e-mail today. Can you understand

this? Are you listening?”

“Listening?” he snapped. “Oh, I am

listening, dear. I sure am.

Even when my ears are covered

and plugged. I am still

listening. Because there is no

fucking way to

evade the noise! No crevice in

this place is silent anymore. It’s

hell! Hell is the city,

hell is the noise, the screaming,

the crying, the gnashing of teeth.”

She got out of the room,

knowing that any further persuasion

would be futile,

and returned to the living room

couch where…

View original post 232 more words

Doar un trotuar

(☞ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)☞ Read the English version of this poem HERE

MasticadoresRumanía Editora: Manuela Timofte

de Bogdan Dragoș

Sunt un trotuar

unul pe care ale tale picioare
s-au târât grele și 
umede și obosite

și mă-ntreb încotro te
duci
și de unde vii

Mă uit într-una în sus
sătul de tălpi și picioare
chiloți și monede pierdute
și gunoaie aruncate 

și indiferență

Prea mulți oameni, prea puțini câini
și doar câteva pisici și șobolani
în noapte

Dar tu ești diferită. Tu nu porți
pantofi și piciorușele tale
sunt reci și delicate 
și-n urma ta 
mă pictezi cu o dâră de sânge 

N-ai chef de complimente, știu. Dar
am s-o spun oricum. Ești frumoasă

Și sper... sper că 
oricine te urmărește 
n-o să te 
prindă niciodată

Îmi doresc să pot face
ceva, să pot ajuta

dar eu sunt un trotuar
sub tine
și pot doar privi

Imagine de toocheesh de la Pixabay

https://bogdandragos.com/

Volume publicate:

View original post

our very own patron saint By Bogdan Dragos

ヽ(•‿•)ノ Visit Gobblers/Masticadores and find more writings you can enjoy!

Gobblers & Masticadores

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…

View original post 210 more words

Rotten Tongue by Bogdan Dragos

Don't forget to check out and follow MasticadoresIndia to find more writings to enjoy! Thanks! 
ヾ(・ω・*)ノ

MasticadoresIndia // Editora: Terveen Gill

A close up of a man sticking out his tongue and there are nails embedded in it
Image Source: Snappa

the big purple bird

with no eyes

and chipped beak

didn’t fly

It walked like a normal

person would. Almost like someone

was wearing it as a costume

but he knew

of course

that there was no one wearing the costume

It

was real

and it showed itself to him

on too many occasions. Every time

he was alone

and it was hard to not be

alone

when you drove all people away from

your life

The bird got closer and

closer and

began talking to him and telling him

how his rotten tongue was

cursed

and that he would drive away everyone

to whom he spoke

He couldn’t take it anymore

and ran out of

the house

and towards the car

Oh, but the purple bird was

there already

Inside

Waiting on the passenger’s side

he began to scream

They found him the next morning

collapsed…

View original post 135 more words

sometimes you don’t have to lead the insane to happiness, but to follow

Gobblers & Masticadores

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…

View original post 24 more words

“she speaks the language of blood” — POEM featured in Suburban Witchcraft Magazine Issue 1





Issue 1 of “Suburban Witchcraft Magazine” is now live!
((๑´ᗜ`) isn't the cover absolutely stunning? Wait till you see the rest of the artwork inside!)


And I have the honor to be featured in it with a poem titled "she speaks the language of blood".


Give it a read HERE!




( ✪ワ✪)ノ Thank you very much! 

To Become a Man by Bogdan Dragos

Don't forget to check out and follow MasticadoresIndia to find more writings to enjoy! Thanks!  ´・ᴗ・ `

MasticadoresIndia // Editora: Terveen Gill

The painting of a young woman holding a standing toddler boy in front of her
Image Source: Snappa

the good thing about being young

is that you don’t take

as much damage from falling

ten is a fantastic age

for falling

and for getting into

fights

with other kids

It usually all ends with

a handshake and a

tightened friendship

Unless adults get in the way. It all goes

down when adults get in the way.

Childhood itself goes to

hell when adults get in the way

He feels the

scar on the back of his head

aching every time he thinks of this

of the day father had him

fight another ten year old

He didn’t want to

so father pushed him from the back

and called him a pussy

And then father called him

a pathetic piece of crap after he lost

the fight

Father was a gambler. He bet the other kid’s

father that he’ll win the fight

But he lost miserably…

View original post 258 more words

fără rimă

Poem written in my original language (Romanian). 
TRANSLATION: 

"Um... it doesn't rhyme,"
she said

I looked at her.
"You kidding?"

And then she shook her head.
"No, look, this poem
really has no rhymes
at all
You sure it's the right file?"

"Let me see."

She handed me her phone
and I looked at the text
on the screen, smirked, turned off
the phone and kissed her

"You are truly the cutest," I said. "But,
you see, not all poems
must have rhymes."

"Sure they do. Then why d' you write
them? And why should the
world bother to read them?"

"Good question. Maybe I'll find
out one day..."

MasticadoresRumanía Editora: Manuela Timofte

de Bogdan Dragoș

– Uite, nu rimează, zise ea.

Am privit-o adânc. 
– Tu... vorbești serios? 

Dădu din cap. 
– Uite, poezia asta chiar n-are nici o
rimă. Nimic. 
Ești sigur că-i documentul care 
trebuie? 

– Dă-mi să văd.

Îmi dădu telefonul
și am citit textul de pe ecran,
am zâmbit, am închis telefonul
și am sărutat-o.

– Ești... cea mai drăguță, i-am zis.
Dar vezi tu, nu toate poeziile
trebuie să aibă și rimă.

– Cum să nu? Atunci de ce
le mai scrii? Și de ce le-ar mai citi
lumea?

– Bună întrebare. Poate într-o zi o
să aflu...

Imagine de Roland Mey de la Pixabay 

https://bogdandragos.com/

Volume publicate:

View original post

Create a website or blog at WordPress.com

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: