Cum să scapi de fluturii din stomac

( ^◡^)っ English version here!

MasticadoresRumanía Editora: Manuela Timofte

de Bogdan Dragoș

Mi-am vizitat prietena în spital
după operația de apendicită.
Arăta bine
și zâmbetul ei a pus un zâmbet pe fața mea

– Mi-am făcut și o prietenă, zise ea.

Era o altă fată în salon cu ea
și fata asta,
cică a ajuns în spital pentru că ar fi șpreiat un
întreg tub de insecticid într-un pahar
pe care apoi l-a băut.

– De ce? Am întrebat eu.

– Ei bine, zise prietena mea, n-ai înțelege.
Hai doar să spunem că, draga de
ea voia să-și omoare fluturii din stomac.

– Ok... 

Credit: Pinterest

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Pisica din papuc

(っ◕‿◕)っ English version HERE

MasticadoresRumanía Editora: Manuela Timofte

de Bogdan Dragoș

Camera era rece
și flori gri de mucegai 
înfloreau pe pereți.
Și-a dat jos papucii
și aceștia fiind cele mai calde
lucruri din cameră
puiul de pisică
se adăposti într-unul din ei.

El stătu pe o saltea în colț
și mângâie pisica
din papuc.
Deodată, zâmbi și zise,
– Eh, măcar n-am datorii.

Până și Dumnezeu
a fost de acord cu el. I-a făcut
cu ochiul
prin gaura din tavan.

Imagine de Adina Voicu de la Pixabay

Volume publicate:

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Poem postat inițial pe https://gobblersmasticadores.wordpress.com/

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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/

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you cannot kill a poet by Bogdan Dragos

Gobblers / Masticadores // Editores: Manuela Timofte / j re crivello

young people, they think nobody has the same thoughts as them they take great pride in some made up originality as if really nobody ever thought up scenarios of themselves descending some rope from some helicopter and dropping in the middle of enemy forces and starting to shoot around, all movie like ‘an shit and killing all the bad guys while not taking one bullet One man army or there’s those other thoughts of being simply the greatest at some sport and being admired and envied for it also, the thoughts of sex in all its forms the thoughts of mindless violence of saving the day of being somewhere else and doing something else all kinds of thoughts and all the minds who think them label them as original but they’re not original they’re every young person’s thoughts and me, I also have thoughts I consider original I think of…

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poets and happy endings by Bogdan Dragos

(*゚∀゚)つ Check out Gobblers / Masticadores to find more writings you can love (─‿‿─) 

Gobblers / Masticadores // Editores: Manuela Timofte / j re crivello

"When you no longer
see the shadow of what
kept you strong
it's time to let go."

Those would be the last words
he wrote
at the back of the notebook
he filled with thoughts
and rants
and poems

‘Thoughts That Come From
The Heart’
was the title

and the work will remain
for long after he'd
pass away

At least that was the plan

But alas,
as he gave his final breath the
cigarette rolled from his fingers
to the desk and all the way
down on the shaggy carpet

It was a matter of minutes
until the
whole room became
a snapshot from the inferno

It's almost like the gods
want to send
a message. They want to
say that poets
rarely
if ever
have happy endings

I'm starting to
believe that
more and
more as
the days pass

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town of forgotten poets

there he was 
arriving on main street
carrying a backpack
and a suitcase 

both stuffed with
papers

“WELCOME TO THE TOWN
OF FORGOTTEN POETS.”
said the shadows that
watched from the 
windows
of nearby buildings

He didn’t like the 
sound of their
voices

but he sighed 
and dragged his
tired feet along 

they were almost as
tired as his soul
and just as hurt

He'll have to live on the
streets,
for the town
was overpopulated

a blunt weapon

There was a time when he’d
fear nothing more
than the bluntness of the
empty bottle

his torment
his nightmare, his hell

The bottle would be
all right as long as it stayed full
It was like Lucifer before the fall

Oh, but once it emptied
then it would change completely
Then he’d see father’s grip
reverse on its neck
and turn it into a blunt weapon
that delivered its fair share
of bruises and scabs on the scalp

It never broke
like in the movies
but it surely hit harder than wood

But in the end
after all those years of standing
in its greenish shadow
he found himself thanking the bottle

It’s simple
What you don’t pick up
you don’t end up holding

He never touched a beer in his life

and certainly didn’t use
the bottle as a blunt weapon
against anybody

not even against his own father
as revenge

The cleaver was far
more effective



Love letter by Bogdan Dragos

Gobblers / Masticadores // Editores: Manuela Timofte / j re crivello

 Usually it was after the second pack of smokes that inspiration came into his soul but today it came after the second cigarette   And when inspiration hit he'd grab the paper and pen and write letters old style   He was a romantic   My love, he wrote, this is the 272nd letter I write you, and its subject will be the idea of impossibility. I think impossibility is highly subjective, my love. I for one can climb Mount Everest in my shorts if I want to, but one thing I'll never ever do is get over you. I dream you every night. Every. Damn. Night. And I wake up and grab the dress you left behind and I wrap its strap around my penis like one of those rubber rings meant to make you last super long. I've been doing it for… a long time, love. Believe me…

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a distracted dreamer

what else to do when
the rain falls so heavy
against the window
outside?
 
Get melancholic
get poetic
have a drink
have another
 
close and then lock the door
to your room
and don't listen to
the voices coming
from outside
They want to distract you
They don't want you
to be successful
and make it in
life
 
They're all haters
 
He covered his ears
and squinted his eyes at the
computer screen
doing his best to block out
the negativity that came
from beyond the door
 
“I can't get up!” the voice
croaked. “Come help me. I can't
get up.” And then with
a cry, “Please!”
 
“Shut the fuck up, grandma!
I'm trying to
write in here. Jesus Christ, I'm
trying to make
it big, don't you understand?
For fuck's sake now.”
 
He had also sent a manuscript
to a potential
publisher and was waiting for
a reply. It's been
two days already 


Interview with Author and Poet Bogdan Dragos

The Chamber Magazine

Bogdan Dragos photo

Biography:

I was born in 1992 in Romania and had a happy childhood until I went to school. I never had an answer to the question “What would you like to become when you grow up?” and still don’t. But I was lucky enough, after college, to land a job as a dispatcher at a gambling company. There, I spend 12 hours alone in the office (day and night shifts) supervising casinos through CCTV cameras. I like to think I learned a lot about humanity from this. But I also learned a lot about myself. It’s also where I started writing.biog

What is your greatest accomplishment as a writer so far?
That’ll be the publication of my poetry chapbook, “Pour The Whiskey Over My Heart And Set It On Fire”. In August 2020 I found myself with quite a bunch of poems and no audience, so I started submitting a…

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