Categories
Poetry

Limitations

Today I seem fascinating

Tomorrow I am dead

Peeling back the skin

Hellraiser


So boring

All this pretense

Waiting for the bomb

And God


There is no answer

There is no truth

Even fuckin John

Lennon was a lie


Disappointing

An only child

A bastard I

Gave up on my dreams

Bogdan Tiganov

Categories
Poetry

The best years

Remember when we were
Like sticks
Rattling in the wind,
Bouncing around schools,
Homes, cinemas and, later,
Pubs.

So vulnerable
With crap hair
And cheap clothes,
Head down
Ashamed of everything –
Nobody cared yet
Nobody wanted us to win.

Those were
The best years of our lives,
They were,
And, luckily,
We won’t ever
Have to live them again.

Bogdan Tiganov

Categories
Poetry

Your type

Stern, stiff and standoffish
Hard and dismissive
Pained and dissatisfied
But people expect things
All the time
A certain flexibility
A way in

We grow into these trees
Bolted to our roots
And everything is water

It takes a certain type
Your type
To walk away
From your sons
And don’t look back
Stone-faced
In the present
Asleep on the sofa
Drunk

Bogdan Tiganov

Categories
Poetry

In the 21st century

Half-answered prayers
Ghosted messages
Interest lost
Immediately

Superficial relationships
Contrived social media lives
Wannabes, credit cards
Paycheque to paycheque
Anxious corporate robots

Depressed
Flicking through Netflix
Spotify, Amazon, eBay
Living inside six glowing inches
Of banal fantasies

Bogdan Tiganov

Categories
Poetry

The last time I saw my dad

Was in 1999 for my 18th birthday
He took me to the pub
Bought me a Guinness and said
Now you can drink

I used to be in awe
Of his grizzled face, cold eyes
And stern handshake –
I’d laugh nervously
Yes, dad,
I thought I had to please
To be loved

Ha. Ha.

Life is like that is it not
Nonsensical and shitty

Bogdan Tiganov

Categories
Poetry

A middle class poem

Wednesdays I shut my windows –
All of them –
To not hear the caretakers
Mow the lawn,
Trim the bushes
Or whistle.
I feel a little guilty but, honestly,
The noise gives me
Headache.

Bogdan Tiganov

Categories
Poetry

Reading Bukowski again

After twenty years
Hank no longer seems as tough
or as wise – just a little put on,
and repetitive.

I’ve seen too much money
come and go, too many loved ones
die. Feed the machine,
nothing else.

I’m far too fucking jaded now,
old and tired of everything.
Even the contrived ugly truths
of Buk bore me.

Bogdan Tiganov

Categories
Art Poetry

Hyperbole

Owen Winn

Categories
Poetry

The West is afraid

The people shook
Death wipes his mouth
Your mortgage
Kids and car lease
Darkness everlasting
Overtime and
Weekends
Kissing the boss’s
Behind
Lock the doors
Silent dogs
Drinking.

Bogdan Tiganov

Categories
Poetry

Dad’s dead

Dad, cut himself out
of every photograph
so one day I would forget him

Dad, cradling me as a baby
Dad, holding a tennis racquet
Dad, playing football in the park
Dad, watching Jackie Chan movies
Dad, who turned his back on me

A stone is always a stone
and my dad’s dead

Bogdan Tiganov