The January Editor's Pick Poet is Dennis Bagwell

Please feel free to email Dennis at: firedennis@aol.com

POETRY JUNKIE

I am a poetry junkie
Always running down the next high
Constantly looking to score an ounce of inspiration from wherever I can get it
Staring blankly at my notepad for hours on end
Hallucinating words onto blank pages
High on verbs and nouns and rhymes
Pen marks on my hands
Fingers stained with ink
Dark circles under my eyes
Ashamed at the dark recesses I've explored to get what I need
Not caring where I end up when I pass out from exhaustion
As long as my pages are filled
I wake up the next day and do it all over again, looking for the next high.

SUICIDE NOTE FROM A DISTRAUGHT JACK O’ LANTERN

To whom it may concern:

I can’t take it anymore
I hate my job
I’m burnt out
My wife has shriveled away
My little pumpkins have all grown and left the patch
I don’t have the guts to go on
I feel hollow, just a shell of my former self
It’s time for me to roll
Goodbye cruel world…
Love,
Jack
10-31-10
P.S. – Donate my remains to a bakery

BALTHAZAR VERMIN

I once met a Vampire who went by the name of Balthazar Vermin
We sat a spell one Halloween night, warming ourselves by a fire, shootin’ the breeze and spinnin’ old yarns over a mason jar of homemade whiskey
He was born in old Virginia in 1757
He was a proud veteran of George Washington’s Continental Army during the Revolution
Until he had a run in with a wicked she-Vampire
Something vague about a woman scorned and what not
He lives in a coven in rural Tennessee
But he’s not like the others
They look down on him because he doesn’t follow the Vampire laws like they figure he’s supposed to
Sure, he drinks blood because he has to
But he prefers good Kentucky moonshine and a plug of chewin’ tobacco
He prefers tractor pulls and NASCAR over coffins and hearses
Beat up old trucks over beat down old cemeteries
He’s missing a tooth in front that he can spit tobacco juice out of and hit a fly with the utmost precision from 10 feet away
He has an old bloodhound he calls Banjo that follows him everywhere he goes
Balthazar Vermin is a Hillbilly Vampire

I asked him about Vampire lore, aversions to crucifixes, mirrors, garlic, and if he had supernatural powers and the like
He laughed and assured me he has no supernatural abilities to shape shift into a bat or a wolf, but surely wished he did.
He said it would come in handy more often than not
As for cemeteries, he’s not a big fan of them. They’re full of dead people, and dead people don’t make for very stimulatin’ company
He doesn’t care for crucifixes, as he never had much use for religion when he was alive
He hasn’t any use for garlic, but has nothing against it
He likes mirrors just fine. How else would Vampires comb their hair?
He said most Vampire lore is just bullshit, made up for the Hollywood movies
He said the one irritating thing that no one ever addresses is the severe halitosis that Vampires suffer from
Their breath smells like rot and decay from all the dried blood in between their teeth
Not to mention their insides are all sour
They are dead after all

BEATDOWN

If knowledge was a weapon
I would shoot you in the head
A bullet of compassion right between your eyes
To wake your ass up and make you see the light

I’d beat you with the club of enlightenment
To illuminate the darkness you wallow in
Until you could clearly see
That you are selfish, mean and insensitive

I would punch you with the fists of justice
So that your many victims might could take some satisfaction from seeing your inflated sense of self importance drain like the blood from your nose

I would kick you with the boots of reason
Until your deceit dissipates
And your hurtful lies have been spit out like the teeth from your mouth

I would strangle you with words of sensibility and rationale
Until your hurtful, selfish, mean, insensitive, ignorant, self centered, narcissistic, inflated, out of control ego curls up into the fetal position and begs for its life

Maybe knowledge, compassion, enlightenment, justice, reason, sensibility and rationale wouldn’t do you any good after all is said and done
But it sure would do me some good just to have the pleasure of kicking the shit out of your dumb ass

STACKED

When the infection began
And millions quickly died
It soon came to light
That the Government lied

Bodies lay in piles
Littering the streets
Devoured by flies
And other urban beasts

Some stacked the bodies
10 or 12 high
Then lit the fires
And stood there and cried

Those who were left
Said their goodbye's
Then walked away desperate
In search of supplies

But it was cold outside
And supplies were few
They all looked around
What could they do?

Some stacked the bodies
10 or 12 high
And lit the fires
To keep warm and dry

Those who were left
Said their goodbye's
Then walked away hungry
In search of supplies

Their stomachs were growling
And the stores were all bare
Their hopelessness growing
Into utter despair

The dogs have been eaten
And so have the cats
What I wouldn't give
For a barbequed rat

So they thought the unthinkable
With fear in their eyes
It's better that suffering
An uncertain demise

So they stacked the bodies
10 or 12 high
And lit the fires
And ate to stay alive

Those who were left
Said their goodbyes
Then walked away ashamed
In search of supplies

They thought if they cooked it
The virus would burn
But the virus mutated
And most of them turned

Writhing in pain
And gasping for breath
Some things are worse
Than an uncertain death

All of them rose
After they died
The ones who were left
Had nowhere to hide

They lay there helpless
And watched the dead rise
As the zombies devoured them
Like a burger and fries

So everyone left
But said no goodbyes
Just undead moans
And undead sighs

No one stacked the bodies
10 or 12 high
They just shuffled off
In search of supplies

Dennis Bagwell is a thirty-something, politically incorrect, mad at the world, X Generation, heathen, musician, poet and writer from suburban Orange County California. Dennis moved to North Georgia in 2007 and is quietly preparing for the inevitable zombie apocalypse. He has been writing in one form or another since high school. His warped rantings and observations about the cesspool of a world we are surviving in keeps his spiraling descent into madness at bay. Dennis has had his poetry published by the League of American Poets, the American Poets Society, 63Channels, Black Petals, Death Head Grin, and Word Salad Poetry Magazine. He has released two spoken-word CD's, A Random Litter of Thought (2006) and Paid in Full (2007) on Batteryface Records. A short film of Dennis’ poem Hollywood was made available to coincide with the release of Paid in Full.  Visit Dennis at: www.myspace.com/dennisbagwell for audio and video.