POETRY BY DENNIS BAGWELL
Dennis Bagwell is a politically dissenting, Gen X, straight edge punk rocker, musician and writer born and raised in Buena Park, California. He’s been scribbling since high school—mostly to stay sane, or at least his version of it. His writing walks the fine line between “poetic insight” and “unfiltered rage journal.”
His work has shown up in various publications, both online and in print, sometimes even on purpose. In 2007, his prose poem Hollywood was turned into a short film, which was released alongside his spoken word CD Paid in Full—a project that screams “cult classic” and whispers “What was I thinking?”
He relocated to North Georgia in 2007, where his hobbies include walking, telling dad jokes, reading, and playing guitar like he’s trying to win a solo battle no one else showed up for. He’s still there—sarcastic, suspicious, adulting poorly and skeptical as ever.
You can learn more about Dennis HERE
ONLY FOR ME
I read her poems once
In an online magazine
Her words haunted me
In a way I couldn’t articulate to my therapist
I looked for more of her work
All over the net
And in bookstores
But found no trace of her
Did I imagine her?
Was she a delusion?
That was so many years ago
But it seems just like yesterday
I still look for her
In between the pages in my mind
Driven to madness
Questioning my sanity
Waiting for her to speak to me
With new words
Meant for only me
I read her poems once
Her name was Sylvia
She is a poet
She is a ghost
She is real
She is a figment of my imagination
She is a fever dream
She lives only in the vacancies of my poor, deranged mind
Forever haunting me with words
Meant only for me
AN EVENING WITH A MONSTER
At a movie theater in a small southern town, Frankenstein plays to a group of theater goers.
When the movie concludes, the patrons file out, leaving a little girl in front of the theater.
She is rooted with fear as dusk descends and is unable to walk home on her own.
As the sun further sinks to its hiding place, and shadows lengthen into dark, she cries more, unsure how to get out of her predicament, but sure that the screen monster will stalk her.
Just at that moment, the town sheriff sees her and asks what she's crying about.
She explains that she's afraid to walk home in the dark, omitting that she has just watched Frankenstein.
He enquires as to her address and direction she needs to go, then takes her little hand in his.
They walk the few blocks to her home in the dark and delivers her safely to her surprised mother.
The sheriff explains she was afraid to walk home in the dark, omitting that she had just watched Frankenstein.
The mother thanks him for his kindness and the sheriff disappears into the night, waiting for the next problem to solve.
The time is the late 1930s. The little girl is my grandma.
A TURNTABLE FABRICATES HOPE DURING THE APOCALYPSE
In the waning days of the apocalypse, a lone zombie shambles, (as we know they do), down deserted alleys, through broken glass, past buildings pock marked with the terrors of war.
Hoping for an opportunistic meal of blood and viscera to keep him going one more day.
Off in the distance, a scratchy punk record revolves on a still living turntable.
Its raw sounds gliding on the fall breeze, sparking a few lone neurons in the zombie’s decaying brain. Reminding it, if only faintly and briefly of a life it once knew.
It recognizes the song. The pounding drums, the buzz of guitar, the snotty singers raw, angry rant about something political.
It shambles towards its melodious savior, past shattered windows, under streetlights no longer working.
Its once bright green mohawk faded and matted to the side of its maggot encrusted head. An Exploited T-shirt rotten and falling apart.
It shambles closer to the music as it rounds a corner. There on the 4th floor. A light still burns. The record still turns.
A head emerges in the window. It yells something it can no longer comprehend. A loud blast.
The left side of the zombie’s head explodes in blood and decaying brain matter all over the wall behind it.
As it slumps against the wall, the last few seconds of its life ebbing away quickly, it can hear the punk rock song lull it off to black eternity...
“I use the enemy, I use anarchy”…