Ben Bonkoske

Poet Without a Pen

Ben Bonkoske

  • Ol’ Willie

    Sometimes the words just don’t come. But I know, that if I just sit here, listen to my music, and inhale, some sweet rem·i·nis·cence will unfold. It is strange to think that girls have a flower in their pants. Guys have snakes in their pockets too.

    I guess when I was the craziest the last time I went crazy, which if you get to know me, is just a little too often. I recognized the importance of consonance and assonances of words, and how, the origin of these words have different implications to different cultures who read them. The same word can have a different meaning. Even the letters can be symbolic. Words have roots to different mobs.

    Words really are just like little spells that we cast. They charm or bewitch the person who reads them. And perhaps I feel like a dark sorcerer who doesn’t want to play with magic anymore. Maybe I’ve grown bored of magic. Maybe I can’t control my magic and hurt people with it. Maybe I think that if I don’t use it, it will make me more powerful. Maybe I don’t want to enchant my ex-witch. Maybe I don’t believe in magic anymore.

    I was thinking, just now in the shower, playing hackysack, there are two kinds of poor spending. The first kind is spending your money foolishly – buying too much too often. And then there is spending you money on foolish things. I fall into the category of spending my money foolishly. Perhaps I write foolishly too. I do not fall into the category of buying foolish things. But I spend a little too often, and my goal is, when I spend, let it buy something meaningful, even if it is just flowers.

  • Monday Night Poetry 11/6/23

  • I ran through the first snow of the year and thought beautifully

    It is possible for two truths to be right. For example, I’ve been tying my shoe one way since the fifth grade. I am aware that other people tie their shoes differently. Both can work. It sometimes is good to know both ways, but if my way of tying my shoe has worked for the past fifteen years, perhaps I don’t need to know the other way.

    It’s been one of those months of filling up my cup. Halloween weekend was fun I hadn’t had in too long. I might just write the story for my paid only readers…xoxoxo

    The way I explained it is, I had a lump of coal up my ass for the last two years hoping that it’d turn into a diamond. I do have a little diamond today. It is smaller than I expected, but hey, diamonds last forever. You would be proud.

    I like who I’ve become, even at my worst, which can still be pretty ugly. To quote Winston, “To improve is to change; to be perfect is to change often.” For a while now, it has been a daily jigsaw puzzle I’ve been working out and improving here and there, whether that be meals, workouts, emotional conceptions, social crap, literacy, you know, most of the good stuff. It is not all the big things I always wanted, it’s essentially efficiency, which is rewarding by itself.

    I remember at my high school graduation, that some guy who was giving our graduation commencement said, “I want you to take this time to be really proud of yourself.” I wasn’t feeling it. I also remember a drive home tonight with a girl who was talking about how this co-worker of her’s is “a little bitch.” And then she literally described every quality I think I have about myself.

    -makes jokes at other people’s expense

    -doesn’t work well in groups

    -is a teacher’s pet

    -is extremely insecure whether he knows it or not

    So that was nice.

    My whole life (here comes the insecurity) I’ve never felt like enough. But, even though my life’s work isn’t finished, I’m just glad I got here. I’m taking my moment. I’m glad that it’s gotten easier to the extent that I can accept myself. I think we are all proud of ourselves for different reasons, in different seasons.

    I believe a lot of people liked me when I was younger for a while, but I didn’t like myself. And now, I’ll just say, it’s better to have nobody like you, but at least like yourself. A girl was talking about how she felt so lucky that she was a coward at 22. Life got a lot better. You don’t need to dig very deep in my archives to know, I think I actually do struggle with depression. It is sad. But, even as I write this in a closet I call my office, with no job, my two best friends on the spectrum, and whatever else isn’t good enough, I’m just so happy I am here. Again, not in like a life is wonderful! I’m just saying it is beautiful enough, with or without everything I think I know I want.

  • Monday Night Poetry 10/30/23

  • the five people you meet in heaven – Book Review

    This book, like many on my bookshelf, was overdue to be read. The book looks like a quick read, but just because a book look easy, short, and simple, doesn’t mean that its message isn’t profound. It might take you longer than you think to read its message.

    The story follows Eddie, a maintenance man at an amusement park called Ruby Pier. He dies trying to save a little girl from a ride malfunction, and goes through five stages of heaven, in which he meets five people who impacted his life.

    Sometimes it isn’t important to analyze sentimental pieces of art. I think this story is one that speaks for itself more than I could do it justice. There is a lot of heart, and moments that evoke emotion. It has a similar message to It’s a Wonderful Life, mixed with another significant moral, that we can also hurt people in our lives too.

    Eddie is not a bad man. He is too hard on himself, and expected better of himself. I think that he recognizes how much he was loved on earth in hindsight. As well as the importance of all the details which make up the significance of his life. The lives of those he loved, known and unknown, find acceptance in the afterlife. It is a beautiful concept that we get to reflect on life after death. I wonder who I would meet.

Ben Bonkoske is the author of two novels, Spoon in the Road, and Carolina, Colorado, California. He is also the author of two collections of short stories, Ten Zen by Ben, and Eleven Stories for 11:11. He lives in Chicago, where he likes to take walks.

B. A, M.A.T.