Ben Bonkoske

Poet Without a Pen

Ben Bonkoske

  • monday night poetry #24

    My first book has a very simple moral that people who are spared a traumatic childhood, though not always as sentimental or emotional, aren’t as broken, and that ripples into their lives. One doesn’t want to feel like the world has let them down or it owes them something. I try to not ask for a whole lot. It isn’t about life being easier or harder, it is just having the tools to handle when life is hard, or how to stand on your own two feet when you’re alone because you know that you aren’t. I’ve lost very sentimental things that can not be replaced.

    poem poem

    remind me I’m not alone

    -B.B

  • watermark

    Authenticity is something that will ultimately reveal itself, whether that be in a career, a relationship, or in the mirror. I have been opening up, unsolicited, far more than I would like to admit. I have all sorts of demons which haunt me and a sad sob story. I remember explaining to my grandmother that if life continues on like “this” she may be attending my funeral. She said that she wouldn’t blame me. What is hard to accept is that I have not left what I came here to leave, so you will have to put up with me for what I wish was three years, but is more than likely going to be five or six more weeks of winter. I’m stupid in so many ways. I understand a lot more about the world than I’d like to admit. But that is all I’m good for, admitting things that are of nobody’s business, and understanding myself, because at the end of the day, God might not be so sympathetic to an early arrival, but I, personally, would understand why I left during the intermission.

  • workfires

    America’s birthday was tonight. I went to the party. Many of the people I loved were there. Some weren’t. I’m only as good as my tired soul, but I’m wide awake, its morning. I’m happy

  • Tuesday Morning Poetry #1

    Let’s never lose sight

    that life is to be enjoyed

    not a toy that is unopened

    or destroyed

    -B.B

    All the books in the world

    don’t equal pi

    and won’t find me

    her number, sign, or middle name

    but what does it matter?

    under the moonlight

    B.B

    Somethings don’t fit properly

    but souls are molded like clay

    and you can always

    find a new way

    B.B

  • waking up

    “Forgiveness in no way requires that you trust the one you forgive.”

    If I’m going to procrastinate, I might as well get something done. A friend of mine had her last class of undergraduate this past week, and she reveled in the thought that now she can focus on the more important parts of life since she won’t be occupied with classes. I thought this silly of her, until I realized that I wasted ALL DAY just avoiding doing what I should, which is to read a few short stories for my fiction class. It isn’t so much that there is work to be done, it is the drudgery of just accomplishing crap when you know damn well that your time would be better spent on artistic endeavors. I knew moving back to the city was going to be a little shocking, and I am managing…pretty well, all things considered. Some weeks will be easy, some I’m sure will chew me up and spit me out I sure. My bedtime has been very inconsistent, I will say that. I’m back to day 0 on all of my stupid standards I hold myself to like cold showers in a row, and etc. But it is nice to not look at the time as a battle of how can I do the least with the most amount of energy. Today, either way, was one of those days. I do hold myself to high standards, so it is very common that I feel “dirty.” What a waste of my early twenties. I think Charles Yu wrote that during this period he was unhappy for the right reasons. I relate. I am trying to be the best version of myself. A man of substance, flesh and blood. Is it the end of the world that I fall below par? No. Do I feel farther away from reaching my optimum potential because I socially make bad decisions? I suppose. I suppose I suppose I suppose, I think, I know everything. How little is my brain at comprehending the big questions. I think that is first and foremost my biggest issue. I try to trivialize the big questions by answering them. I know that I know nothing. I overestimate the importance of things, and when they come around, they never seem to matter the way they do in my head. Better off dead, I suppose.

    ,

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.