Tag Archives: F. J. Bergmann

F.J. Bergmann

Open to Interpretation

Well, it could be a metaphor for sex,
but I prefer to think of it as representing
the experience of being sacrificed
on the altar of the great god Pan
and then dismembered
and flung to the wolves
who are not mentioned directly
in the poem.

F.J. Bergmann edits poetry for (mobiusmagazine.comand imagines tragedies on or near exoplanets. She is still dreaming of a better universe.


F. J. Bergmann

We Call This Living

White and angular,
my mother’s plastic-upholstered furniture
expressed not minimalism,
but absence.

F. J. Bergmann edits poetry for Mobius: The Journal of Social Change (mobiusmagazine.com), and imagines tragedies on or near exoplanets. Work appears irregularly in Analog, Asimov’s, Polu Texni, Pulp Literature, Silver Blade, and other places. A Catalogue of the Further Suns won the 2017 Gold Line Press poetry chapbook contest and also won the enthusiastic praise of OSP editor Dale Wisely.

F.J. Bergmann

Guardian Demon

If you elicit true candor (which can
be done in many ways, like sharing
a six-pack, a fifth, or maybe even
brownies with a special ingredient),
you’ll find that pretty much everybody
has a beef: some secret grudge or sense
of injury (using the term “sense” loosely),
something about which, with the right
sequence of nods and grunts, muttered
agreement, judicious use of the words
Grandpop used for the kind of people
he disliked without knowing anything
about, you can get them to start being
more outspoken, to meet up with others
like them, to talk a lot about the kind
of guns they own—like throwing a stone
into a pond, to create circular ripples
you can watch spread out, for fun.

F.J. Bergmann would have liked to proofread the universe before it went live.

F. J. Bergmann

Vodka over Ice

What he read wasn’t a eulogy
or a poem, but a highway map,
and I could already see the story
funneling his adoration of his grandfather
into infidelity, obesity and alcoholism
fifty years down the road.

F.J. Bergmann is tempted away from the virtues of simplicity far too often.


F. J. Bergmann


Every night
just before he fell
asleep, voices
would offer him
ideas, but as long
as he kept pretending
he was listening
to the soundtrack
of a war movie
everything was okay.


F.J. Bergmann sometimes thinks that life is like one long sentence—poorly punctuated, too.