Submissions by Harold-Weathervein (Levi Braathen)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
"You're going to be OKAY Harold....I can hear your God Damn smirk in your voice." '? I....oh...what does it sound like?' "Like....really rusty, not well taken care of Victorian gears grinding together." *smirk*
NON-FICTION PROSE
Published
2nd Nov 2010 7:17pm
2nd Nov 2010 7:17pm
Last Time I Let Anyone Pick Up My Tab (New Prose)
It was in Montana.
Some town right across the border from Williston.
I was working as a hired hand for a few bucks a day,
enough to eat,
enough to drink,
and enough for cigarettes.
Most yet,
enough to save up for a train ride back to anywhere i'd just come from.
The man who found me at the cafe' in town
and asked me for the work was short, bald, and had beady little eyes.
His name was Nolan.
He had three sons, a daughter, and a wonderful classic housewife
who made absolutely fantastic meals.
Both for the table,
but also,...
Some town right across the border from Williston.
I was working as a hired hand for a few bucks a day,
enough to eat,
enough to drink,
and enough for cigarettes.
Most yet,
enough to save up for a train ride back to anywhere i'd just come from.
The man who found me at the cafe' in town
and asked me for the work was short, bald, and had beady little eyes.
His name was Nolan.
He had three sons, a daughter, and a wonderful classic housewife
who made absolutely fantastic meals.
Both for the table,
but also,...
944 reads
0 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
12th Mar 2010 6:59am
12th Mar 2010 6:59am
WELL, IF YOU HAVEN'T, THAN YOU'RE A LIAR!!!
we've all thought about it,
Me,
Yourself,
Our Neighbors,
Our Family Members,
The Drunks,
The Priests,
The Nuns,
The Girls,
The Guys,
that we were all to Shy
to talk to.
either on the Highways,
or driving in our cities.
Our towns'
Ghost Towns,
or wherever we weren't supposed to be.
Just driving,
sitting behind the drivers wheel,
watching the cars coming,
than passing by,
disappearing in our rear view mirrors.
we've thought about,
how it would feel,
to,
at the last second,
turn into...
Me,
Yourself,
Our Neighbors,
Our Family Members,
The Drunks,
The Priests,
The Nuns,
The Girls,
The Guys,
that we were all to Shy
to talk to.
either on the Highways,
or driving in our cities.
Our towns'
Ghost Towns,
or wherever we weren't supposed to be.
Just driving,
sitting behind the drivers wheel,
watching the cars coming,
than passing by,
disappearing in our rear view mirrors.
we've thought about,
how it would feel,
to,
at the last second,
turn into...
843 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
7th Mar 2010 3:41am
7th Mar 2010 3:41am
if you buy the drinks, this can be about you too!
i remember those drunken nights,
when we thought we could solve everything,
with every shot of tough liquor.
with our iron unbreakable livers,
we'd all agree on Joyces' pointlessness,
Bukowskis' timid sternness.
and dispute over Eliot and Hemingway.
we all could have sworn,
that we all had the better music taste.
and then compete for superiority to impress,
those dark haired gals first,
than the blonds second.
hoping these nights with them of regrets,
would make us better writers,
better musicians.
but even through all...
when we thought we could solve everything,
with every shot of tough liquor.
with our iron unbreakable livers,
we'd all agree on Joyces' pointlessness,
Bukowskis' timid sternness.
and dispute over Eliot and Hemingway.
we all could have sworn,
that we all had the better music taste.
and then compete for superiority to impress,
those dark haired gals first,
than the blonds second.
hoping these nights with them of regrets,
would make us better writers,
better musicians.
but even through all...
#alcohol
#memories
1038 reads
3 Comments
NON-FICTION PROSE
Published
4th Mar 2010 5:05am
4th Mar 2010 5:05am
yours are theirs, and theirs aren't yours. and mine? they're theirs too.
it seems like most days,
i sit down at this same table,
open this moleskin,
and wait for the lines to write themselves.
I've all the words,
Nouns,
Verbs,
Adjectives,
The Fillers,
The Point.
what i'm missing is my memory,
the memory,
MY Memories.
a writer told me through a page of his,
not to try TOO hard, or, at all.
just let it build up,
let the fuse burn down and away.
then,
when it's full.
when the chemicals exchange.
the words will explode on the page.
and when the dust settles, ...
i sit down at this same table,
open this moleskin,
and wait for the lines to write themselves.
I've all the words,
Nouns,
Verbs,
Adjectives,
The Fillers,
The Point.
what i'm missing is my memory,
the memory,
MY Memories.
a writer told me through a page of his,
not to try TOO hard, or, at all.
just let it build up,
let the fuse burn down and away.
then,
when it's full.
when the chemicals exchange.
the words will explode on the page.
and when the dust settles, ...
937 reads
5 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
23rd Feb 2010 2:47pm
23rd Feb 2010 2:47pm
dawn dish soap can't wash everything away
it's fall now while i look down at the ground.
and i imagined the streets and walks covered in snow.
as if it was as then, maybe two to three years ago.
i remember breathing crisp, healthy air.
we had stepped outside for a cool winter smoke,
shaking and shivering, embracing the cold.
something about bricks,
something about matches.
i can only remember where, but never why.
I can't remember getting there, or the reasoning.
but i remember you exhaling little ghosts,
wondering if it was your smoke or that ice bitter cold.
(and...
and i imagined the streets and walks covered in snow.
as if it was as then, maybe two to three years ago.
i remember breathing crisp, healthy air.
we had stepped outside for a cool winter smoke,
shaking and shivering, embracing the cold.
something about bricks,
something about matches.
i can only remember where, but never why.
I can't remember getting there, or the reasoning.
but i remember you exhaling little ghosts,
wondering if it was your smoke or that ice bitter cold.
(and...
1349 reads
2 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
22nd Feb 2010 5:05am
22nd Feb 2010 5:05am
tea from the olive trees (Counter Tops)
i want to brush shoulders with Giants,
match Wit with Wit with bushes on fire,
wander the streets with no direction to,
shout at the wind and laugh at it's sense of humor.
i'll Drink the tea from Olive trees,
Deny seduction of Sisters in caves,
cure blindness so i can appear,
and finally catch the tail of a comets Flame
im gonna keep an arm span difference between the people i meet.
an unnecessary six feet from the people i see.
and keep out of ear shot from everyone speaking
in the essence of learning lessons of seasons over the sea.
match Wit with Wit with bushes on fire,
wander the streets with no direction to,
shout at the wind and laugh at it's sense of humor.
i'll Drink the tea from Olive trees,
Deny seduction of Sisters in caves,
cure blindness so i can appear,
and finally catch the tail of a comets Flame
im gonna keep an arm span difference between the people i meet.
an unnecessary six feet from the people i see.
and keep out of ear shot from everyone speaking
in the essence of learning lessons of seasons over the sea.
938 reads
2 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Harold-Weathervein (Levi Braathen)
