Submissions by braggman (Steve Bragg)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
I'm not great, but at least I try to be honest.
STORY POEM
Published
7th Sep 2013 1:11pm
7th Sep 2013 1:11pm
Bitter Lake - Collaboration with Magdalena
Written for the "DUP swingers" competition.
Seventeenth March, 1684.
While cresting the foothills
we crossed the south end of a small lake
The ice proved thin due to springs that fed in from beneath
One man fell through with full leathers and axes
Two others drowned in an attempt to save him
The surviving members of the party named this cursed spot
Bitter Lake
I am silence while my surface is calm
no wind to make waves through my tranquility ...
Seventeenth March, 1684.
While cresting the foothills
we crossed the south end of a small lake
The ice proved thin due to springs that fed in from beneath
One man fell through with full leathers and axes
Two others drowned in an attempt to save him
The surviving members of the party named this cursed spot
Bitter Lake
I am silence while my surface is calm
no wind to make waves through my tranquility ...
630 reads
11 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
30th Aug 2013 3:25pm
30th Aug 2013 3:25pm
busted television with adjectives (acrylic on plexiglass)
under the bridge
set in the monotony
of grey mud-slung tires
jettisoned branches
month-old socks and milk cartons
I discovered an abandoned television
alien and outlandish
protruding rays of wormtangle wire
graced
with gloriously useless knobs.
even without the plug it was electric
bright
lit the space about it
pulled together all of the under-bridge
made a welcome...
set in the monotony
of grey mud-slung tires
jettisoned branches
month-old socks and milk cartons
I discovered an abandoned television
alien and outlandish
protruding rays of wormtangle wire
graced
with gloriously useless knobs.
even without the plug it was electric
bright
lit the space about it
pulled together all of the under-bridge
made a welcome...
1081 reads
32 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
24th Aug 2013 7:00pm
24th Aug 2013 7:00pm
got words
got words
but I should've got a dog
don't wake up in the night hating the dog
for the way he lies there all wrong
if a dog does wake you
it's pretty clear what he wants and what to do about it
dog is content
makes you content
easy to come back to ...
but I should've got a dog
don't wake up in the night hating the dog
for the way he lies there all wrong
if a dog does wake you
it's pretty clear what he wants and what to do about it
dog is content
makes you content
easy to come back to ...
607 reads
34 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
7th Jul 2013 9:21pm
7th Jul 2013 9:21pm
The Last Mile
Jamis is up on the wrong side of the north sixty
the high exposed end
heading in
facing into the sun's glare
too far still for me to call out.
A mile as a crow would fly
one point eight as the arc of a bullet
and as a man would walk
it might just be infinite.
Memories of a woman are unreliable.
They glow in a perfume of soft edges and white lies.
When the thoughts go back looking for hard truths
they're deflected....
the high exposed end
heading in
facing into the sun's glare
too far still for me to call out.
A mile as a crow would fly
one point eight as the arc of a bullet
and as a man would walk
it might just be infinite.
Memories of a woman are unreliable.
They glow in a perfume of soft edges and white lies.
When the thoughts go back looking for hard truths
they're deflected....
698 reads
23 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
24th Mar 2013 3:58pm
24th Mar 2013 3:58pm
Finding Myself Just Short of Fifty
He'll be sitting
my stepfather, at the table
cold, even with two coats on.
They say,
the old men who remember
by Jesus, he was a wild one.
He'd have to live three lives
just to pay back all of the shit
he put his first wife through before she'd had enough
of this world.
Now he spends the down-time between sleep
in this room, waiting...
my stepfather, at the table
cold, even with two coats on.
They say,
the old men who remember
by Jesus, he was a wild one.
He'd have to live three lives
just to pay back all of the shit
he put his first wife through before she'd had enough
of this world.
Now he spends the down-time between sleep
in this room, waiting...
680 reads
23 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
30th Nov 2012 4:36pm
30th Nov 2012 4:36pm
From the High Pond
The high pond is nearly two miles up
a foot-worn drainage path that serves as road
into the upper tract.
As a temporary measure I've fallen
an occasional tree
braced upon protruding rocks
to route-off the overspill.
While the lower trails are all but silent
the upper ones huff and howl
with the constant torrents of the falling sky
dragging themselves through each tree
down toothy rows of cliff-fall. ...
a foot-worn drainage path that serves as road
into the upper tract.
As a temporary measure I've fallen
an occasional tree
braced upon protruding rocks
to route-off the overspill.
While the lower trails are all but silent
the upper ones huff and howl
with the constant torrents of the falling sky
dragging themselves through each tree
down toothy rows of cliff-fall. ...
569 reads
25 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
25th Nov 2012 3:37pm
25th Nov 2012 3:37pm
You Might Like to Know
The future's always coming around.
I've already done
what I'm going to do
when I grow up,
already tried the starting over thing
half-a-dozen times
and taken more than my share
of last chances.
So it's not without a bit of hard-won
hind-sense and a battle plan
that I would send word back if I could
to that thin and hapless proto-me of the past,
a few lessons that gained no value
from being learned the hard way:
First, don't bother getting married.
Having love is no...
I've already done
what I'm going to do
when I grow up,
already tried the starting over thing
half-a-dozen times
and taken more than my share
of last chances.
So it's not without a bit of hard-won
hind-sense and a battle plan
that I would send word back if I could
to that thin and hapless proto-me of the past,
a few lessons that gained no value
from being learned the hard way:
First, don't bother getting married.
Having love is no...
524 reads
14 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
1st Sep 2012 9:45pm
1st Sep 2012 9:45pm
Writing Her Back
I could never forgive my second wife.
She could have left me
in the normal miserable way that love grows mean
the way backs turn, insults are thrown
and homes broken, but she
was especially hard, especially crazy
or both.
In hindsight
we never really knew each other
well enough to tell.
Her appeal
was beautiful and wicked
as a flesh eating flower
over-ripe and swaying ...
She could have left me
in the normal miserable way that love grows mean
the way backs turn, insults are thrown
and homes broken, but she
was especially hard, especially crazy
or both.
In hindsight
we never really knew each other
well enough to tell.
Her appeal
was beautiful and wicked
as a flesh eating flower
over-ripe and swaying ...
608 reads
24 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
1st Sep 2012 8:35pm
1st Sep 2012 8:35pm
Key
I hid a thought once
I buried it deep inside a word
inside a poem for you
and I charged that word with mojo
spiked it with my hard love voodoo.
I taught my charge to keep quiet
to sleep inside your mind
growing strong enough
to navigate the flows
through the heart
to the loins
then back through the mind
searching out those secret places
into which it could wiggle
its nasty little self
infecting you with me.
That word you can't quite remember reading
that held...
I buried it deep inside a word
inside a poem for you
and I charged that word with mojo
spiked it with my hard love voodoo.
I taught my charge to keep quiet
to sleep inside your mind
growing strong enough
to navigate the flows
through the heart
to the loins
then back through the mind
searching out those secret places
into which it could wiggle
its nasty little self
infecting you with me.
That word you can't quite remember reading
that held...
1111 reads
24 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
10th Aug 2012 1:13pm
10th Aug 2012 1:13pm
Because I Can
It's hard to wake each day
fighting to stay king
of my proverbial jungle,
hard to have reputation
of any kind
and as I fade
from the faces present
from the page
and even from memory,
do not assume from my silence
that I'll relinquish rule
and fall without a fight.
Do not trust my words.
Fading is a bitter business.
I will write you into a corner ...
fighting to stay king
of my proverbial jungle,
hard to have reputation
of any kind
and as I fade
from the faces present
from the page
and even from memory,
do not assume from my silence
that I'll relinquish rule
and fall without a fight.
Do not trust my words.
Fading is a bitter business.
I will write you into a corner ...
778 reads
37 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
2nd Jul 2012 2:13am
2nd Jul 2012 2:13am
You'll Like This
You'll like this.
Remember how you said
it makes you happy when I get philosophical
when I talk about writers and
things that sound writerly?
Well... I want to make you happy again
one more time.
Let me sit you up so you can see me better
when I talk to you.
I learned a lesson today
from Hemingway, of all people.
Remember how you said you never believed in love
nor thought you'd...
Remember how you said
it makes you happy when I get philosophical
when I talk about writers and
things that sound writerly?
Well... I want to make you happy again
one more time.
Let me sit you up so you can see me better
when I talk to you.
I learned a lesson today
from Hemingway, of all people.
Remember how you said you never believed in love
nor thought you'd...
741 reads
17 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
17th Jun 2012 00:23am
17th Jun 2012 00:23am
Scarecrow
I put myself out to pasture
some years back
limbs draped in loose cotton
a country bachelor
planted upon someone else’s idea
of natural providence.
The dust that collected
bound me to my lonely duty
of deflecting the warm and the curious.
I was vigilant, but hungered
just out of reach of redemption
and the sweetness
that I watched bloom and ripen.
Even the sky spun about
and every living call stung like laughter
that I could not share.
But you...
some years back
limbs draped in loose cotton
a country bachelor
planted upon someone else’s idea
of natural providence.
The dust that collected
bound me to my lonely duty
of deflecting the warm and the curious.
I was vigilant, but hungered
just out of reach of redemption
and the sweetness
that I watched bloom and ripen.
Even the sky spun about
and every living call stung like laughter
that I could not share.
But you...
874 reads
33 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by braggman (Steve Bragg)
