Submissions by braggman (Steve Bragg)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
I'm not great, but at least I try to be honest.
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
6th May 2012 2:40pm
6th May 2012 2:40pm
Robins
I can hear them singing even before
I'm fully conscious, so I'm leaving my dream
just knowing those damned robins
are shitting on my car.
I had to have it when I saw it
red and black
shining like neon
glowing like the slick slippery heart
of a city.
I had to crawl inside it when I heard its cry
screaming straight from...
I'm fully conscious, so I'm leaving my dream
just knowing those damned robins
are shitting on my car.
I had to have it when I saw it
red and black
shining like neon
glowing like the slick slippery heart
of a city.
I had to crawl inside it when I heard its cry
screaming straight from...
658 reads
17 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
20th Apr 2012 4:33am
20th Apr 2012 4:33am
Blemish
Some poems come on like a pimple.
they get under your skin
like something that doesn’t sit quite right
that you need to get out, but can’t
until it festers a bit.
The deeper the trouble lies
the longer this will take.
Sometimes it must get ugly before
it leaves you be.
All your cover-up and embellishment
can't hide the fact
that you have a problem to face.
What's your intention, to make it pretty
or just pretend there’s nothing...
they get under your skin
like something that doesn’t sit quite right
that you need to get out, but can’t
until it festers a bit.
The deeper the trouble lies
the longer this will take.
Sometimes it must get ugly before
it leaves you be.
All your cover-up and embellishment
can't hide the fact
that you have a problem to face.
What's your intention, to make it pretty
or just pretend there’s nothing...
620 reads
18 Comments
STORY POEM
Published
11th Apr 2012 3:22am
11th Apr 2012 3:22am
Bargain
The doctor’s visits stop,
just an occasional nurse stands vigil,
but I’ve been planning my escapes,
made my secret pacts since boyhood
bargains to abstain from the whims of time and pain.
These looks on your faces, weak with grief and anticipation
frighten me. Please leave.
I’ve done nothing to deserve this.
I recalculate the deals. This mistake just can’t be real.
Does the mind lose itself in age
or does it become too much more
of its own world
for experience ...
just an occasional nurse stands vigil,
but I’ve been planning my escapes,
made my secret pacts since boyhood
bargains to abstain from the whims of time and pain.
These looks on your faces, weak with grief and anticipation
frighten me. Please leave.
I’ve done nothing to deserve this.
I recalculate the deals. This mistake just can’t be real.
Does the mind lose itself in age
or does it become too much more
of its own world
for experience ...
484 reads
9 Comments
DRUGS POEM
Published
23rd Mar 2012 3:41am
23rd Mar 2012 3:41am
Mosquito
I've lost the taste for the highs and lows
the hard journeys of the mind
that could twist it to a torus,
a bland and slow ghost
of that danger that was once my poetry.
Mountains crumble over slow years.
Moss consumes the trees
trees the earth
earth the bones.
Even ivy, in time takes the whole house.
I fear I'll end
ripening in this town without passion. ...
the hard journeys of the mind
that could twist it to a torus,
a bland and slow ghost
of that danger that was once my poetry.
Mountains crumble over slow years.
Moss consumes the trees
trees the earth
earth the bones.
Even ivy, in time takes the whole house.
I fear I'll end
ripening in this town without passion. ...
572 reads
10 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
12th Mar 2012 3:10pm
12th Mar 2012 3:10pm
Ember
There is a structure
there is a language
a poetry of each age
as you repeat
the borrowed words
from your own mouth
your own way
as you hold on
near the fire
with your arm slipped around her
to warm that chill of the stars
burning out
until we are no more
than lovers
watching
small
here.
there is a language
a poetry of each age
as you repeat
the borrowed words
from your own mouth
your own way
as you hold on
near the fire
with your arm slipped around her
to warm that chill of the stars
burning out
until we are no more
than lovers
watching
small
here.
439 reads
10 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
8th Mar 2012 4:43am
8th Mar 2012 4:43am
Spread
She lays spread beneath me, an uncharted angel.
My crashing, devoted pattern tapers, uninspired
like love seeking to beat
a reciprocal confession
complicated.
By the dawn she spreads our last burning fragments
departing silently without me.
I sleep naďve and insular.
With exotic swagger, with huff and bluster
spring’s instant renegade breath tempts our prudence.
Blooming beyond to the watery clouds,
the sparrows ascend from yesterday’s roosts. ...
My crashing, devoted pattern tapers, uninspired
like love seeking to beat
a reciprocal confession
complicated.
By the dawn she spreads our last burning fragments
departing silently without me.
I sleep naďve and insular.
With exotic swagger, with huff and bluster
spring’s instant renegade breath tempts our prudence.
Blooming beyond to the watery clouds,
the sparrows ascend from yesterday’s roosts. ...
757 reads
11 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
5th Mar 2012 1:07am
5th Mar 2012 1:07am
Wandered Way
Back down the back road
of the mind,
I try to rise, rouse from sleep
the porch-floor degenerate, hazy
hangover of crack and cyclobenzaprine.
There is, I fear, no clear trail back
just paths from the down-slope
back up or back down to dead ends.
Wood sweats. Dust sweats.
Metal burns to touch
where for days even the dust
still tastes like crack.
I am the problem out here
with nothing better
to do with time
than seek remedies.
The process begins ...
of the mind,
I try to rise, rouse from sleep
the porch-floor degenerate, hazy
hangover of crack and cyclobenzaprine.
There is, I fear, no clear trail back
just paths from the down-slope
back up or back down to dead ends.
Wood sweats. Dust sweats.
Metal burns to touch
where for days even the dust
still tastes like crack.
I am the problem out here
with nothing better
to do with time
than seek remedies.
The process begins ...
382 reads
4 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
2nd Mar 2012 5:30pm
2nd Mar 2012 5:30pm
Wicked World
Wicked world, beautiful
sticky snow spun upon the branch
the tallgrass, treetrunk, curve of rock
the black rot of winter’s root.
I slide back from the shoulder
skating in the night car.
sticky snow spun upon the branch
the tallgrass, treetrunk, curve of rock
the black rot of winter’s root.
I slide back from the shoulder
skating in the night car.
453 reads
5 Comments
DRUGS POEM
Published
26th Feb 2012 8:06pm
26th Feb 2012 8:06pm
Wrap
Documentation’s a luxury
while the rest of the everyman
marks out their time in repetition and silent poverty
somewhere far outside the written word
forgotten to history in the process of living.
Thinking of Li Po
once I rolled a page
from Blake, the Illuminated
Songs of Innocence
to wrap a blunt in Belize
smoking "Little Boy Lost." ...
while the rest of the everyman
marks out their time in repetition and silent poverty
somewhere far outside the written word
forgotten to history in the process of living.
Thinking of Li Po
once I rolled a page
from Blake, the Illuminated
Songs of Innocence
to wrap a blunt in Belize
smoking "Little Boy Lost." ...
533 reads
7 Comments
ANGER POEM
Published
18th Feb 2012 3:19am
18th Feb 2012 3:19am
Stranger
The truck coughs
drops below the fog and woodsmoke ceiling
that the weak sun has just begun to cut.
I’ve known him enough to start to see
his clothes more seem a costume
conversations turn to questions
his excavating mind engrossed
in the business of strangers,
picturing the smoking fires
behind each plywood or tarpaulin wind break
secret lives
bottles and packages
files and firearms.
There are ideas here
that he hates
eccentricities of spare time
hidden in houses...
drops below the fog and woodsmoke ceiling
that the weak sun has just begun to cut.
I’ve known him enough to start to see
his clothes more seem a costume
conversations turn to questions
his excavating mind engrossed
in the business of strangers,
picturing the smoking fires
behind each plywood or tarpaulin wind break
secret lives
bottles and packages
files and firearms.
There are ideas here
that he hates
eccentricities of spare time
hidden in houses...
391 reads
1 Comment
DU Poetry : Submissions by braggman (Steve Bragg)
