My photo

"Put your ear down close to your soul and listen hard." Anne Sexton 

Heather Brager is a critically acclaimed juggler of calamity, an accomplished procrastinator, and shuffler of idioms. Her poetry and drawings can be found in various digital and print journals around the globe, and on the web.  She currently resides in New England and prefers the precipice of where the Atlantic meets the sand to the official looking office where she spends most of her time. 

Thursday, August 29, 2013

saturation.





over the sand, you are
the purveyor of brine
and leister of tender flesh
fictitious, torrential tides and 

rolling down, diving deep.

I watched you
over the galley
licking the floors, inside
a deafening pulse
the sky was lifting 
and crashing

I still see you there.


© 8.29.13 heather brager     


Wednesday, August 21, 2013

who took my good pen?





she is racing the halls
a caged animal and shepherd of cats

she is watching the
uncultivated progression 

a frenzied owl perched on the sill
head spinning around 

the language thrown 
from sixteen and a half directions

© 8.15.13 heather brager    

Friday, August 16, 2013

“Let everything happen to you. Beauty and terror. Just keep going. No feeling is final.” ― Rainer Maria Rilke

Thursday, August 15, 2013

stygian and ember.

Click to Listen.


she was a bird that night
above chaos and fires
rationalizing and migrating
guided by charcoal instinct
to another careful decent

she was a bird that night
black and blue down
slack in a cool wind
eyes obsidian and the sea
she was hollow
and she was light


© 8.15.13 heather brager   

Monday, August 12, 2013

new math.




words won’t make me whole
the sum is greater than one
and my coffee’s cold…

Friday, August 9, 2013

“I believe in the power of the imagination to remake the world, to release the truth within us, to hold back the night, to transcend death, to charm motorways, to ingratiate ourselves with birds, to enlist the confidences of madmen.”  ― J.G. Ballard

Friday, August 2, 2013

8.2.2013





the hands are parchment
the body a broken cage
wicked mind unmoored