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Desert Billboards

Desert Billboards

Between adjacent walls of capitalized shapes

is pavement—roads we create

to capture the view, forfeiting riskier stakes;

agreeing to billboards for a car path that is safe.

 

In accordance with pirates throwing loot overboard

(and although mountain time is still), gold—like rebar

in cement, is plastered to the molded seafloor,

and is a picture-in-time’s wily keyboard.

 

Richer lands may not be greener—golden

silhouettes of sand dance in circles from winds

that cover signs, and remind travelers

that billboards are not on mountain time.

Wooden Horses

Wooden Horses is about the juxtaposition of family and work, love and society. Brogan’s words highlight different aspects of everyday life and focuses on becoming a father for the first time. Brogan highlights these balances with at times naive, poetic forms that ring with subtle, yet relatable detail. We all must navigate the sometimes complicated waters of relationships and family, but were there is struggle, there is truth. Brogan’s words will  haunt the reader with familiar ghosts and inspire a fresh understanding.

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“These poems are time traveling and sturdy! Brogan utilizes classic poetic devices in “Wooden Horses”, poems about family bonds, work life and the act of balancing both. These stanzas and lines embrace the natural and simple wonders of life. His lyric and patterns are humorous, honest, and refreshing like a morning breath of spring dew.”

–Kisha Nicole Foster, Author of Poems 1999-2014 and Bloodwork.

Buy Now

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The World is Disorganized

The World is Disorganized

The universe, with no end,
Lacks a point of understanding
Though scars always seek one to mend;
Fanning fires only keeps a base-tan—
Recognizing disorder is to eat death.

As square shapes are lost trying
To decide where their lines are,
The charcoal pines (like broken eggs)
Are dying to be whole,
To be the sun, an adored star.

Barbaric, bizarre; with no end—
Like a vulture’s well-spent time,
there’s one True Word to record,
(A crease in the fold that holds it all);
Maggots live lives most explored.

Eating death, now that’s a line
With three others that can
Be called a square; there’s no end
To any one point of reasoning,
So the savvy eat death all the time.

Wooden Horses

Wooden Horses is about the juxtaposition of family and work, love and society. Brogan’s words highlight different aspects of everyday life and focuses on becoming a father for the first time. Brogan highlights these balances with at times naive, poetic forms that ring with subtle, yet relatable detail. We all must navigate the sometimes complicated waters of relationships and family, but were there is struggle, there is truth. Brogan’s words will  haunt the reader with familiar ghosts and inspire a fresh understanding.

Buy Now

“These poems are time traveling and sturdy! Brogan utilizes classic poetic devices in “Wooden Horses”, poems about family bonds, work life and the act of balancing both. These stanzas and lines embrace the natural and simple wonders of life. His lyric and patterns are humorous, honest, and refreshing like a morning breath of spring dew.”

–Kisha Nicole Foster, Author of Poems 1999-2014 and Bloodwork.

Buy Now

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Time is Wastin’

Time is Wastin’

Often handled incorrectly,
  She stings in ways that leave
You motionless, semi-erect—
  (A jabbed, ringing left ear).

We step on cold mats to muscle
  Out our guttered stirring—
Synching gloves on swollen knuckles,
  All the rage transferring.

You learn quick how to roll a hit,
  Counter the next movement.
She’ll teach you the weight of fingers
  As you drag your heavy fist.

Like a brand new casket,
  She is patient, relaxed;
Not in a rush or a frantic,
  As if time won’t elapse.

Wooden Horses

Wooden Horses is about the juxtaposition of family and work, love and society. Brogan’s words highlight different aspects of everyday life and focuses on becoming a father for the first time. Brogan highlights these balances with at times naive, poetic forms that ring with subtle, yet relatable detail. We all must navigate the sometimes complicated waters of relationships and family, but were there is struggle, there is truth. Brogan’s words will  haunt the reader with familiar ghosts and inspire a fresh understanding.

Buy Now

“These poems are time traveling and sturdy! Brogan utilizes classic poetic devices in “Wooden Horses”, poems about family bonds, work life and the act of balancing both. These stanzas and lines embrace the natural and simple wonders of life. His lyric and patterns are humorous, honest, and refreshing.”

–Kisha Nicole Foster, Author of Poems 1999-2014 and Bloodwork.

Buy Now

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Wooden Horses Pre-Order Release

Wooden Horses, Poetry Chapbook, Pre-Order Release!

Wooden Horses

Wooden Horses is about the juxtaposition of family and work, love and society. Brogan’s words highlight different aspects of everyday life and focuses on becoming a father for the first time. Brogan highlights these balances with at times naive, poetic forms that ring with subtle, yet relatable detail. We all must navigate the sometimes complicated waters of relationships and family, but were there is struggle, there is truth. Brogan’s words will  haunt the reader with familiar ghosts and inspire a fresh understanding.

Buy Now

“These poems are time traveling and sturdy! Brogan utilizes classic poetic devices in “Wooden Horses”, poems about family bonds, work life and the act of balancing both. These stanzas and lines embrace the natural and simple wonders of life. His lyric and patterns are humorous, honest, and refreshing.”

–Kisha Nicole Foster, Author of Poems 1999-2014 and Bloodwork.

Buy Now

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An Idle Fame

An Idle Fame

An idle fame rests on the mantle, rewritten to be

gawked at under eyes of herded cattle

who as a mass are only to engage in idle chatter.

 

The idle fame is sprawled on a picturesque wooden T,

with a bandolier sketched over, hanging across his ribs

like a rosary dangles under a shrine of glowing candles.

 

Like sheep to slaughter, the crowd is only vaguely

aware of a larger show, bull’s-eye-bound arrows

with unknown targets (spectacles invite silences).

 

Night’s eve to the garden after the fall has been revised

to cater to the needs of thrones; rewritten by restless classes

is a story set ablaze, urging violence within the masses. 

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where once there was gold

where once there was gold

Where once there was gold

Standss darkness the likes of which

Was long before rigid,

Course like a dagger

With its polish shine,

Mountains turned to dust

To drown in the tide.

 

Where once there was sand

Stands the sea, dead calm, kids

Keep jars of what was, once,

Holding time in an hourglass

To rest in their palm.

 

Pebbles fall through hands

Of an image, where two

Can’t exist; memory holds

One, the sea takes another.

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the boy in his hole

the boy in his hole

the boy in his hole

sings a song to himself

as he digs to the middle

of the earth

 

once all alone

he smiles to himself

as the walls

come crumbling in

 

he’s dug far too long

and has lost his own

way the darkness is

taking his name

 

when the hole caves in

and the lights went out

he sang to himself

in the shade

 

the boy in his hole

sings a song to himself

as he digs to the middle

of his grave

 

as the dirt in the air

sings a song so sweet

he knows that his

death is near

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Reflections in Sand

Reflections in Sand

Mental representations

of realities

beyond our scope

of interpretation.

 

Give me an impression

of why beauty

is beautiful,

 

and ugly

is hateful.

An impression

of my existence

is imprinted in the

malleable beach sand.

 

It shows my bodily features,

of which I interpret,

but do not truly

understand.

 

I didn’t create

language,

but, rather, language

seems to have

created me.

 

It changes,

like the sweat

on my hand,

and the thoughts

in my head.

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Rage is a Spider

Rage is a Spider

 

The night is all the time:

One day it will see light

(Like a bird seeing its reflection

While hitting its last window)

 

Hidden in our senses the outsider,

It holds another face, self-butchered

(Weaving seams like barn spiders,

Patching deep scars, cheaply sutured)

🔶

It burrows to survive, those dainty legs

Making a pastry of memory’s archives

(The night is all the time,

One day it will see the light)

 

In a switch the mind is gone; the spider

Crawls, leaking out of the right ear

(Dripping like a leaky faucet onto a

Fraying doormat, long abandoned)

🔶

The outsider is useless, dormant,

A waiting doormat of abuses

(Waiting for its moment to see the light,

Like a bird seeing its last window)

 

The trigger is set and the rage has won:

Sleep buddy, then the fear will get gone!

(The mirror cast a light too strong

Like a bird hitting its last window)

🔶

Hidden in our senses, the outsider,

It holds another face, self-butchered

(Weaving seams like a barn spider,

Patching deep scars, cheaply sutured)

 

The night is all the time:

One day it will see light

(Like a bird seeing its reflection

While hitting its last window)

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East of Eden

East of Eden

Love is east of eden,

Right of paradise—

And forces us to roam.

 

A vagabond stuck to form

Walks along silk roads

Aware it’s been done before.

 

“Haha, right?” at the taverns;

We eat aloneness—

Stick up a thumb, smile.

 

Backpedalling quiet routes,

Moving toward Eden in stride,

Just to chase the feeling.