Skip to main content

Daniel f. Bradley :: Three poems


As in, that's all the people who voted for him care about -- stable internet connection whilst portaging? Block click fraud and you'll find real tinsel underneath. What psychedelic voyage are you on? Someone that “jokes” about hurting you, that person probably wants to hurt you. Want to be a part of an active, international community of Tennysonian lovers? Do ya punk? Get away, get away, the stock footage is erupting. Are you going to prey on those? I’m tired of winning. That trip we took to Disneyland is etched upon my mind. Boys and their ultra heavy masterpiece like favorite behemoth’s. Plus, that guy in the picture look pretty dangerous. He's poor. He's drunk and he has ducks.


She was supposed to be an ex-bar girl. So frumpy? I think no. Weird casting, naturally only a collaborator would defend the swine who collaborated on a Nazis masterpiece of neo prog. Want to stay safe? Just don't feed the foxes any oil heavy starlight flung poo. Not quite sure why a day in the life is bolted on the end of the lameness of jet sickens me but god hates a cowardly heavy horse. Tiring of convoluted bombast, trimming and dazzles with top-drawer cathode followers, mute switch, remote and can drive long cables. Did I say it was tube preamp? More abusive keyboard blue tick talentless nobody's will never win your father’s love. Rabbit rescuers prepare for peak season, expecting bunnies to be abandoned with the aerosol birds.


An exemplary life in literature is like singing Happy Birthday Mr. President. Ah well, you live and learn except when you don't. I Like being yelled at by 900 Wisconsin poet laureates. Random pills found down the back of the sofa and valium - grotesque wish I never married all the A holes that I supported and wish I could move to a place that had health care. A circle of low IQ's, without eyes. Good thing I like whippin boy's asses. Resist much. I'm behind on my Bible, and even the potatoes are launching heavy metal, doom and stoner rock simultaneously. There is no job in America that Americans will do. 100 years ago, today in Mesopotamia they found all that world juice.

Daniel f. Bradley. I live in Toronto. I am quite private, but I have a site I have never won a prize. I have not applied for an arts grant in over 25 years. I do not work in academia. Believe everything you hear.

Popular posts from this blog

submissions :: where is the river

Up to six poems in a single .doc file with author biography and photo to All rights revert to the author/s upon publication.

about :: where is the river

where is the river :: a poetry experiment is a bi-monthly poetry journal open to a variety of aesthetics, forms and experiences, with a preference towards showcasing work by emerging writers. There is no single path, nor any single way. Founded in September 2017. Edited by Kiefer JD Logan.

J.D. Nelson :: Four poems

  bible hawk rose mike white seas   this is the lang of the proper saint   we left the show to see the boats   when one thing becomes the other why I can’t sleep in the shower?   this is the back of the wallet where the money turns red     right now with the animated piggy just like a clock monster up at the hour of monstering I’m talking about the friendly sesame street monsters, not scary monsters   aha! the smart horse was named to the president’s table for the third straight year   earth is in hiding that’s what it’s doing way out here in the milky way   gumby up           gully gulch would you like a diet coke to smoke?   in the sea tree a clean heaven of the snowy earth that miracle jones to summon a carlson   sleeping lion was a calm red of the wolf better than biff              that common ultra saturn for the charge of monsters be the cold one in the egg   the king of the winter snows walking the dream dog in sears       to shape the f