Deadline for FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
Read Today’s Selected Poetry:
MERCURY, by Kelly Kiczenski
I FELL FOR HIM, by Rana Cocklin
UNTIL I SNEEZE, by Kirby Timmons
THE LULLABY OF A STRANGE EVENT, by Ron Henslee
HONEYMOUTH, by Gerry Van Der Linden
THE QUEST, by Tabitha Baumander
SHULAMMITE THE WOMAN IN SOLOMONS SONGS OF SONGS, by Susan Dubin
HARVEY’S FORECAST, by Michael McDonald
AFTER WORDS, by Kelly McCrillis
THEY SAY CHILDREN ADAPT, by Dianne Mead
Genre: Life, Drama, Society
by Michael McDonald
Harvey sat at the bar and drank his early morning whiskey.
The weather in his head had been overcast since he was a child.
Sunny breaks came from time to time during his life, but that was his minds climate, mostly cloudy with a chance of showers or heavy winds and rain.
His hands trembled as he raised the glass with the golden forcast changer inside to his lips.
There were certain types of drink in his past that changed the weather to extreme low pressure .
So low, that it would pop his eardrums.
No code on the barometer.
Beer kept it overcast and cool, that was a safe bet for the cranial weather office.
Beer, on the right occasion may even bring the odd sunny afternoon, but if he mixed his liquor he ran the risk of creating a perfect storm in his mind;
that no amount of weather warning to the public could curtail. Ya never see it coming.
Whiskey and beer could cause power outages where Harvey stumbled around in the dark and dished out laments of pain and ill content.
Whiskey beer wine and dope together was a natural or unnatural disaster.
It ran the gamut and never ended without mass casualties and property damage.
Harvey reached for a look at his pocket watch, then the dopler of his heart and ordered a whiskey tall.
Another man walked in with a small tissue box dog under his arm and sat at the end of the bar and ordered a glass of his climate changer, safe and sunny.
He looked over at harvey, the dog panted like mad and the man said,
“it looks like its shaping up to be a nice day”.
Harvey stared into the ariel view of the class four hurricane fermenting and swirling at the bottom of the whiskey glass, the eye pronounced and the storm large,
the biggest he had ever seen.
A beer chaser beside it.
“Ya never can predict the weather, Harvey said.
Harvey lit a cigarette and drank the system down.