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Bryant Literary Review

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Bryant Literary Review

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Bryant Literary Review

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Table Of Contents

Bryant Literary Review

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Fugitive Day, Ellen Prentiss Cambell

Bryant Literary Review

Yonder Hills it was called then, and still is now, after the first line from an old hymn my grandmother used to sing, "Yonder Hills are very Fair."

Between Us There Are More And More Things, Becky Kennedy

Bryant Literary Review

Frying bacon in the morning

every morning washing dishes in a place

where I see trees

Butterflies And Honey, B. Z. Niditch

Bryant Literary Review

You keep your voice

shivering in the blue sun

butterflies and honey

Terrible Twos, Charles Harper Webb

Bryant Literary Review

O God of Mercy, drop me in the sea.

Turn my feet into propellers; my chest,

The Walnut, David Cappella

Bryant Literary Review

Consider the walnut

its crenellation, its meat

like a miniature human brain

Dragonflies On The Stairs, Gary Pedler

Bryant Literary Review

It was the only Victorian left on the block. On either side stood apartment buildings, one from the turn of the last century, the other from the nineteen eighties, both nondescript in different ways.

Two Swans In A Pond Next To The Highway, J. R. Solonche

Bryant Literary Review

They have chosen well, these two

swans, one swimming the circumference

of the water, its neck a parenthesis

Maho Bay, Near The Astrologer's Table, Lyn Lifshin

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yellow bird on

the table, two

curious lizards

Photography, Rustin Larson

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Earth takes a long-exposure photo of herself--

her apartment a kind of camera obscura--

Compost, Ravi Shankar

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Filling a tarp full of spindled elm leaves

that cling and loosen in wake of dragging

The Third Of May, 1808, At Madrid: The Shootings On Principe Pio Mountain, Oil On Canvas, 1814, Ravi Shankar

Bryant Literary Review

When they come for you, Cossack-capped,

in lockstep, carrying the black eye of death

against their shoulders, how will you react?

Squid, Mary Ann Mayer

Bryant Literary Review

We dissected one in school,

and it squirted ink all over the room

when I squeezed it.

Worms, Gary Guinn

Bryant Literary Review

At the wine and cheese party for the clinic staff, John described his worm farm to Doctor Miles.

What The Raven Said, Barbara Crooker

Bryant Literary Review

as he balanced on a branch of Douglas fir,

was that it's dark under the stars, the planet

Elegy For The Residents Of The Niagara Apartments, Ken Meisel

Bryant Literary Review

I

Because there are stories too disturbing to retell

I have to first talk about the field of yellow flowers

New In Town, Nancy White

Bryant Literary Review

Yes, he still drops by, still for no reason. Even

today when rain bathes the house and

the path sheds its glove of dust.

For Chance, Keep Beauty Warm, Nancy Lee Craven

Bryant Literary Review

Keep truth ardent, fresh and limber

protect it by finding it in lowly places

and leave it there--

The Agreement, Lewis Schrager

Bryant Literary Review

When the shooting starts, the tourists stay home. No tourists, no business--Mamoun Aboulafia knew the situation all too well.

The Lincoln-Douglas Debate Of 1984, Tom Williams

Bryant Literary Review

I should have conceded as soon as Abraham Lincoln entered the room.

The Iris And The Blade, Kathleen Hellen

Bryant Literary Review

The body Japanese:

perfect as the words;

"And Today", Jack Lindeman

Bryant Literary Review

And today I wonder what should be done

and what not done,

and whether there is really

any difference between the two

Drawing Blanks, John Azrak

Bryant Literary Review

I turned my memory over

to you when, unexpectedly

In Some Town's Junk Shop, John Hazard

Bryant Literary Review

A photo: someone's tall father leans on a shovel

in failing light. It's black and white, but I see

the orange in the tip of his smoke

Late Visions, Lynn Domina

Bryant Literary Review

He's an old man with an infant

daughter dead seventy years.

Country Junction, Tom Miller Juvik

Bryant Literary Review

Talk to anyone in the county about the murder of Al DeLancy, the explanation will be the same.

Slow Change, Rane Arroyo

Bryant Literary Review

I thought, it's done, I'm out.

My father died, the women in