Poetry Commons^™

Editors' Note

Bryant Literary Review

No abstract provided.

The Good Son, William Torphy

Bryant Literary Review

I'm on Trailways, staring through dirty windows at mounds of snow piled on the side of the road. I couldn't face everyone's questions, their judgments. Even Shirley at the bank gave me a suspicious look when she handed me my cancelled savings book and the $357.45 from my account this morning.

Monkey Time, Eric Greinke

Bryant Literary Review

Communication devices destroy communication.

Text messages erode the language,

Vaya Con Dios, Russ Allison Loar

Bryant Literary Review

I could kill you with this little finger,

He says,

Jutting the scabrous thing out into the shivering night,

Pointed menacingly toward the enemy

Dog Whistle, Tina Cane

Bryant Literary Review

It begins with a tweet the bird kind in which a friend of mine

deems the hummingbird her spirit animal delicate engine

Saying Goodbye In Brussels, Lawrence F. Farrar

Bryant Literary Review

It was a day like many others that had passed since Brett Smalley's arrival in Dusseldorf. It differed, however, in one significant respect for the sales representative of Chicago-based Windham Metallurgical, Inc.

The Bush Burned With Fire And The Bush Was Not Consumed, Peter Munro

Bryant Literary Review

Skin draws gaunt to his skull, deflating

jowls he has borne across eight decades.

The Help, J. Tarwood

Bryant Literary Review

In the morning, the radio

praises God while the maid

cracks eggs.

Little Mercies, Terry Sanville

Bryant Literary Review

I hadn't seen him in fifty years. But I still wanted to kill him. I didn't know when, where, or how. But the way of it seemed crystal.

God And God's, Sandy Weisman

Bryant Literary Review

God ran our house, decided what

we could or could not do.

Night Shadows, Jimmie Pennington

Bryant Literary Review

Night shadows

lie on empty walls

like the silhouettes

of yesterday's dreams

Copy Cat Music, John Krumberger

Bryant Literary Review

I never asked his name

-no suitable pause between the torrent

of New York accented syllables that flowed

Outsider's Shovel, Mark Taksa

Bryant Literary Review

An insider promises smoke will never

pollute the flag.

Young Tragic Heroines, Elaine Little

Bryant Literary Review

The letter was addressed to Diane, predictably misspelled. It was from a postal box in a town known only for its prison. When she saw the name, Ben Strickert, she tore it open.

Lachrimae, Allen Strous

Bryant Literary Review

The man whose tears are often,

out of nowhere

the open-up

breakdown,

The Wandering Buddha, Cate Gable

Bryant Literary Review

for chef Jimella Lucas

Entering the Bardo or another set

of bones, you cannot know

we mourn your knife skills,

Only Touch Is Impossible, So We Touch, John Sibley Williams

Bryant Literary Review

Silence enters us.

These once familiar faces go strange

over time.

Tiny Bills, Susan Johnson

Bryant Literary Review

Mist nets catch the fall migration,

catch my hands numb and slow as

The Book Of Bad Faith, Noel Sloboda

Bryant Literary Review

Back when Mom first swore

Dad rated an entire chapter

Learning From Her, Emily Madapusi Pera

Bryant Literary Review

A lot you could learn from her,

you thought.

Object Permanence, Jacob Nelson

Bryant Literary Review

When the sheet is pulled over

your father's face is still there,

his mustache, too, for you to tug.

Chicago - 1966, Michael Walls

Bryant Literary Review

I remember you well. Sidewalks were slush,

snow piled along the edges.

Another Gen-X Icon Dead, Ace Boggess

Bryant Literary Review

Why are we the waning crowd,

grayest cloud, shattered vase

that once held crocuses & hope?

Mastery, Ken Victor

Bryant Literary Review

And the experience of the failed

work is a prod to practice: think of

Constructing Border Quilts, Martha Brenckle

Bryant Literary Review

looking for justice with thread, pins, needle

and scissors, cutting shirts and dungarees abandoned

Is It Alice, Amy Or Anne?, George Longenecker

Bryant Literary Review

Huddled with four other nameless people,

who sleep on cardboard and blankets,

in the entry of a garage alcove,

Reed Magazine, Issue 152, Megan R.F. Alfaro, Shawn Anto, Garrett Ashely, Darius Atefat-Peckham, Lino Azevedo, Rachel Blakley Ball, Rebecca Bangs, Lane Berger, Eric Berlin, Meredith Birdsong, Michael Butcher, Claudia Caranfa, Leslie Carlin, Anne Cheilek, J. David, Claudia Di Marco, M.H. Dodson, David Dumo, Tess Falotico, Robert Morgan Fisher, Kenny Fries, Carmen Garcia Gordillo, Beatrix Gates, Tidnek Haileselassie, Andrew Jackson, Jad Josey, Michele Kilmer, Andrea Kowch, Andrew Lam, Catharine Lucas, Larry Malchow, Peter Nathaniel Malae, Ajuan Mance, Ryan Mcfadden, Mighty Mike Mcgee, Kathleen Mcguire, Bhavna Misra, Nayomi Munaweera, Martha Nance, Michella Nguyen, Beverly J. Orth, Sophia Pomponio, Buku Sakar, Shanthi Sekaran, Jesse Sensibar, Taylor Sezen, Joseph Sigurdson, Janet Spicer, Arthur Sze, Victoria Toney-Robinson, Annie Vitalsey, Mark Lee Webb, Arisa White, Michelle Wright, Sheri Wright

Reed Magazine

No abstract provided.

The American Dream As A Cultural Movement, Thomas W. Raskay

English Department: Traveling American Modernism (ENG 366, Fall 2018)

This piece investigates the relationship between the American Dream and automobility through a generational lens, assessing cultural change in each renewal of the American Dream. Comparing generations of Americans exploring and reforming cultural space reveals evidence of the American Dream as a tendency for generations to expand to new frontiers balanced by a duty to reform current social space. Automobility multiplies Americans’ options for exploration and explodes the rate at which modern generations engage with different spaces. Now that automobility is routine, Millenials have expanded to the new social space frontier in cyberspace, but a limitless frontier may disrupt the …

314 East 25th Street, On January 1st, Matthew Brennan

Westview

It’s moving day—the sun glimmers as dimly as Venus in the morning sky.

Tuesday Night, Amber Thompson

Westview

The coppery softness of cinnamon sticks to my fingers.