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Articles 661 - 690 of 845
Full-Text Articles in Poetry
Sandpipers, Again, Lisa Starr
Sandpipers, Again, Lisa Starr
Bryant Literary Review
I went back to the sandpipers today--
it's been a while.
W. W. I Veteran Dies In Hometown Paper, Robert Pringle
W. W. I Veteran Dies In Hometown Paper, Robert Pringle
Bryant Literary Review
Born to his people,
Tampico, south Indiana:
Squeeze The Putty, Mrs. Martin, Mike Onofrey
Squeeze The Putty, Mrs. Martin, Mike Onofrey
Bryant Literary Review
"Do you have a minute?" she said to Dwayne as he was coming out of his mother's hospital room at four in the afternoon.
Outside Leadville, Emily Morganti
Outside Leadville, Emily Morganti
Bryant Literary Review
I thought we would die on that mountain. Not in my heart but in my head.
Alchemy, Peggy Ann Tartt
Alchemy, Peggy Ann Tartt
Bryant Literary Review
At some point in any conversation
a door appears.
Detroit, Michelle Brooks
Detroit, Michelle Brooks
Bryant Literary Review
I did not know any better except to love
For The First Time, Joanna Noble
For The First Time, Joanna Noble
Bryant Literary Review
Alone and snow-bound you learn
the bones of your home as they keen
Baby And House, Catherine Austin Alexander
Baby And House, Catherine Austin Alexander
Bryant Literary Review
Imagine a yoga studio with pale yellow walls. Corduroy pillows piled under windows
Picasso's Bowl, Natasha Marin
Picasso's Bowl, Natasha Marin
Bryant Literary Review
Today I am a belly full of blue water
because he had an argument with his girl
I Will Go, David Rogers
I Will Go, David Rogers
Bryant Literary Review
and wander like Li Po
along river banks and wine halls
Poem Written In Revlon's "Fire And Ice" Lipstick, Marie Harris
Poem Written In Revlon's "Fire And Ice" Lipstick, Marie Harris
Bryant Literary Review
I secretly wanted to be the girl
you dreamed about as you stood
staring at the phone number
Palden Gyatso Comes To Town, Anne Hanley
Palden Gyatso Comes To Town, Anne Hanley
Bryant Literary Review
I always go to hear
Tibetan monks
Even though
I cannot understand
Their words.
The First Seven Pregnant Women I Knew, Jim Daniels
The First Seven Pregnant Women I Knew, Jim Daniels
Bryant Literary Review
were teenagers. Some kept the baby. Entered
the desert of marriage, their childhoods
mirages wavering on whispered streets.
It's Simple, Tim Bellows
It's Simple, Tim Bellows
Bryant Literary Review
Sunday after a short stack
of blueberry pancakes, half a cup
of ginger-and-cream tea,
Horowitz In New York, Tim Bellows
Horowitz In New York, Tim Bellows
Bryant Literary Review
Precise blocks of keys.
He brushes them
and in the ear's inside chamber,
we hear. His fingers white as a baby. Seems the notes
beam across cold deserts-
and hidden sprigs of grass
think to nose their ways
upward, harboring a thin sense
of yellow warmth despite
the presence of ice.
Written On Water, David Thornbrugh
Written On Water, David Thornbrugh
Bryant Literary Review
The man whose smile is a whetstone
excels at kissing knives.
What does the sliced throat say
to the knife that kisses it?
Billy Moran Stands In His Back Yard, Saying His Prayers Over One Last Glass Of Bourbon, Michael Scott Cain
Billy Moran Stands In His Back Yard, Saying His Prayers Over One Last Glass Of Bourbon, Michael Scott Cain
Bryant Literary Review
Our Father, thank you for the bourbon,
for the ice cubes, for the way the color
of the booze lightens as they melt,
for the fragrance that prods the senses.
America's Most Wanted, Erica Olsen
America's Most Wanted, Erica Olsen
Bryant Literary Review
I'm coming home from City Market when I spot the other vehicle in my drive.
"Look," I say. "Visitors."
The Red Chiffon, J.T. Ledbetter
The Red Chiffon, J.T. Ledbetter
Bryant Literary Review
Sleep wouldn't come, and the valium did nothing,
so he looked through the window at the man next door watching television,
his wife gone to bed after changing him.
Then he closed his eyes and listened to cars racing on Market
come back slower, looking for girls.
St. Viggo, Karina Fuentes
St. Viggo, Karina Fuentes
Bryant Literary Review
Helen nearly suffocates me the night before the exhibit. She's walking
around on her heels, big cotton puffs between her calloused toes,
when she stumbles and falls on my head, which is stuffed beneath a
pillow. "I'll never sleep again," I groan.
The Hospital Ships, Carmine Sarracino
The Hospital Ships, Carmine Sarracino
Bryant Literary Review
They might have freighted dry goods--
blouses and trousers, spools of bright
gingham-- from ports to upriver towns.