Poetry Commons^™

Jaffa Coffee, Tehila Wenger

Bryant Literary Review

The waitress placed the cappuccino down carefully on my left, next to the open computer. I glanced into the mug and noted that there was no design in the foam. My anticipation for the caffeinating process dropped immediately by several degrees, along with my belief in the basic goodness of mankind.

When I Think About The Funeral, I Find I Can Taste The Mints, Nichole Page

Bryant Literary Review

I can hear the crinkle of the wrapper, the sniffling and speeches

My fingers push it from the plastic casing giving me something to do

Mud And Truth, Hannah Kass

Bryant Literary Review

Tsofi knew the story since her mother began telling it to her and her brother almost every night. Other villagers would notice how her people did not eat the same meat or observe the same day of rest. In her mind those differences were as arbitrary as preferring to eat lamb or chicken. Yet such arbitrary reasons had sparked the most violent of reactions.

An Open Letter To The White Feminists Holding A Literary Panel On Toni Morrison, Matthew E. Henry

Bryant Literary Review

look to your left, your right—where

are her sisters? why are they missing?

Dreams Of Flight, Beth Paulson

Bryant Literary Review

A man with wings large enough and duly attached might learn to overcome the resistance of air. Leonardo da Vinci

No Icarus, you knew pulleys and winches would keep a man tethered
to earth though he rise high above a stage for a duke’s entertainment.
In your fabrico you built mechanical birds of wood and bright-dyed
linen, then raised men up on ropes to fly and float, angels with dark
curls, gilt-edged wings.

Brutality, Laurie Lessen Reiche

Bryant Literary Review

I.

There is something I want to say about brutality.

It comes out the lips of the hateful

mother, the beautiful mother.

My Father’S Loaves And Fishes, Lennie Hay

Bryant Literary Review

In his soft throaty voice he speaks of rice—

washing and rinsing hard kernels,

how hands knock them on the side of a pot

until water runs clear. How it will rise

The Ventriloquist Toasts Her Teddies, Rikki Santer

Bryant Literary Review

Here’s to my set-up like so many before me—
To the vice grip of acne maps & stammering

Could We Be Coyotes, George Longenecker

Bryant Literary Review

who howl all night behind the house,

whose ancestors mated with wolves?

Let Go, Jane Flint

Bryant Literary Review

Ten minutes

to pack up all my things

like a pocket

turning inside out

Going For Wood, Molly Vaux

Bryant Literary Review

I.

I would never have chosen a window seat, but there I was, staring at great banks of clouds while the plane, rocked by invisible currents, sailed upward.

Weeds In Her Curly Hair, Hareendran Kallinkeel

Bryant Literary Review

“I need a dagger,” Shiva says, “double-edged…and razor-sharp.”

The blacksmith turns from his furnace and stares at him in
surprise. What the hell is a renowned writer doing here? he thinks as he
stands up and walks towards Shiva.

That Thing, Susan Taylor Chehak

Bryant Literary Review

My pap’s eyes are bad. It’s not the books or the computer, not the
peering at small letters on a page or on a screen. And it isn’t just a
consequence of age either. His peepers went bad a long time ago, when
he was young.

Fragments Of Mother, Sheree La Puma

Bryant Literary Review

daughter, i rock your empty

cradle & ask myself,

how long will we

make war?

Bedside Vigil, Catherine Jagoe

Bryant Literary Review

Because each night when I was pregnant

my husband rubbed my aching feet

and still does, when I’m grieving or in such pain

Red Fox On Zaleski Trail, Deborah Fleming

Bryant Literary Review

Vinton County, Ohio

On the trail through hillsides

twice shorn of woodlands

When Death Comes, Carol Tyx

Bryant Literary Review

after Mary Oliver

When death comes

like the dentist,

sticking her hand

into your mouth,

Raul, Paul Lamar

Bryant Literary Review

On the twelfth day of his new job as a security guard outside of S–, one of M–’s finest men’s shops, Raul B– stumbled upon a unique answer to the question of store security, though he was never to be aware of his particular gift or its profound impact on crime in M–.

Our Tiny Somewhere, Martina Nicholson

Bryant Literary Review

a description of Earth from Maria Popova

The speck in the last

Voyager photograph

was Earth,

The Music Box, Cliff Saunders

Bryant Literary Review

Sing the gap between food and electricity

into a spirit unlike any other.

Borders, Mary Makofske

Bryant Literary Review

Drawn in ink or blood,
they unspool from history
to split mountains and valleys,
meander in rivers that twist

After Blake’S Songs Of Innocence And Experience, William Derge

Bryant Literary Review

(on a work of art by Lisa Sheirer entitled Water Stories – Lilypons 2)

I.

Things were pretty clear then,
the pencil thin lines of reeds, curved like the hairs on a stevedore’s arm,
the sculptured reflections of clouds,
scabbing bark of sycamores or
rust scars on seasoned machinery,

Ode To A Lobster, Joshua Gage

Bryant Literary Review

Here, between thick-cut filets
and a sheet of crushed ice
bearing slabs of cod and salmon,
a tank of frothing water
and a lone lobster.

Silent Elegy, Anna Leigh Morrow

Bryant Literary Review

What I want to say is

there are no words.

The Missing You settles beneath my ribs like

Mud Minor Mass, Kevin Walker

Bryant Literary Review

Even Johann Sebastian Bach
had to fake it through the mirk
on merciless days,

The Clearest Night Sky, Carla Mcgill

Bryant Literary Review

The ending was glass breaking

stones falling from cliffs

The ending was a cat’s purr

the vanishing foam of waves

on all the shores he loved

A Sweet Kid, William Torphy

Bryant Literary Review

I wait anxiously in the United terminal sipping a cup of coffee and feeling ungrounded. My nephew’s flight from Baltimore is late because of a severe weather system over the Midwest. My sister Kat tells me that Justin has become very selfish, even for a teenager, and that he lies and constantly tries to manipulate.

The Flood, Elizabeth Underwood

Bryant Literary Review

I wake

and I am alive

but the wine in my glass

from the night before

is dead.

Amends, Renay Costa

Bryant Literary Review

Quinn searched the chalkboard menu of the café deliberating what the appropriate beverage would be. What does a soon-to-be-divorcée drink while composing a letter to the man she separated from about a month ago? Wine would be the obvious option, but she was now a member of Alcoholics Anonymous, and the letter was part of the ninth step, which required her to “make direct amends” to those she had harmed, and tonight she was attempting her amends to Gil, her soon-to-be ex-husband. A pumpkin spice latte, her regular order, seemed too saccharine and sentimental.

Fantasy, Joseph Murphy

Bryant Literary Review

When I hear the mountain’s voice, words rise from a burnt page and a door in my heart swings open.