English Language and Literature Commons^™

Dawn Camping, Steven Proulx

Bryant Literary Review

Night slithers off into the horizon

a canvas of ancient pastels in its wake

air is virgin

ground marks no tread

Workout, Dave Evans

Bryant Literary Review

From my lofty indoor bike seat,

facing a bay window, I see a real fly

caught in a metaphorical Lake Michigan

Same Old, Mary Crow

Bryant Literary Review

The same old story is different with each

re-telling. What did mother say? One of the sisters asserts her truth to the other's

incredulity-- someone has to be right.

My Grandmother's Slops Bucket, David Thornbrugh

Bryant Literary Review

My grandmother kept a slops bucket

behind a curtain of blue-flowered calico cloth

tacked over the bottom shelf in her kitchen pantry,

Owl, Joe Survant

Bryant Literary Review

The owl glides in

on secret wings,

silent as a leaf flush.

He knows the quick

motives of chipmunks,

the intimacy of mice.

Homage To Montale, Baron Wormser

Bryant Literary Review

This morning

The hummingbird's

Pure zigzag

Surprises you.

The indifference to

The long steps

Of your mood.

The Widow Of War, Jon Mccolgan

Bryant Literary Review

Before allure began to pour

out of her sore onto the floor

she stored the door to her heart's core

beneath the boards of her store's floor.

The Boys Of Night Winter, Paul Sohar

Bryant Literary Review

Their puffy winter jackets lifting their

faces high above the horizon

the boys troop in from the snow

The Hills Of Laura, Billy Lombardo

Bryant Literary Review

It is true that I hated Hucker Norton. But I did not mean to crush his thumb.

He wasn't one of us, really. Even his name told you he was from some other place. We were Petey and Tommy and Davy and Matty, and he was Hucker.

A Persistent Error, Dorinda Clifton

Bryant Literary Review

My-Hundred-Year-Old Window

I live on the second floor of an old building. One room, one window. Having only one window keeps me focused on the life I can see within its perimeter.

Touching My Reflection, Michele Heather Pollock

Bryant Literary Review

I peer into a mirror
of last night's rain

In A Field Near Sardis Dam, Louis Bourgeois

Bryant Literary Review

Silence. A scarecrow flickers in the wind.

The corn is dead. Geese speckle the horizon,

followed by crows and herons.

Dress Rehearsal For Utopia, Karen Donovan

Bryant Literary Review

We're glad they made Clear Falls.

The white rocks love the water,

the water loves its splash and brim.

The Wounded, Dave Cappella

Bryant Literary Review

The one-legged pigeon understands

the loneliness of the man.

Hobbling under the patio table

behind a chair, the bird waits

for a morsel from the stranger.

The Snow Moon, Rebecca Lilly

Bryant Literary Review

A full moon sheared the tip of a pine. Lying in bed, a woodsman and

his wife saw it one December night. "Something must be done," said

his wife. "I know it's a sign."

Contributors

Bryant Literary Review

No abstract provided.

In Oxford Cemetery, Louis Bourgeois

Bryant Literary Review

You thought because

the trees moved

and the stones didn't

Lights And Shadows - 2004, University Of North Alabama

Lights and Shadows

Art and Literature Magazine

Everything Repeated Many Times, Fernand Roqueplan

Birmingham Poetry Review

p. 35

Walking The Dogs, Hayan Charara

Birmingham Poetry Review

p. 6

Beneath St. Michan's, Dublin, Judi A. Rypma

Birmingham Poetry Review

pp. 36-37

Lover X, Revisited, Philip West

Birmingham Poetry Review

p. 49

Fractured Light: September 18, 2001, Michael Hardin

Birmingham Poetry Review

p. 24

Dear Yoon, Richard Newman

Birmingham Poetry Review

p. 36

Baccalaureate, Philip Dacey

Birmingham Poetry Review

p. 13

Buchanan At The Monkey House, Michael Casey

Birmingham Poetry Review

p. 10

Birmingham Poetry Review 28 (End Matter), Birmingham Poetry Review Staff

Birmingham Poetry Review

pp. 60-66

The Professor Creates His Tenure File, Katharyn Howd Machan

Birmingham Poetry Review

p. 29

Monarch, Fernand Roqueplan

Birmingham Poetry Review

p. 34

Presence Of Light, Autumn M. Stephens

Birmingham Poetry Review

p. 45