English Language and Literature Commons^™

Dresden, Robert Kostuck

Bryant Literary Review

The mockingbird song is familiar, something from childhood; maybe a nursery rhyme buried in the deepest part of my memories.

Sunny Side Up, Byron Case

Bryant Literary Review

It is ovoid simplicity incarnate,
perfectly palm-sized,
and crackable.

Terminal Velocity, Charles Harper Webb

Bryant Literary Review

--the highest velocity attainable by an object as it falls through air

The male Mandarin, world's most gorgeous

duck--scarlet bill; purple breast; white

The Ice Man, Mitch Lescarbeau

Bryant Literary Review

Bolzano, Italy

We jostle and joke in the waiting line's dark,
snaking toward the cold cube of light in the wall.

Lost At Sea, Mitch Lescarbeau

Bryant Literary Review

The mass for the missing is over:
it's too cold, the wind off the Atlantic
wheedling everybody back toward their cars.

Sister Wigberta, Thomas Dorsett

Bryant Literary Review

Dad hanging onto the pier
after his ship has sailed on

Why Should We?, Don Kunz

Bryant Literary Review

Death addresses its invitation
In bold black block letters,
And will honor no regrets.

Goodbye, Apostrophe, Peter Schmitt

Bryant Literary Review

Goodbye, apostrophe--
you were barely hanging on

Ruffled Feathers, Murzban F. Shroff

Bryant Literary Review

It was one of the finest buildings in South Mumbai

The Lion At Franklin Park, Kathleen Aponick

Bryant Literary Review

We observe you in sunlight, golden offering
on a sculptured mound, blinking, throwing back your head

Confession, Brian Daldorph

Bryant Literary Review

I don't have much to confess, actually.
I only sinned a few times, didn't like it--

Candle In The Wind, Sheryl L. Nelms

Bryant Literary Review

black
back lit
by the sprinkle of stars

Strolling In Guangzhou, Stephen C. Behrendt

Bryant Literary Review

It's afternoon in Guangzhou
and I'm out with Maia,

Where The Light Enters, Michael Pikna

Bryant Literary Review

Max knocked lightly on Celia's door.

The Moon's Old Glory, David Dragone

Bryant Literary Review

Overrated, exaggerated
The crescent hangs, worn-out

Let Wind, Timothy Clutter

Bryant Literary Review

Let wind be the day-old toy
of a thoughtless god who can't
recall where he left it.

Precipitate, Erin Redfern

Bryant Literary Review

He had it in the bag.

He could have drawn

the string.

Growing Up, Worlds Apart (August -- December 2014), Daniel A. Harris

Bryant Literary Review

"What I didn't understand," you replied

as we talked of our first contacts with blacks,

Message Status, David Shrauger

Bryant Literary Review

Sam awoke with a smile, just like he did every day.

He brushed his teeth with a smile,

Omaha Beach, Jon Malchiodi

Bryant Literary Review

My only friend Bill sits beside me.

He smells like booze and is burning,

Fly With Me, Meagan Pessolano

Bryant Literary Review

I drink to our love tonight

Cheers to all the lovers across the seas

Trap, Susan Johnson

Bryant Literary Review

A loud snap, a mouse half-trapped

one leg caught, one free, still leaping

Library Of The Lost, Howard R. Wolf

Bryant Literary Review

He had spent years paying attention to his elders, and now he was one.

You Could Die Laughing (For Sarah Purnell And Especially For Anne), Don Fisher

Bryant Literary Review

I told a co-worker about a mutual friend dying.

She thumbed away one tear.

Nothing, Nathan Rivas

Bryant Literary Review

It's all I have to offer.

Not a penny for the man

shaking his cup,

John, Paul, George And Me, Brian Daldorph

Bryant Literary Review

I was the Beatles' first drummer,

played the first gig at The Cavern

The Acid God & The Anti-Dad, Saint James Harris Wood

Bryant Literary Review

With his dirty blond grown-out Beatles haircut, secondhand Hawaiian silk shirts and second-rate flip-flops

Oh My Brother, Katie Koumarianos

Bryant Literary Review

The rifle stands wedged into the ground

between standard issue combat boots

Bravo, Lisa Starr

Bryant Literary Review

And when, at last,

September rolls around again,

there is a wild flurry among the leaves

Into The Storm, Tatianna Williams

Bryant Literary Review

Olivia sits in the chair near the silent radio and reaches for her brush with a trembling hand.