ISSN: 1941-4137
POETRY THAT ENACTS THE ARTISTIC AND CREATIVE PURITY OF GLASS
POETRY THAT ENACTS THE ARTISTIC AND CREATIVE PURITY OF GLASS
Cover
Masthead
Rane Arroyo:
Brokeback Mountain
Frederick Lord:
Diving Bell
Allison Tobey:
The Wedding Photo
Frederick Lord:
Cupping My Car Keys like a Bird I Want to Keep Quiet
Tom Carson:
Breakfast plate portraits
Ryan McLellan:
Too much life
Peter Gunn:
Tate Modern
Tom Carson:
The beach
Sally O'Quinn:
October View
Jeff Crouch:
thermostat
JR Walsh:
Maybe he'll adopt our children
Carine Topal:
Eating Apples
David B. McCoy:
Skylight
Lightsey Darst:
Don't
Amanda McQuade:
At the Shore
Lenore Weiss:
U.S. Soldier With Traumatic Stress Disorder Syndrome, Post Iraq
Adam Houle:
How I Imagine the Seasons on a Walk with My Dog
Daria Tavana:
Bunkered Up!
Martin Willitts, Jr.:
Forest Haiku
Joseph Reich:
from Twelve Odd Stanzas Involving Culture
Lisa Fay Coutley:
In Love, Fridays are Best Spent Watching the Discovery Channel
Ray Succre:
Seedless Blackberry Jam
Davide Trame:
The Threshold
John Grey:
Glassy
Ryan McLellan:
Exploratory
Kenneth Pobo:
Leave it to Buble
Joseph Hutchison:
Poplar
Amanda McQuade:
Happy Hour 3
Adam Penna:
from Lyrics to Genji
Lisa Fay Coutley:
In e-Harmony
Anne Baldo:
jenny hanniver
Jackson Lassiter:
Instant Oatmeal Instructions
Taylor Graham:
Erinys Erinys
Celeste Snowber:
water litany
Davide Trame:
Moth
Contributors
Volume One Issue One
Don’t
A worthwhile life? Finding the names of the dead. You
May leave me—I let you—and go to Hungary, Russia, those
Mass graves. It’s so hard (say the newsboys) to keep
Snow from a newborn baby or a corpse. That eye
Open & flecked with hexagons—falling desert of white
Above the tree line. And then a lake whose ice skin
Apes silk on the back of a princess.
Slowly the smile of skulls grows bearable, even sweet. Dream how,
If we burned in one room, how deeply we might
Love before the tallow. Unlike a room of snow.
All these prisoners in me as we circle the frozen lake. Teeth
That will not bite. Is it sky, or cotton batting
Hung up to prevent bruising? Lack of silk. Oh you are gone.
But I am already here. It is the country that stays.
By the way, summer came for good today
Ticking its fat death watch.
Glass: A Journal of Poetry is published by Glass Poetry Press.
All contents © the author.
All contents © the author.
