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
How I Imagine the Seasons on a Walk with My Dog
I pretend my footfalls leave perfect
Imprints in concrete, evidence of my quiet
Passing, evidence further that a deceptively
Heavy man hides in my bones, takes weight
From this August’s water-filled air. Each step
An earthly failure, minor and without recourse.
The tiny cracks merge with larger until a whole
Section heaves like an ice floe’s sluggish traverse
Of a shore. I’d drift like this for years,
Surfing the sidewalk on a concrete block
In this town, in any town, so long as fat
Pantries wait off halls in a hundred kitchens
And at whatever table I sit, a window
Is cracked, and the curtains breathe
The copper rain as I read up on dandelion wine
For the nervousness in me, for that last sum
Of summer nights as they lose what makes
Them fresh. The wild lilacs in the yard fail.
Target-shaped cankers appear, and next year
Great knots of growth will keep the dead
Far enough away from what we have left of the living.
Glass: A Journal of Poetry is published by Glass Poetry Press.
All contents © the author.
All contents © the author.
