Red River Review
Established 1999
Category: 02. August
Bjoin Park and Beyond by Lori Kean
Though it looks so different it still feels like home to me where you and I used to play, getting lost in our imagination day after day while mother worried. And John there with us, talking of friends getting shot in the leg,… Continue Reading “Bjoin Park and Beyond by Lori Kean”
Parting by Lori Kean
I remember the dress, red and white and swollen with expectant child. I remember the bench, ordinary meaningless bench, but I remember its rough nothingness like yesterday and how I kicked at the stones, afraid to look into the eyes of goodbye. I remember… Continue Reading “Parting by Lori Kean”
Some viewers may be disturbed???. by Caroline Lloyd
They carefully warn us, On the news Of ugly scenes To come, And then we watch with horror, The evils men have done. But it only lasts a minute, Or maybe even two, Before the next commercial, Selling something new to you. And following… Continue Reading “Some viewers may be disturbed???. by Caroline Lloyd”
Dysfunctional Dog Camp by David Newman
It was rough. Carlos pumping iron A helicopter putters by, then Birds chirp Someone is near the bushes turning on an antennae t.v… off & on every few minutes letting the fuzzy noise (& only the fuzzy noise) emanate A child squeals & calls… Continue Reading “Dysfunctional Dog Camp by David Newman”
The Fire by David Newman
A million shades of bland ripe perfection succulent to the ______cornea, ebullient polychromatic shape festivals parading back n forth through the mirrors never in focus bits of desire that burn in the fire.
AN OLD MAN ON HALLOWEEN by D.J. Pink
His love song long sunk in silence, He contemplates doing himself violence, Pumpkin skin thin as parchment. Achy groans risen into rant, He goes unnoticed on the pavement, No wilder-eyed than any other phantom. Bats cup darkness in wings of skin. Amazing, how they… Continue Reading “AN OLD MAN ON HALLOWEEN by D.J. Pink”
LEROY’S TEMPTATION by Michael Puttonen
Lurking near the bottom, I drift lazily among the rotted tires and beer cans, algae-tinted sunlight reflecting off the bullet-shaped bumper of a two-tone ’56 Packard. It’s a warm Sunday morning, and I am stuffed to the gills with stale duck bread. (The featherheads… Continue Reading “LEROY’S TEMPTATION by Michael Puttonen”
Grace by Anthony Robinson
It was supposed to be January because it’s always January in the folktales, because a hoary landscape gives the icy crunch, the frozen leaf, the piper’s footprints along the road, a mailbox row hemmed in by snow. So much exists just beyond the Sunday… Continue Reading “Grace by Anthony Robinson”
Mulberry & Mott Street by Ray Bianchi
“Scent of their very Bread caused their ire” NEW YORK TIMES, 1914 talking of the riots of white Americans in New York’s Little Italy and the reactions of the native born who burned the Vesuvio Bakery. colors and lights quadrangles and circles small white… Continue Reading “Mulberry & Mott Street by Ray Bianchi”
Plaza De Mayo Buenos Aires 1995 by Ray Bianchi
The curve of a woman’s knee Crossed Beneath an elegant silk dress. I look at her and inquire, with my mind When encountering another, who is strangely familiar A face that haunts and gives you the dryness In your mouth, like a fifteen year… Continue Reading “Plaza De Mayo Buenos Aires 1995 by Ray Bianchi”
Robie House by Ray Bianchi
When a work of art is experienced walked into breathed in through the nostrils it takes on a different feel almost like savoring a good meal. noticing the little things, opens new doors, and closes drafty windows. letting out the musty air daring to… Continue Reading “Robie House by Ray Bianchi”
Municipal Court, 3 p.m. by V.P. Crowe
“City Ordinance 60301.925 specifically prohibits grass or weeds over 12 inches in height on residential or commercial property” I explained that I’d begun to cut the lot, meaning to ease around the buttercups, but farther on I found the tiny purple and white and… Continue Reading “Municipal Court, 3 p.m. by V.P. Crowe”
Hoover Dam by jim dolan
he pulled the blue ford business man’s coupe over to the side, a gravelled stretch, and out we climbed, onto the hoover dam. the concrete shell blocked the black rock gorge, and behind it all the blue water in the world waited, angry at… Continue Reading “Hoover Dam by jim dolan”
Liftoff by jim dolan
below, the desert is already tucking itself into night, the tan mountains shining on their western aspects, with purple robes unfurled from their pinnacles to the east. the land is deeply carved with light and shade, running east to the severe corrugations of… Continue Reading “Liftoff by jim dolan”
summer in mimosa by jim dolan
one summer, my tenth, i think, we spent living on the roof of the garage. we kept a pair of ten foot tall stilts leaning up against the edge of the roof, and would from time to time step onto them, go striding down… Continue Reading “summer in mimosa by jim dolan”
Holding Pattern by Steve Gerstung
My open palm continues your lifeline etched forever on my skin I scrub to erase how you’ve bore into me how I carry you. My hand reaches to clasp a future carrying the scar of things past a neon sign lights flickering … Continue Reading “Holding Pattern by Steve Gerstung”
River Music by Padi Harman
An electric guitar strings itself onto the air high eeeee soft sugary voices mesh unheard lyrics softing floating like waterfall spray rebounding up up up to hit my ears this only happens at night in bed my head emptying out the days parables as… Continue Reading “River Music by Padi Harman”
the girl by Padi Harman
sat in the car w/the visor down the overhead light on the tape deck playing guns & roses she saw us but kept her face to the mirror red lipstick on huge puckered lips vanity was my first impression dead battery was my second
Boomerang by Jason Hensel
This is the angle of explanation: Because I always boomerang back to you, I know the figure of your desires, how coming close is a crash landing into closed hands, how leaving is a giveaway ending. Blue is such a small word for feeling.… Continue Reading “Boomerang by Jason Hensel”
Shakespeare and Trains by Jason Hensel
With Othello in the trees and Viola waiting in the wing, the tourist train came steaming, its belly announcing its arrival. The turn of words could not be interrupted, but our attention, subverted, snapped into this year. We almost slipped on future plans, and… Continue Reading “Shakespeare and Trains by Jason Hensel”
15 Minutes by Scott C. Holstad
Every 15 minutes. That’s how often they came in my locked room at night with their flashlights shining in my face to make sure I was still alive. Nighttime was OK. The screams were minimal. The day was something else altogether. Like I have… Continue Reading “15 Minutes by Scott C. Holstad”
GREENSPOT by John Horváth,Jr
GREENSPOT (I’ll never wear anything green as long as I live) in front of the searchlight Hanoi static loud and clear on the radio on top of the sandbag bunker reading playboy after dark not to be swapped even for Bangkok R-n-R in the… Continue Reading “GREENSPOT by John Horváth,Jr”
PURPOSE OF MEMORY by John Horváth, Jr
PURPOSE OF MEMORY (Lebanon, Panama, Grenada, Kuwait) something to drink to to drink for the pieces of time that hang on like flesh in the bars stateside where if you listen you’ll hear them remembering the loudest have nothing to say
At Wildwood Beach by Ann Howells
It’s summer. Our dusty orb revolves slowly on its axis, angled into sunslant for maximum absorption; its thin, dark skin blisters and cracks. All day I stand idle, waiting once again for magic to tumble into my life–the mythical poor fisher who nets a… Continue Reading “At Wildwood Beach by Ann Howells”
It’s all in how you look at it, really by Ann Howells
I mean, a thistle among roses appears a rude thing, slow, cloddish country cousin who visits, whose awkward manners do not fit–you apologize, make excuses, feel mild embarrassment. Then, place that same thistle atop a peck of turnips. No longer simple produce, it becomes… Continue Reading “It’s all in how you look at it, really by Ann Howells”
Grace by Anthony Robinson
It was supposed to be January because it’s always January in the folktales, because a hoary landscape gives the icy crunch, the frozen leaf, the piper’s footprints along the road, a mailbox row hemmed in by snow. So much exists just beyond the Sunday… Continue Reading “Grace by Anthony Robinson”
“V.G. Found” by L.David Ryals
Utopia isn’t round the corner I shall paint infinity I shall obtain a mysterious effect Like a star in the deep blue sky. Between being a good painter Or a bad one, I choose The… Continue Reading ““V.G. Found” by L.David Ryals”
Back Turned by Marin Sorescu Translated by Adam J. Sorkin & Lidia Vianu
The clock has turned its back on time. The clock was ill and, feeling the end draw near, Probably had its own particular notion Of a heaven for objects that die, Where clocks synchronize themselves To God’s heart, And night and day, alarm clocks… Continue Reading “Back Turned by Marin Sorescu Translated by Adam J. Sorkin & Lidia Vianu”
Ring Around My Eye by Marin Sorescu Translated by Adam J. Sorkin & Lidia Vianu
Last night I neglected an open eye, And all night long I was drawn into The darkness. It was like the black dregs Left at the bottom of things In which I had to divine The world, history, the trees And the progress of… Continue Reading “Ring Around My Eye by Marin Sorescu Translated by Adam J. Sorkin & Lidia Vianu”
If I had lonely by Seth Stauffer
If I had only known, and now I am lonely Planning for the rightest of myself to stay strong here. I stumble around, slipping throught sweaty palms and kissing them Softly with fingertips, And lose My anger, younger hands now lined, Now eyes that… Continue Reading “If I had lonely by Seth Stauffer”
Cook’s Work by Sylvia Riojas Vaughn
She could pare apples and oranges in a continuous spiral. Skin slipped away from flesh, obedient to her will. I watched, fascinated, longing to learn how a paring knife with a simple brown handle could separate protective rind from vulnerable juiciness, could tear pocked… Continue Reading “Cook’s Work by Sylvia Riojas Vaughn”
She wears Ophelia’s dress by Patti White
She wears Ophelia’s dress wrung out and hung to dry on the frame of her shoulders. Or what, perhaps, the creek saw as it gazed up at a surface broken, shattered by flesh, the watery trees and golden herbs floating around her like cloth… Continue Reading “She wears Ophelia’s dress by Patti White”
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