Red River Review
Established 1999
Category: Featured Poet
Meditation: University Green by Cullen Whisenhunt
The leather magnolia petals fall hard as if to crack the sidewalk, then lie bowl-still beside waxy leaves already yellowed by spring downshifting into summer. They twitch and skitter like the bottlebrush tail of a nearby red squirrel, lifted by the slightest breeze to… Continue Reading “Meditation: University Green by Cullen Whisenhunt”
Visions of Durant, OK by Cullen Whisenhunt
who loned it through the streets in Idaho seeking visionary indian angels who were visionary indian angels —Allen Ginsberg, “Howl” I saw him today, Allen. Saw him as I blew down Enterprise Boulevard like an eastern wind. Saw him framed above the road in… Continue Reading “Visions of Durant, OK by Cullen Whisenhunt”
Big Man by Julie Diane Gates
There you are on the floor of the bathroom passed out. I ran past the glistening blinking Christmas lights to the guest room where my mother was sleeping And young Caroline, zombified, in her transient coming of age to leaving the nest bare bedroom.… Continue Reading “Big Man by Julie Diane Gates”
China Doll by Julie Diane Gates
A China doll isn’t Chinese. She’s made of China. Her makeup, painted in fine brush strokes Is permanent, but not tattooed. Her coif will forever remain set and breeze-resistant Because she does and does not live in a sheltered encased world. She’s impervious to… Continue Reading “China Doll by Julie Diane Gates”
Picasso by Julie Diane Gates
I’m in your blue period, Poppy. Take me back to Cancun where you can see all of me and spoil me. You didn’t finish what you started And it was unfair of you to leave me with your blue feet. We were supposed to… Continue Reading “Picasso by Julie Diane Gates”
Silver by Julie Diane Gates
You can’t find that half ounce of mercury Shrunken to the base of the priceless miniscule vial Buried at the center of the iceberg In the Antarctic. Hack away with your foolish man-made tools, drills, hatchets, and axes, If you must, But you’ll only… Continue Reading “Silver by Julie Diane Gates”
At Home by Diane Webster
Old woman sits on rocking chair like a queen on her throne gathering robes around her in royal pose with a shaft of sunlight entering window in godly favor. White hair as silver-lined clouds drifts around her face while she rocks back and forth… Continue Reading “At Home by Diane Webster”
Beyond Crowds by Diane Webster
Gray-whiskered man lies on the ground; his arm pillows his head like mother’s hand when she held his babyhood. Eyes closed in sleep memory; a smile softens his face as he listens to his radio – music of static blankets his soul beyond crowds.
Of Himself by Diane Webster
Old man stands ankle-deep in pasture grass dry in August. He contemplates the ground as if looking for something lost – Pocket knife? Metal car? Toy gun? Like an escaped prisoner a cricket scurries through brittle stems uncaring of silence just fleeing. Old man… Continue Reading “Of Himself by Diane Webster”
My Granddaughter, Almost Twenty by Michael Craig Kasper
I watch my granddaughter Walk before me Or rather, I watch the men Staining their necks As they watch her walk by, Young hips swaying like the sea Oblivious. And I am proud That the blood of my blood Can draw such rapture Such… Continue Reading “My Granddaughter, Almost Twenty by Michael Craig Kasper”
The Dancing Trees by Michael Craig Kasper
There was a stand of trees Where the road from work Teed into the road home. They would dance in the wind, So close, their branches mingled, If one moved, they all moved, Choreographed. I would sit at the light, Waiting to turn, and… Continue Reading “The Dancing Trees by Michael Craig Kasper”
Whistle Stop by Michael Craig Kasper
some minor city in Illinois past midnight, the neon signs running on the wet pavement the tavern hard by the tracks we stop here to let one off or two get on — minutes of stillness in the long rough night I watch him… Continue Reading “Whistle Stop by Michael Craig Kasper”
Final Fifteen Minutes by Martin Christmas
Cabin in deep forest home alone in upstairs flat. Final fifteen minutes midday movies creepy music. Young woman older guy or younger shonky lover the ending won’t be pretty. He arrives by car by lift by open window music heavy light but always ominous.… Continue Reading “Final Fifteen Minutes by Martin Christmas”
Mount Everest Cockroach by Martin Christmas
Standing at base camp in the dark of early night watching this huge cockroach not even donning an oxygen tank about to climb to the summit of Mount Everest and off it goes. Easily scaling the rough trunk terrain the breaks in the track… Continue Reading “Mount Everest Cockroach by Martin Christmas”
Outback ruin by Martin Christmas
Hot sun, cloudless sky. As far the eye sees, flat empty plain. The track threads its lonely way to the shimmering horizon. The merciless sun drums the mulga bush. On one side of the endless track, a homestead slowly crumbling into dust. Roof long… Continue Reading “Outback ruin by Martin Christmas”
Seven Thousand Tigers by Martin Christmas
I was dapping through the archives 21st century, olden days, when I came across this cryptic note, ‘Seven thousand tigers left’. But before my birth they’d all been killed. Dad says, ‘Stick to generic brands, son’, so when the food tube came I read… Continue Reading “Seven Thousand Tigers by Martin Christmas”
Sunset Adieu by Martin Christmas
Sun sets. Cloud tips gold. Silver exhaust jets upward through the blue. Sun’s rays fade. Nodding yachts silently dip their masts. Water surface scuds a fond farewell. Sea gulls almost now departed. Mum’s framed image propped up in the front seat, takes a gentle… Continue Reading “Sunset Adieu by Martin Christmas”
Ablaut Reduplication by Alan L. Birkelbach
Things must be in this order then: Opinion, size, age, shape, color, noun. And so on. It is an easy enough thing to remember. Sweet small young round brown bear. The mnemonics of our lives. Don’t say it another way. You will be made… Continue Reading “Ablaut Reduplication by Alan L. Birkelbach”
Finally Setting Questions Aside by Alan L. Birkelbach
To be distrustful of questions is the best way to translate three ravens clustered in front of a house I was considering buying. Even just a few months ago I would have steeped the moment with symbolism. The sheen of wing. Their beaded eyes… Continue Reading “Finally Setting Questions Aside by Alan L. Birkelbach”
Ten Months After The Divorce by Alan L. Birkelbach
It is a cave we can only see at low-tide, the moss drifting like the hair of drowned mermaids, the sea-stars clinging futilely to the rocks.
What is Significant by Alan L. Birkelbach
Sitting on a bench at the dog park a younger woman, someone who I assumed was intelligent because she was attractive, said to me, “You have a dangerous dog breed.” A single man has to double-consider statements like that. When God leaned over to… Continue Reading “What is Significant by Alan L. Birkelbach”
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