Jim Brantingham — The Monarch Review
A Better Law of Gravity – Jim Brantingham
Monday, March 2, 2015 11:45 — 0 Comments
–taken from “A Member of the Wedding†By Carson McCullers Rain runs in rivers from the brim Of a hopelessly soaked hat. Water falls from his cardboard sign– “Anything helps. God Bless.†That plea, copied on so many Brown and ragged box ends, Could be dripping down Any wet leaf in any green forest. “A better law of gravity†Would not let this trace Of a human, this shadow, Fall so far from the grace Of a warm, dry room.
Urban Shadows – Jim Brantingham
Tuesday, January 20, 2015 9:34 — 1 Comment
Hour by hour the girders play as ribs and reach out and hold together the stone walls and floors. – “Skyscraper,†Carl Sandburg Shadows slide along streets and alleys, Slink slowly up old brick buildings. Each inch traveled along the walks Matches the vertical rise of concrete, Of steel and tall sheets of glass. Sandburg’s skyscraper has soul: The soul of dreams and hopes Poured into each cubic yard of concrete, Fastened into each steel beam. But these are squat soulless slabs That scarcely scrape the sky Yet still leave long black traces Where sunlight once brightened the leaves Lining […]
The Magic Red and Blue Pin – Jim Brantingham
Wednesday, December 10, 2014 11:40 — 1 Comment
I was minding my own business having a quiet beer in a busy tavern. A woman with a strong Russian accent approached me with boxes of jewelry. The jewelry was allegedly made by Russian orphans presumably in Russia. She was an exceptionally beautiful woman with long gorgeous black hair, so I mistakenly engaged her in conversation. I’m a lifelong sucker like that.
A Lesson in Parataxis Provided By Mary Collins And Faithfully Transcribed by Jim Brantingham
Monday, August 11, 2014 9:49 — 1 Comment
Mary was a bartender. On this afternoon she brought a half liter of beer to each of two guys at the bar. Introductions were made.
Aberfan, 1967 – Jim Brantingham
Monday, October 10, 2011 21:26 — 3 Comments
Ten months after the disaster at Abefan, I stood across the small valley and stared at the pile of coal slurry that killed 144 people—116 of them children. I tried to fathom a generation of children wiped out in just 5 minutes. A man made mountain, built over a spring, suddenly gave way burying a farmhouse and a school.
What am I?
Bioluminescent eye
That sees by the shine
Of its own light. Lies
Blind me. I am the seventh human sense
And my stepchild,
Consequence;
Scientists can't find me.
Januswise I make us men;
Glamour
Was my image then—
Remind me:
The awful fall up off all fours
From the forest
To the hours…
Tick, Tock: Divine me.
-- Richard Kenney
