Poetry of Kansas Here & Now, There & Then

Posts tagged ‘Thomas Reynolds’

Wishes on an August Evening at Milford by Kelly W. Johnston

Heavy heat of the day escapes

on stiff winds across the lake.

Wish-laden catfish lines, like sirens,

draw me away from campfire,

wine, and your whispers.

 

You stand ashore alone,

lantern held high as I push off.

While rowing, you fade

to a lighthouse on a bleak coast.

 

My flashlight finally finds

a tenuous streak of limp line.

Grasping for dreams,

line trembles, tightens

and the lake is fighting back,

bouncing the bow of the boat,

spraying my face with froth.

Dark, churning depths stretch

line toward nightmare.

 

Until the catfish is netted.

A wet grin crosses my face

as I remember your light

beckoning my return.

~ Kelly W. Johnston

Thomas Reynolds is an associate English professor at Johnson County Community College in Overland Park, Kansas, and has published poems in various print and online journals, including New Delta Review, Alabama Literary Review, Aethlon-The Journal of Sport Literature, Sport Literate, The MacGuffin, Flint Hills Review, and Prairie Poetry. Woodley Press of Washburn University published his poetry collection Ghost Town Almanac in 2008. His chapbook The Kansas Hermit Poems was published in 2013. His work has received two Pushcart Prize nominations.

Kansas Creeks by Elizabeth Perdomo

A creek flows through me,

Down my arms & right

Out my muddy, wet

Fingertips…

Pulsing warm as blood,

Like the memory of song.

I proclaim my firm premise:

Every child, at some point in youth,

Should befriend or be

Befriended by

A creek.

My own former playmate

Still runs in Kansas; shallow,

Stoney & slow…

It curved playfully

Behind the pink-sided rental

Where we lived when I was but

5 years old.

It was there that I first studied

Aquaculture with diligent

Intensity & full

Wonder.

Learning habitats

Of crawdads, turtles & snails;

Observing lifecycles

Of frogs & toads

…from egg to tadpole

To gone…

The creek was alive.

Moss green covered stones

Sprinkled with small freshwater shellfish,

Stirred by outstretched strider bugs

& darting dragonflies.

Brilliant sun flashed

Backs from countless minnows,

Brushed bare toes, half sunk

In rich, slimy mud.

The creek called to me daily,

& I could not resist.

This creek,

Which once curved

My childhood afternoons,

Still remains in my

Bloodstream.

Now, my own daughters

Need a creek to live

Inside them

As friend & teacher

& a venue for few innocent

Crimes,

Offering

Them permission to explore

A world I can no longer

Easy enter,

& time to experience

Innocence which I can now

Scarcely envision.

They need a creek:

Flowing through their minds,

Down their arms & right

Out their muddy, wet

Fingertips.

~ Elizabeth Perdomo

Elizabeth Perdomo has lived and written in the Rio Grande Valley of South Texas these past fourteen years, moving to the region from the Rio Grande Valley of New Mexico. Born in Kansas, and raised both there and in Colorado, she has written poetry works since a young teen. Perdomo also lived in the Southeastern USA for a number of years. Her written pieces reflects on local place and culture, ecology and nature, traditions, spirituality and much more.

Thomas Reynolds is an associate English professor at Johnson County Community College in Overland Park, Kansas, and has published poems in various print and online journals, including New Delta Review, Alabama Literary Review, Aethlon-The Journal of Sport Literature, Sport Literate, The MacGuffin, Flint Hills Review, and Prairie Poetry. Woodley Press of Washburn University published his poetry collection Ghost Town Almanac in 2008. His chapbook The Kansas Hermit Poems was published in 2013. His work has received two Pushcart Prize nominations.

Fish in a Barrel by Robert Cory

imageA couple hours of daylight remained

as we navigated dusty Kiowa County roads.

Our destination: a tree lined, stream-fed fishing lake

with a scatter of pools and ponds.

Rod and reel in hand, I tagged along

or, rather, was led to one small pool in particular.

For bait, leftover corn from the supper table.

At this shade-choked spot nearly blind to the face of a west sun

I baited my hook as instructed and, from experience,

trusted to luck.

But, no time at all had passed when they struck.

Again, again and again. Those carp. Catch. Release.

Catch another. Combative. One broke my line.

Demonstrative as born-again mosquitoes.

~ Robert Cory

Robert Cory: Born in Missouri, Robert Cory was raised, schooled and has worked in Kansas most of his life. Dependably wearing out shoe leather, tires, molars and ego trips. His most recent work has appeared. He’s been writing poetry since age fourteen, plays since 1968.

Thomas Reynolds is an associate English professor at Johnson County Community College in Overland Park, Kansas, and has published poems in various print and online journals, including New Delta Review, Alabama Literary Review, Aethlon-The Journal of Sport Literature, Sport Literate, The MacGuffin, Flint Hills Review, and Prairie Poetry. Woodley Press of Washburn University published his poetry collection Ghost Town Almanac in 2008. His chapbook The Kansas Hermit Poems was published in 2013. His work has received two Pushcart Prize nominations.

Traveling with the River by Greg German

GGeman 270pxKnowing winter’s clear water

will soon be dulled by summer,

the two of us wade

just a ways down

from the old Brock Bridge.

Advance scouts, we’re alert

for yesterday’s ware.

Abandoned bottles, hubcaps,

and other good junk

wait between last night’s coon

tracks melting in the silt

and today’s sun patting

the river’s cool bottom. Friendly,

the current nudges us farther

than we have been before.

We forget and let April’s path

splash above our knees, ignoring

dense mud and scavenging sand

that sucks at and into

our worn canvas shoes.

We stop at Holler’s Bend,

listen—and hearing only

ourselves, imagine

the sound of trees

stretching and buds splitting.

It’s late. Our mothers

will worry. But we

decide we are men

and are never going home, again.

~ Greg German (Previously Published in Wind, 1987, V.17, # 61)

Greg German was born and raised near Glen Elder, in north central Kansas, where he farmed with his family for many years. He currently lives in Kansas City, Kansas, with his wife Regina and son, Alden. He is a private consultant specializing in technical communication, web site development, free-lance writing and photography. He holds a B.A. degree in English/Creative writing and a B.S. in Education from Kansas State University. Previously, Greg has taught high school English and, creative writing at both the high school and college levels. He also developed and maintains www.kansaspoets.com — a website unique to Kansas Poets. Greg’s poetry and personal essays have appeared in over 50 literary journals across the U.S.

Thomas Reynolds is an associate English professor at Johnson County Community College in Overland Park, Kansas, and has published poems in various print and online journals, including New Delta Review, Alabama Literary Review, Aethlon-The Journal of Sport Literature, Sport Literate, The MacGuffin, Flint Hills Review, and Prairie Poetry. Woodley Press of Washburn University published his poetry collection Ghost Town Almanac in 2008. His chapbook The Kansas Hermit Poems was published in 2013. His work has received two Pushcart Prize nominations.

Name Bearers by Thomas Reynolds

My grandfather is a picture,05_10_1

Boxed in by a solid oak frame,

Staring with inscrutable gaze

From my aunt’s faded flower print.

He is not the imperious patriarch.

He neither intimidates into silence,

Nor beckons with benevolent gaze

This small collection of name-bearers.

How often I sat at the table as a child

Staring at those eyes squinting at the light,

Head cocked as if hearing an inner voice,

One he never seems quite able to place.

Maybe it is our faces he strains to see,

The timber of our voices he leans to hear.

What to make of this new breed of Kansans.

He appears perpetually to withhold judgment.

As judges go, he’s not a gavel beater,

But he’s Kansas shrewd, taking us all in.

In cases involving imposters, you see,

Looks don’t cut it. Nor voices.

Rather some indefinable tilt of the head.

The glacial drift of conversation.

A beckoning of ancient blood.

A quality of silence.

~ Thomas Reynolds

Thomas Reynolds is an associate English professor at Johnson County Community College in Overland Park, Kansas, and has published poems in various print and online journals, including New Delta Review, Alabama Literary Review, Aethlon-The Journal of Sport Literature, The MacGuffin, Flint Hills Review, and Prairie Poetry. Woodley Press of Washburn University published his poetry collection Ghost Town Almanac in 2008. His chapbook The Kansas Hermit Poems was published in 2013.

Guest editor: Denise Low, 2nd Kansas Poet Laureate, is author of twenty-five books, most recently Mélange Block (Red Mountain Press, Santa Fe). Low is past president of the Associated Writers and Writing Programs board of directors. Cream City Review nominated her fiction for a Pushcart Prize, 2014. She writes articles, blogs, and reviews; and she co-publishes a small press, Mammoth Publications. She teaches private professional workshops as well as classes for Baker U. Her MFA is from W.S.U. and Ph.D. is from K.U. She has British Isles, German, and Delaware Indian heritage. See more: www.deniselow.net http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/denise-low http://deniselow.blogspot.com

The Bus Ride Home by Thomas Reynolds

No one whispers05_10_1

On the way home

After such a loss

The gray frozen road

Cuts like a serpent

Through barren hills.

 

Headlights struggle

Ahead of the rattling bus

Like runners gasping for air.

 

No one wins in these Flint Hills

On a cold January night

Except darkness.

 

Besides numbness,

Players feel only the rising

And falling of glacial drifts.

 

The ebbing and flowing

Of an ancient sea

Inside their chests.

 

Wind rattling windows

Once blew across waves

Writhing with monstrous beasts.

 

Struggling for dominance,

They leaped out of the darkness

And caromed back into spray,

 

Their shrieking death cries

Echoing like thunder

Across the moonless night.

 

One player stirs from sleep

With such a bellowing cry

Rising from his diaphragm

 

But squelches it just in time,

And then turns to the window

And the undulating plains

 

With an uncomprehending gaze,

Unaware of the lesson about loss

Among the endless ravines,

 

That after the struggle ends,

And all memory of victor

And vanquished disappear,

 

Swallowed by darkness,

Only the wind will be left

To remember the sounds.

~ Thomas Reynolds

Thomas Reynolds is an associate English professor at Johnson County Community College in Overland Park, Kansas, and has published poems in various print and online journals, including New Delta Review, Alabama Literary Review, Aethlon-The Journal of Sport Literature, The MacGuffin, Flint Hills Review, and Prairie Poetry. Woodley Press of Washburn University published his poetry collection Ghost Town Almanac in 2008. His chapbook The Kansas Hermit Poems was published in 2013.

Guest Editor: Israel Wasserstein, a Lecturer in English at Washburn University, was born and raised on the Great Plains. His first poetry collection, This Ecstasy They Call Damnation, was a 2013 Kansas Notable Book. His poetry and prose have appeared in Crab Orchard Review, Blue Mesa Review, Flint Hills Review, and elsewhere.

 

Demolition Derby Car by Thomas Reynolds

05_10_1It sits in tall weeds

Like a crushed, jagged brain.

No beat or synapse pulses

Where it sits behind the shed.

All is unnaturally calm the way

Operating rooms are after everything

Has been tried, the surgeon has backed

Away and removed her mask, nurses

Disconnect all life-sustaining devices,

All silent except for the clanking of tools

Being placed on trays and wheeled away.

Soon the patient is lifted onto a gurney

To be awaited by mourners, those for whom

The body is all they have and so they can’t let

It go. Not yet. So now he has wheeled this corpse

Into the waving September grass to await eternity.

Only a few birds have cared to mourn. Tree limbs

Lean down to caress the hollowed-out eyes

Which look out unseeing into darkening prairie,

Where wind and sky collide time after time.


Before a raucous crowd of jays.

~ Thomas Reynolds

Bio: Thomas Reynolds is an associate English professor at Johnson County Community College in Overland Park, Kansas, and has published poems in various print and online journals, including New Delta Review, Alabama Literary Review, Aethlon-The Journal of Sport Literature, The MacGuffin, Flint Hills Review, and Prairie Poetry. Woodley Press of Washburn University published his poetry collection Ghost Town Almanac in 2008. His chapbook The Kansas Hermit Poems was published in 2013.

Guest Editor James Benger is husband and writer. His work has been featured in Coal City Review, Comma,Splice, Hoarding Words, Kansas City Voices, Kiosk, Periphery, Runaway Pony, Thorny Locust and To the Stars Through Difficulties. His ebooks, Flight 776 and Jack of Diamonds are available from most digital retailers. He lives in the Kansas City area with his wife.

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