One Sentence Poems

Brad Rose Behind the Scenes at the Funeral Home All of you, now, small as a simple sentence, they drain your blood from a whitened body, as if you were a typo. Brad Rose frequently contributes to Right Hand Pointing and One Sentence Poems. His chapbook of miniature fiction, Coyotes Circle the Party Store, is from Right Hand Pointing.

Brad Rose Power Failure Since you stormed out, faster than lightning, I lie here, awake, in the night’s dark bruise, waiting for the next blackout. Brad Rose was born and raised in southern California, and lives in Boston. His chapbook of miniature fiction is from Right Hand Pointing, Coyotes Circle the Party Store.   

Brad Rose A Cure for an Amarillo August Road-worn, dusty, and lined, Ray has a face like a license plate on a stalled Texas pick-up, but as he wraps his wrangler’s arms around her, Roxanne swoons as if he were a cool, dizzying shot of ice-cold anesthesia. Brad Rose was born and raised in southern […]

Brad Rose Delusions of War Like a shrapnel hole puncturing an olive-drab helmet there was a sudden lull in the fighting, during the dead silence of which, I imagined I would one day die of natural causes. Brad Rose’s poetry and fiction are at http://bradrosepoetry.blogspot.com/

Brad Rose They Never Found My Father’s Body I recall the dust-gray ordinariness of my father’s face, and how, each day, in clean overalls, he left for the Upper Big Branch mine, but never once said goodbye. Brad Rose was born and raised in southern California, and lives in Boston. His chapbook of miniature fiction, […]

Brad Rose Early Spring Evening Three-Car Collision The rain, evenly distributed, acting pretty in the black and chrome stare of six stunned headlights. Blue Period At the end of the saddest sentence, you pause, avert your face, and gaze out the maternity hospital’s window, into the broken-hearted distance, as if searching for the perfect punctuation. […]

Brad Rose Emo Girl and Me at El Vagabundo Eyes, a condemned asylum, fingernails, blue as a boxer’s vein, you’re a drunk-haired dream skiffing me across this Mexicali dance floor, just trying to make me feel ……….good ……………..better, ……………………..the best, I’ve ever felt in this buzz-shrill demimonde, and I’ll be damned if I ain’t already ………….half- […]

Brad Rose My Toughest Critic  As my desk drawer glides gently shut, I take cold comfort in knowing its rectangular, oaken darkness, alone, has read all my poems.   Brad Rose was born and raised in southern California, and lives in Boston. Links to his poetry and  fiction can be found at: http://bradrosepoetry.blogspot.com/