One Sentence Poems

Brad Rose Nets Beneath the churning waves, the sleeping fish, in their glossy silver skins, eyes wide open, dream again, of the nets’ trolling terror. Brad Rose was born and raised in Los Angeles, and lives in Boston. His website is: www.bradrosepoetry.com He is a lot cuter than he looks.    

Brad Rose The Nature of Inebriation Three o’clock in the morning, I wake up and hear the rain giddy drunk, falling all over itself barely able to hit the roof in three or four tries, but still persists in its dizzy, wasted, plunge. Brad Rose‘s website is www.bradrosepoetry.com.  

Brad Rose I Overheard the Homeless Vet When some guy in a blue suit, instead of giving him change, righteously reared up and asked him why he didn’t have a job and work like the rest of us human beings, he calmly announced from his rumpled pile of Salvation Army clothing— the weathered M-65 jacket, […]

Brad Rose Sedan de Ville They say death is a low, black, chauffeur-driven limousine, but who can afford that? Brad Rose is a lot taller than he thinks.  www.bradrosepoetry.com

Brad Rose What I Learned about God from Playing Baseball The umpire never strikes out. Brad Rose is the author of Pink X-Ray from Big Table Publishing and three chapbooks from Right Hand Pointing. Links to Brad’s published fiction and poetry can be found at http://bradrosepoetry.blogspot.com

Brad Rose Snake Charmer The delicate charms of the snake charmer belong entirely to the snake. Links to Brad’s published fiction and poetry can be found at http://bradrosepoetry.blogspot.com.

Brad Rose The Angry Dead During the excavation, relatives were forbidden from viewing the skeletons, which made them very angry. (A found poem, lines taken from “Bring Out the Dead: How Archeologists Think About Mortality,” Times Literary Supplement, Oct 28, 2016, p.13) Brad is the author of Pink X-Ray from Big Table Publishing and three chapbooks from Right Hand […]

Brad Rose August, California Central Valley Cicadas weep at August’s unbearable oblivion, as noon slumps against the oaks’ missing shadows. Brad Rose is the author of the collection of poems and fiction, Pink X-Ray, and links to Brad’s fiction and poetry can be found at  http://bradrosepoetry.blogspot.com. 

Brad Rose After Police Find Invisible Ink in Her Room, Mata Hari is Executed by Firing Squad  The prosecution said, She is so devious she wears her own body as a disguise. Brad Rose is the author of the collection of poems and fiction, Pink X-Ray, and links to Brad’s fiction and poetry can be […]

Brad Rose Hourglass Figure She’s jealous of the cloud’s white drape sashaying in the blue-silk distance, as I admire its slow, unfolding prettiness unburdened by rain. This marks  Brad Rose‘s 16th poem on One Sentence Poems. Read them all here.

Brad Rose Refraction Does the plummeting pelican dive to where it sees the fish, or to where the fish is? Links to Brad Rose’s fiction and poetry can be found at  http://bradrosepoetry.blogspot.com.

Brad Rose Spring Cleaning Falling in perfect pinstripes, the gentle May rain launders its own shirt. Brad Rose is the author of the collection of poems and fiction, Pink X-Ray. 

Brad Rose Bee, Erratic It’s not your sting I fear, nor the frenzied crush of your yellow thrashing, but your faithless hoverings— nearer to me, than I am to myself— until, like the electricity of sudden shock, you flit to some other unsuspecting Poppy, whose pretty nectar you imagine far sweeter than my unswerving, dulcet, […]

Brad Rose Yes, But They’re All Robots  (Found Poem—New York Times 1/8/2016) U.S employers added 292,000 workers in December, an impressive sprint capping off a year of solid job growth. Kenneth Patchen’s Poem “The Man Who Was Shorter than Himself,” was written about  Brad Rose.  Links to Brad’s published poetry and fiction can be found at: http://bradrosepoetry.blogspot.com/  

Brad Rose Lullaby In place of light, dream trespasses throughout our bodies, unthinkable stars whirr weightless, while in the next apartment, two secrets shush the darkness to sleep, as if it were an infant sky. Brad Rose frequently contributes to Right Hand Pointing and One Sentence Poems. His book of poems and micro fiction, Pink X-Ray, will be available Spring, 2015 […]

Brad Rose For Rent: One Bedroom House Sheets stripped to bone-bare bed, your closet, empty as a mineshaft, I trace the invisible circumference of your leaving, as the house falls dream-dead quiet, and the basement digs itself ever deeper into the earth’s dark stone. Brad Rose frequently contributes to Right Hand Pointing and One Sentence Poems. His blog […]

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/