The Houston Literary Review

A literary webzine targeting artists from Southeast Texas and beyond. A small attempt on my part to remain committed to the ideals I learned as a child from my grandfather and my wonderful public school teachers. Come visit

Tuesday, August 29, 2006


Circus Days

dancing blue clouds
coiled knotted cable
tattered circus tent
a gnarled clay body,
we embrace.

-Bill Brocato

Thursday, August 24, 2006

Some Works-in-Progress

Mr. Raymond Carver Stopped By
(for Russ Sherrill)

Mama has Mr. Raymond Carver’s
obituary out and is reading
aloud, "Ill get there before you,
I’m traveling faster.
“And then old Mr. Carver
he trusted the wind
blowin’ in from the sea
and closed his eyes
and was gone.”
My Mama appreciated Mr. Raymond’s words,
camp songs from a world we’d
never seen but found inside
a leather bound volume he’d mailed us
from some bar in New Orleans.
Now when the nights get so
hot you can hear tin roofs
Mama takes out
Mr. Raymond’s book
and sings us stories
about his poor man’s
penny pride.
Papa farts and says
between great gulps of his
beer “Man was always
act’n’ a fool, talk’n no-sense
or tell’n what ought’n be heard.”
But old Raymond, Mama would say
her eyes looking up at our stale-stained ceiling
“He sure was a sight to behold.”
“Woman, he damn talked them boards
off'n this porch,” Papa says.
“He just up-ed
and kept’n talk’n,
sing’n the way he did.
“I suppose had I’d been
sober, I’d been a bit
more willing to reach out a hand.
“But Lord, your Mama she
went out in the backyard
and digg’n out that
old Seaport coffee can,
made sin pure so he
could fix his old chevy.
“Mama says she seen
somethin’ right off.
“Said look mindful old man
and I ought’n get off my backside,
learn to ’preciate more than
a rest’n summer moon.”
Ain't it so.
Why me and my brothers
we spent some nights
over in Vinton, Louisiana
along the railroad tracks.
Hiked us a couple ol’ pluckin’ hens
to help make some noise
outside Miss Beulah's cathouse.
Hiding later in a wet drainage ditch to
keep them Calcashieu Parish deputies
off’n our butts.
I remember how we’d laid there
pulling up what dried leaves and old newspaper

we’d found, staring off into outer space
where Mr. Raymond Carver
done gone.

Bill Brocato

Welcome to The Houston Literary Review blog.
As publisher and editor, I hope to offer Southeast Texas artists -- written to visual -- an opportunity to let their creations breathe.
Specifically, I hope to let everyone have a chance to submit their work through interaction on this site.

I suppose for most of us more mature folks, attempting to ride the Internet wave causes a bit of anxiety, but I am determined to give it my best shot and provide an outlet for artists from Southeast Texas and beyond.

You will also see a myriad of personal creations as I believe in experimentation to foster emotional and spritual growth. On this blog, nothing is sacred as long as it doesn't attempt to maliciously hurt others.

So don't just hang around clicking from one site to another, join in and let me hear from you.
-Bill Brocato- AKA Tokyo Bill
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