"Featured in this work are winning selections from the Greater Dallas Writers Association Manuscript Contest - Poetry Category, and it is not difficult to explain Houston's triumph. Simple words strung together form social commentary ("Amanda": Her world was sparse and lacking/Made bleak by poverty's woe), feelings of loss ("Alice": What in the universe can atone/For being left to die alone?), and a colorful sense of place ("Aubade": The gorgeous drapery of dawn slowly unfolds.). Each poem is a chapter in the life of Brush Country, each character vivid in the reader's mind. A reader's first impression may paint Brush Country as a desolate place, yet Houston evokes a sense of quiet hope in her poems ("Low Water Crossing": Along little hollows in awkward places/Flowers fill the empty spaces.) as each subject is treated with sensitivity, from the man in the ten gallon hat to the speaker in "Maude," who never turned seventeen. Brush Country is a fine effort, the result of a most unusual muse." Reviewed by Margie Cross

Sample Chapter For BRUSH COUNTRY by Barri Bryan

Ribbons of light in the east unrolled
Forcing night to loosen its silent hold
On the dry Brush Country, calm and serene.
Then the quiet of the tranquil scene

Was broken as from the hard, cracked ground
There rose a mournful, whimpering sound;
A rabbit caught in the underbrush
Moaned into the tranquil hush.

Such a plaintive cry, it twisted and rose
Across the landscape’s quiet repose;
Calling to the arid scene
A coyote-predator, lank and lean.

He stopped, and turned his mangy head,
Sniffed the air, then with deadly tread
Walked stiff-legged to the very spot
In the underbrush where the rabbit was caught.

The rabbit screamed! A cry of fear.
He knew his cruel departure was near.
Then the agony of a painful death,
Robbed him of his very breath.

The coyote’s jaws in one powerful snap
Closed with the strength of strong steel trap
Around the body of his helpless prey,
Then stealthily, silently, he trotted away.
From his mouth there protruded, lifeless, pale
A dangling head and a cotton tail.
His feet loped over the barren ground
As he sped away, not making a sound.
Leaving only silence, a returning hush,
And gray fur clinging to the underbrush.
The world moved on in serenity.
How cruel is nature’s majesty.

AFTERMATH

The wind exploded, the mighty burst
Ripped a seam in the universe
And ravelings of rain, a few at first,
Came into sight.

Then lightening tore the seam asunder.
Through the hole rolled rocks of thunder
And a storm that stayed to rage and plunder
Through the night.

But with the day came a sun of red
And a seamless blue sky overhead.
Not a hole, not a patch, not a stitch, not a shred,
Only unmended light.

ALCHEMY

December’s lukewarm sun
Clabbered clouds and they
Separated one by one,
Mauve from white - curds from whey.

The winter wind, alchemist, mixer
Stirred again, esoteric elixir
Dissolved the milk into air so cold,
Leaving blue silk and burnished gold.

AMANDA

Her voice was high and clear and sweet
Like the sound of lilting birds
When they lift their heads and swell their throats
To chant songs without words.

Her world was sparse and lacking
Made bleak by poverty’s woe,
He life had been touched by sorrow
But few there were who would know of

The sadness she carried inside her,
Or the loss that was her affliction.
They only knew of her lilting lyrics
That soothed like a benediction.

She was small, and slim and fragile,
Like a swatch of delicate lace.
Retiring, modest, tacit,
Such understated grace.

A reed that bent with each blowing wind,
Few would have called her strong,
When life conspired to defeat and deny,
Her only defense was a song.

ATTRITION

Guileless, simplistic, untainted, free,
April in all her complacency;
Sweet childish days, happy and long
Drifting by like a soothing song.

The last lilting lyric fades away
On the first still breath of early May.
As time, pulling like a silken string
Brings awareness and awakening.

Nothing large or monumental
But revelations, small, incidental,
Fraudulent, clever, tarnished, blasé,
Chant in the silence of early May.

To weigh the gain against the loss,
Or sift the silver from the dross,
Unsettles the soul, dares to impugn
The transcendental horizon of June.

AUTUMN

Colored leaves and painted skies,
Early frost and late goodbyes.
Birds fly south on hasty wings
Season for departing things.

Not the end, but end’s sly token,
Promises deferred, not broken.
Harvest time - In every field
Nature parades her ample yield;

Wrested from the ruin and rubble
Of rotting vines and perished stubble.
Death foretold in consummation,
Blasphemy hidden by affirmation.

ALICE

Sam came in the evening, before sundown,
Sat on the porch, wearing a frown,
Asked, “Did you hear?” I replied,
“No” Then waited. He said: “Alice died.”

“When?” I asked. He looked away.
“Sometime early yesterday.”
“How?” I prayed, please, God don’t reply
In pain. She shouldn’t have to die

The way she lived, in the shadow of
Heartache and betrayal and loss of love.
Let it be an easing across,
A sense of gain, not a feeling of loss.

Sam bowed his head, in a monotone,
Said, “No one knows, she was alone.”
An ache moved in to bruise my soul,
As sadness took its anguished toll.

Alone! The solemn immensity
Of that little word swept over me.
What in the universe can atone
For being left to die alone?