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Robert

Roman

Empire

RED BRICK ALLEY STORIES

The Killards Are Coming

Every damn day in Religion Class, Sister Anna Banana yapped about the Soviets revving up to start a nuclear war with the new president, Ronald Reagan. She said after the cities burned to Holy Hell, there’d be something called “nuclear winter” that would kill all... 

Double-Strength Demon Dogs

Fantastic Freddie was the only altar boy from the Red Brick Alley. He was always consecrating Ritz Crackers and trying to make us eat them like communion wafers. He light-fingered incense from the sacristy, and he blessed water from Old Lady Tully’s spigot...

Laser Loop

I couldn’t see over the tall green school bus seat except when we hit a pothole and I bounced up in the air like a Pop-Tart jumping out of a toaster. Nobody at Saint Augie’s could believe I was allowed to go. My first school picnic ever. I was good from the day I handed in my pink...

The Boy Wonder

How the Hell did Jaggerbush get himself up there? He was clawing his way up into the open window above the Science class door like a real-life gargoyle. The blockhead of a wooden mallet stuck out of the back of his Toughskins where his butt crack was. He wore three...

About The Author

Rob.jpg

Robert Roman grew up in Pittsburgh, PA, where he sold newspapers to cars from a concrete island. Read more→

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Our Odyssey starts with Kidney of Bloom,              

Its Calypso bond’s easy to notice.               

Then with Flower of the Bath we consume

Sleepy smells in the Eaters of Lotus.                  

Mentor of Menton harkens to Hades,                    

Where Bloom defeats a dinge-hatted demon.

Even though Aeolus does lack ladies,                  

Our Lord’s a Canvasser of the Freeman.                

Who’s He who walks Lestrygonians’ land?

Charitable Mason, says Nosey Flynn.

Wandering Soap seems lost in Scylla &

Charybdis, but shall be found deep within.

This Litany of the Blessed Bloom connects,       

With all His episodes’ divine aspects.

 


Stay tuned for more sacred sonnets.

Same sublime time, same sanctified channel.




When I consider all that’s been written               

About James Joyce’s most curious work,                

And how like yarn, it toys with this kitten,          

So all other duties, I’m quick to shirk.              

When I conceive of running with that herd,            

Boosting its battle cry with my meow.                  

I know I deceive myself. How absurd                   

To think my mewing might deserve a wow.               

When these mightier pens clash, this stray cat        

Will slink down the alley, dodging the war.           

I’m a conscientious erector that                      

Burgles, copies, and jams in metaphor.

This meow could have been a bark with ease,      

I don’t even like cats, they make me sneeze.



Stay tuned for more stray sonnets.

Same kitty time, same catty channel.



The following was inspired by a Top Contributor’s gracious advice regarding my sonnet, “Bloomsday Forecast - Cloudy with a Chance of Gorgonzola.”



“Switch out ‘Gorgonzola’ for ‘history!’”              

My headmistress gives this comic command.             

I like big rebuts, hers is blistery.                 

If I disobey, she’ll leave my ass tanned.             

“I love your irreverence and humour.”                  

Is her heart soft, my hard dominatrix?                

Oh, I wish! But I know she’s a groomer,               

Whose whip hand demands my tropes to turn tricks.     

But I’m down to play Bloom to her Bella.                   

I’m who sketched light verse in this shithouse stall, 

Seeking glory with some Cinderella,         

Deep inside the ink-black hole in the wall.           

Thank God this bond only lies on my phone.       

True-life Devil Girl would crumble my bone. 


 

Stay tuned for more big rebuts.

Same thick time, same juicy channel.

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