Simple Let’s keep it simple.Clouds. Water. Rain.No solid geometry.No history of the Trojan Wars.Light the candlebut leave flameto melt wax...
JoinedJanuary 28, 2018
Articles25
John Grey is an Australian poet and a U.S. resident, recently published in Orbis, Dalhousie Review and Connecticut River Review. His latest books, Leaves On Pages and Memory Outside The Head are available through Amazon.
A Morning Ritual That’s Safe To Try at Home The alarm ringswhether I want it to or not.If not in...
Postcards She sends me postcardswhen she could just as easily email.I like to think that it’s an appeal to my...
Mailman It’s mainly just billsand catalogues I’m carrying.Nothing is from me personally.And they’re peopleI just know as namesand no more.I...
In My Younger Days I wanted to make no sense. To vanish.To be as remote as photos of ancient ancestors.Or...
Mystery Guest I don’t rememberthe womb at all.But, once I left,it was never used again.My father’s faceremains anonymous.And my three...
Welcome to His World A vein of lead-grey light from a casementbarely disturbed the darkness.The man hauled his huge flesh...
The Homeless Man on Prairie I didn’t mean to startle him,this old man with the rough grey face,dozing on the...
For the Day of the Dead Shop windows are adornedwith papier-mâché skeletons,some in cowboy hats, some with crowns,Behind glass, slumped...
While All Around Is Battleground With one loud boom,the city had a seizure.So many blindedthey only could see rebels running...
George and Dylan He got drunk a lotbut never with style.He didn’t stand at the bar,reciting Shakespearebetween shots.Nor did he...
When the Bird-Woman Is Away The bird-woman is out of townso I must fill the tubes, the stone bath. What...
Strolling In the park,trees are stark,stripped downto the very bones. We stroll by,pretend not to notice,the same wayour eyes avoidthe...
Waiting For You A year.Thirty-eight different dreams that I remembered in the morning.Three that involved shrouds.Hanging around. Somewhere. Anywhere.Looking in...
The Box of Photographs A box of photographs,do I dare flip the lid,expose the past? My fingers are tentative.My eyes...
In Need of Flow I stroll home along the banks of the white river,my hair set afire by sunset.My mind...
The Globes Night isthe fluttering shadow of a moth,the impulsive kickof a tiny footinside her belly. Can’t get upto shoo...
A Rush dogs chasing that car down& children grabbing at birds as they fly by—& even more chasing & trapping...
In This Quest to Live Forever, There’s Occasional Operations Involved What do I know of my last day on Earth?...
Search Goes On I imagine you in the maidenhair, the gentle whorls of bipinnate fronds, vibrant stalks with layers of...
The Spoiling of a Good Walk Clear water slices through green fields as precise as the thread of a seamstress,...
Lake of the Elms Sky unending, temperature a degree or two on the right side of warm, no concerns, no...
Day of Days He slaps cold water onto his face— eyes break up with sleep, the taste of iron assaults...
Children in Snow The sky is hidden behind clouds. Mounds of snow swallow the land. On lips, the taste of...
