John Grey


COMPOSITION:     Portrait of a poet’s brother

conversation with a disease
A couple of kids
a couple un-flashy from the outside,
a dilapidated Christ
A DOSE
a dusty, crowded Arabian bazaar.
A Dylan CD consoles me.
a faint little smile
a father
A few brash children skim stones
a few gears, some chemicals,
a few wet pellets
a field provide boundaries.
A fishing vessel. tattooed by barnacles,
A garter snake suns on the path.
a great long lanky man
A guy I once played cricket with
A handful of strangers
HAPPY POEM
a hero in his own world and time, with a houseboat,
a high bald head as if his ears
hooker’s pacing
hot and tiring day.
hundred years ago?
kid in my class
kiss barely qualifies
a little drunk,
frayed     stained
A lover could not have said it better.
a map that would have once showed my people.
MIDDLE-AGED MAN APPROACHES THE DILEMMA OF HIS MARRIAGE
MOTHER EXPLAINS HIS FATHER’S OCCUPATION TO THEIR SON
a mouth full of ink
red light announces a red death
red-eyed hag sneers.
rendezvous
a residual effect at last.
a robin rejoices in a roll of paper, skimming
a routine rewarded
a Russian spy or the ignominious first formal dance.
a scrawny tiger      SHAPELY WOMAN
a single white line between the parting
Sno-Cat,
stranger got out.



COMPOSITION:     Little relation to the movement

"Good girl," he says as the two of them
"Have a good swim?" asks my wakening wife.
"Yeah and 1 took revenge
(and I think of it often)
(if such things even exist
(no father put his hand up)
(your words)
    ***
‘But you must understand…”
“And now some DA is
“Are you okay?: somebody asked.
“Damn the land!” he shouts.
“don’t do it again” -
“even though everyone I know
“how was the trip” and “your hair is different.”
“I assure you.
“It’s hard getting old,” he says.
“Sooner or later.”
“The law of unexpected consequences.”
“What do you think
“You should try
1 blame the latter
1 find I can survive it
1 have ever really loved," I reply.
LIGHT YEARS TO GO
3021.
backlit planet
bare patch of ground,
battleground of driftwood,
                shell and seaweed,
a beloved discipline.
bluebird I think
boisterous spirit
                takes up our language.
BREAK IN THE DROUGHT
breakfast of two fried eggs,
brief scrawl on the other.
                brown river winds
                in and out of the concrete.
busted relationship.
channel toward port, speed easing
clean needle
constant reminder



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John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in Sin Fronteras, Dalhousie Review and Qwerty with work upcoming in Plainsongs, Willard and Maple and Connecticut River Review.
 
 
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