October 31, 2016

Two poems by John Grey

Winter Landscape

Cold out
and yet, like a cat on a sill,
he hugs tight to the window,
watches wind glide in and out
of frozen tree trunks
like a slalom skier.

He hums a tune
that writes itself on the pane,
an arranger in glass
capturing the notes
before they're lost forever.

His thoughts are for the woman
with hair longer and blacker
than a highway
but his eyes fill with
what cannot leave
even if it had the urge to.

In winter stillness,
landscape fills
with all that possibly could be there.
It's up to him
to supply the rest.

Spring Morning with Egret

A fluffy white egret emerges
from the cattails,
wings pressed to its side
as it scours the edges of the pond.

Nature, romance,
a contented combination
for as long as I live,
as we watch from the veranda,
sipping coffee on a warm May morning,
my arm around your waist.
your head drifting slowly toward my shoulder
even as your eyes blink in time
to the doings of the birdlife.

Mist rises from the water's surface.
the dew on the grass,
even in my head
where the caffeine fights back
against the deeper wishes of your nearness.

I wonder why he doesn't fly,
But the stillness is a kind of soaring.

JOHN GREY is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in New Plains Review, South Carolina Review, Gargoyle and Big Muddy Review with work upcoming in Louisiana Review, Cape Rock and Spoon River Poetry Review.   

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