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.