3 poems – John Grey [Poetry]

Autobiography in Ruins

Every square inch of knowledge

had been trudged through

Forty years later, I wait and watch.

Had to lead them on that chase longer.

 

Longed to cry out in return.

Stopped. I listened to the shouts.

I was with a bunch of weary men and women

in dreams so forlorn and empty.

 

It wasn’t winter but not through lack of trying.

Maybe I’d found a secret place

Not likely. Only I am so vulnerable here.

Nothing rivals my heartbeat for sound.

 

Autobiographies Conjoined

We scrape across a wide divide.

Think of it like this when you’re left hanging.

The spilling rocks. The bloody elbow.

This is our vocabulary now.

 

There is no time to ask a question.

Like – what will we become?

The canyons threaten, diminish.

To come into the world will always mean

 

an equivocation to the lives we have to live.

To say it freely. Finally allowed.

to see, but there are ways to separate –

as if we understand the process in ourselves.

 

You Enter

when the blood speaks

I resort to action

abandon my alliance with furniture

as I had earlier broken with the window-pane

 

on your entrance –

 

desire is

my primal agency of motion

 

from wiry hugs

to lip-wide flaunts of the mouth

   I strive to play

   a leading role in age-old technique

 

ah beauty –

 

what appears to the eye

runs with the flesh

 

By John Grey

  • John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in the Homestead Review, Harpur Palate and Columbia Review with work upcoming in the Roanoke Review, the Hawaii Review and North Dakota Quarterly.
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