Poetry: John Grey

John Grey

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in New World Writing, California Quarterly and Lost Pilots. Latest books, “Between Two Fires”, “Covert” and “Memory Outside The Head” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in Haight-Ashbury Literary Journal, Amazing Stories and River and South.

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FOREST LORE

Sent to this version of solid,

find decay matters.

Impact of light and time,

grand heights of molecules,

light bones of motives.

Sagging cedar cloud

dims the farthest edge

of lake and bone.

Tragedy plays air guitar.

Specific reels,

dreams collide,

in the descent of the spirit,

an acorn willing.

***

A FARMER AND HIS PLOW

A farmer’s plow digs up 

some pieces of ancient pottery.

His field is cordoned off

when all he wants to do is plant his corn.

Archaeologists descend.

The media set up camp 

just outside the perimeter.

Even the government gets involved.

The farmer keeps asking himself,

“Why didn’t I just keep my mouth shut?”

But he figured the jugs, the bowls,

could be worth something.

A year’s crop maybe.

But questions like “How much

are these things worth?”

go unanswered.

He’s even heard rumors

that “finders keepers” 

may not apply in this case.

And now his land is torn up,

trampled on by strangers

flaunting their college degrees.

And then his brother-in-law calls

for the first time in what seems like years.

“Heard you struck a goldmine,” he says

in his what’s-in-it-for-me voice.

The farmer figures family 

is just another kind of plow.

It won’t let anyone stay buried.

***

AT THE BULL-RIDING

I was at a rodeo once.

What I most remember 

is the bull-riding,

a bunch of guys, a couple of gals,

and a whole lot of 

ugly and angry-looking hard-horned

examples of prime bovine

lined up in the chutes.

So many times,

the bell rang 

and a chute gate few open,

and a bull charged out 

into the dusty ring,

bucking and kicking,

while the rider atop 

did his best to stay on.

None of them did.

In the war between man and bull,

the bull won every time.

So it all came to which loser 

lost for the longest.

That was a skinny six-footer 

in a cowboy hat

with a slight limp

and an even slighter grin

who went by the name of Tex.

He got himself a blue ribbon

and a check for fifty bucks

and a rousing cheer 

from the people in the stands.

 

Maybe the bull got to 

ride a cow back in his paddock. 

With any luck, 

she didn’t throw him.

***

MAN AND CAR

Driving on the highway,

the machine that surrounded him

felt like all of his worldly possessions.

And his ability to stay in a lane,

pass other vehicles when necessary,

was the last skill left to him.

Years before, he was in charge 

of great feelings

But all he loved, all who loved him,

were either dead or moved on.

He could mourn no longer.

But his foot and the accelerator 

came to terms with the situation.

For the length of the journey,

they were one.

With the world on the outside,

he just barreled on through.

With a few drops of rain on the windshield,

he sent the wipers to do his bidding.

With a song on the radio

worming its way into his life,

he sang along badly.

Years before, 

he could name those years,

tell you what went on in them.

Now, they ran together

just like the cars ahead of him and behind.

They kept their distances

but their differences were anyone’s guess.

Years before, he’d be headed toward home.

Now he was in home’s driver’s seat,

gripping home’s steering wheel,

staring every now and then into home’s

rear view and side mirrors,

checking home’s speed,

the miles home had gone

how much home had left in the tank. 

***

THAT WEDDING CAKE

Atop the cake,

bride and groom

are mired in white frosting.

The caterer cuts carefully around them.

It's too early in their married life

for one of them to lose a head.

Cake slices are put before all the guests.

Some take a bite. 

A few wrap them in

their napkin for later.

The rest leaves theirs untouched.

Most agree that the wedding cake

was wonderful to look at

but not so great to taste.

The wedding photos

may well turn out the same.

***

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Setu, August 2025