John Grey, October 2013

The Words On Paper

The words are
silence freed.
They’re what I’d say
if lips could get things down
as permanent as hands do.
Sure, they’re little breaths
in the vastness of the air
but no one owns that air.
The words can lift
your head from a hospital pillow or
expose the heart’s transparencies.
They can make a town feel
like a property of myself,
hand pen to forest
and order it to write.
Sometimes, I stare at words,
thinking they’ll take shape
over meaning like some people do.
But the words won’t begin
without me.

Spring Morning In Providence

Sparrows’ hearts exchange glances
with web bead broach,
puddle drinking roots,
northern wind sky.

Sun-gold infiltrates
the moon’s cracked brow.
Shadow, butterfly,
palpate on stones.

Warm and wet,
trees are full of themselves.
Even wooden fences feel the growing.

Everywhere, grass,
spring’s green pilot light
where worms wriggle ungrateful
in the robin’s next song.

 

 

John Grey is an Australian born poet. Recently published in International Poetry Review, Sanskrit and the science fiction anthology, “The Kennedy Curse” with work upcoming in Clackamas Literary Review, Paterson Review and Nerve Cowboy.

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