by John Grey (April 2026)
-I
-I
Summer Love, Carnival Style
–
I love love
like I love rinky-dink carnivals
with Ferris wheels of six gondolas
and three-horse carousels.
–
Imagine a love like that,
in the candy floss glisten of summer,
where you stop at the top,
though you’re barely off the ground
–
or you spin round and round in an arc so downsized,
you never quite leave where you are.
–
Imagine a love that wins you
a fist full of cheap trinkets,
and a button-eyed bear with his stuffing burst loose.
–
And you go home
giddy from all that sugar,
sick from it too.
–
–
–
Houses
–
The house I was born into
lives inside this one,
a phantom of hardwood floors,
red-rose wallpaper,
stained glass windows.
–
This place is so modern
with its microwave oven,
automatic dishwasher,
garbage disposal.
–
But it’s also ancient,
its kitchen haunted
by the smoke of a wood stove,
the chill of an icebox,
the creak of a kitchen table
with four mismatched chairs.
–
And slipping through this busy home
is a grey-haired woman
who kisses my cheek,
pats my children on the head
as if they are her own.
–
And the old man stands
off to the side
his face calm
but his fingers slipping
in and out of each other.
His hands have plenty to do.
And yet they can do no more.
–
—
–
Night Sky
–
My window faces up,
not out.
Darkness and light
are a city in the sky.
–
It’s silent, moving slowly,
and there’s no such thing
as distance,
or burning gases,
or nuclear fission.
–
Who lives there?
Transparent men.
Women in white dresses.
Children who are
no more than melodies.
–
Crowds make glow.
The solitary are content
in their faintness.
–
The moon apologizes
for getting in the way.
But truly moon,
you are the first rung
of a ladder.
–
–
–
Saturday Morning in the City
–
Mist burns off,
park emerges.
–
Older couple
huddle on shaded bench.
–
Man walks dog
past them
and into infinity.
–
A game of frisbee emerges
from a gathering of young men.
–
Two teenage girls
get together
on the great lawn
over a mutual love
of boy bands.
–
–
–
My Presence
–
I can only watch
the bluebirds
in their nest
as long as
they don’t know
I’m there
–
I’m not their god
but nor am I
their devil
–
I work best
as nobody
–
my somebody
would only
chase them away.
–
–
Table of Contents
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Shift, River And South, and Flights. His latest books, Bittersweet, Subject Matters, and Between Two Fires, are available through Amazon. He has work upcoming in Rush, Writer’s Block, and Trampoline.
