Posts Tagged ‘Poems by John Grey’



That’s what comes of marrying a soldier.

He’s there and you’re here.

It’s hot as Hades in his desert.

The weather’s just fine

in your temperate zone.

He gets shot at.

Your phone rings.

He scours the countryside

for home-made bombs.

You pick up the receiver.

Any moment could be his last.

You talk to your friend Anita for an hour or two

about how lonely it gets.

He sleeps in a makeshift barracks.

You drift off in your soft and cozy double bed.

He makes it through another day.

Maybe you make it through October.




Shadows of late afternoon,

closed sign in a shop window…

dusk drives out the light,

tamps the business,

sends the people home.

I look at my silhouette

as I hang out here,

stretched interminably,

longer than I’ll ever be.

My flesh is so perilously close

to being just a tenth of what I am,

as I read the sorry tale

of Bessie’s luncheonette…

it’s much too late to feed you,

even to call you by your name,

speak to you.

There’s just me in her window,

half reflection, half closed-sign.

And my shadow’s off

to link with other shadows,

until their shapes have nothing to do

with me, with signs, with restaurants.

Soon, I’ll be alone in the dark,

sitting on some broken steps,

as hungry as tomorrow must be,

a closed sign in a window,

open for business.









I shove my anger in a drawer.

I stroll through fields, wallow in anthemis.

Sun gleams with fresh light.

You can do that when you’re not mad at anything.


My anger breathes better when it’s stowed away.

Though it’s far from me, in dark, it doesn’t know that

Underwear and socks, meet the stain on my heart.

Though it makes itself comfortable, it is still anger.


My anger is a fire in a cold, cold place.

It kills what comes close, mostly itself.

It becomes nostalgic, hasn’t seen a bruise in years.


I return home and let it out.

It joins me in restless sleep.

My body’s tanned a little.

My dreams have claws.