Poems
by John
Grey
You Are This
Mother,
why be a bird?
Actually,
I think I know why.
You can circle overhead.
You can dip and rise
in perfect freedom.
Besides, you know
I walk these mountain trails.
rough and steep,
where no deer or elk
can follow.
As a bid,
you can trace,
with wings,
the path I follow,
keep me ever in view
with your eagle eyes.
And somewhere,
still high above me
is the mothering nest
I climb toward.
It’s been your home
since you moved out
of the valley
twenty years ago.
The Sun And Sky Poem
It has my admiration yet.
And the dress...beautiful blue...
beautiful light, beautiful sun
The word "sky" completes it.
The day, bell-shaped
below, the fishes in shoals,
bird above, blink blue,
passes through, pirouetted flight,
bright blue ideas brought into the world,
while skins burn themselves colored,
eyes dilate again effortlessly,
fog evaporates, even art is much more splendid
for light's work in summer, in water,
the ocean where it makes shore marvelously,
mirrors the sails, more beautiful,
molds the clouds, more beautiful,
nothing more beautiful,
in far places, than light
nudging night from the coast, the horizon.
So preserve us, radius,
sea and sand, flimsy shadows
at twelve noon's bidding,
and, more refuge than any other planet's,
than the fiery fellow travelers,
than the cold gas giants,
than the stars, that dark suit with its famous medals,
then to be, then to see what I see again,
over and over, day to day,
that keeps me warm,
never the last., therefore, always
a thousand angles more,
that never tires on its part,
no weather, no time, without the sun.
No sun, you cease,
you have put on your black dress,
your black life, your sightlessness,
your shrinking zones of joy.
Farmer Takes A Wife
He must learn
to love a woman
with the passion
he has for the land.
Her very presence
should equate to.
if not exceed,
a successful
spring for lambing,
a golden crop
in August.
Sex must feel like
seeding, nurturing.
and harvesting
all in the one
Saturday night.
And there’s babies –
the ultimate
in farm produce.
No selling at a loss
if they don’t measure
up to expectations.
No plowing offspring
back into the soil.
You’re In The Way page 1
You're in the way.
Could you move those clothes, those books.
And the appliances, please.
Especially that coffee maker.
The music collection, half-vinyl, half-CD,
why not make it all gone.
Thank you.
But there's still more clothes,
stuff you haven't worn in years,
that's clogging closets.
Why not just take the closet.
And hidden beneath the clothes
are more books -
classic novels, medical tomes,
and magazines, fashion and politics.
If you weren't such a well-rounded person,
there'd be less work for you to do.
Good.
You've removed the collected works of Collette.
Your car's blocking the driveway.
Your garden's encroaching on the lawn.
Yes, I'm aware that it's your lawn.
So move the lawn and the garden will come with it.
Get rid of the car and roll up the driveway.
stuff it in the trunk, if you wish.
Yes, it's okay to start with the little things.
The rake…if that helps.
Look, there's so much of you in here,
you may as well take the house with you.
Every room, even the cellar.
Boiler, refrigerator, trunk in the attic -
why am I not surprised the bedroom
is the first thing on the back of your truck.
While you're at it, this neighborhood is in the way.
Take it while you're here -
every house, every fence, dogs, mailboxes, fire hydrants,
even the corner store.
Grab the city while you're at it.
The country, The world. The sky both blue
and star-lit.
You’re In The Way page 2
I won't be satisfied until
I'm sitting, walking, living,
in this great bare landscape,
where I can go where I want,
do what I want.
No, you're right.
Nothing would still be in the way.
So why don't you take it with you
instead of all this other stuff.
Yes, take nothing.
Not even yourself, hon.
