Live Encounters Poetry & Writing Volume One November-December 2024
Herewith, The Life, poems by John Grey.
Herewith, The Life
Telephone rings.
Someone wants your money.
Or another close friend has died.
You follow the hearse
with watery eyes.
Each night, you try to dream
the dead back to life,
but their futile existent
is perhaps no different
from your own,
where sex is confused with garbage disposal,
passion with washing dishes,
lovers with plumbers.
Another day,
another look in the mirror.
Your gangrenous confession
you try to recycle,
but it catches you out
like a drunk at a cocktail party.
like the grime on your hands
from the life you’ve lived,
how it differs so much from
the one you would have chosen.
You throw out waste,
scrub the toilet,
mouth the familiar to everyone you meet.
trudge through life
working just hard enough
to maintain a kind of grace.
You have your expertise.
And a degree in dirt under your nails.
Poetry Reading At The Local Library
In case you don’t like poetry,
there’s lemonade in a jug
on a table at the back of the room –
help yourself.
And cookies of course.
Madge baked them herself.
And hot coffee.
Sorry, Hank forgot
to pick up donuts
on his way
but there is a plate
of cheese and crackers
and tiny slices of some kind of meat.
That’s courtesy of Amy.
In fact,
this is the biggest spread I’ve seen
since last summer,
at Kavanaugh field,
when the mothers laid out
a veritable banquet on benches
for those who don’t care much
for Little League baseball.
We have some amazing
civic-minded folks in our little town.
Some wonderful cooks, I might add.
In every one of the well-kept homes,
as dinner time rolls around,
a veritable feast for the eyes
and taste buds
is prepared and served.
That’s for people
who don’t like each other.
October Evening, Harmony Lake
October evening,
full moon slowly ascending
that invisible arc over the lake,
On the porch,
I’m accompanied by nothing
but the gentle slap of water.
I’m alone
and drawing closer to true nature,
a breath for every gust of wind,
a heart-beat measured in ripple,
thoughts trimmed back
to simple sensation.
The air is clear,
weather unbothered –
a spawning ground of peace.
Short of a lover,
what more is there?
I smile
just this good side of smug.
I sigh
in case that smile needs reassurance.
© John Grey
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in New World Writing, North Dakota Quarterly and Tenth Muse. Latest books, “Between Two Fires”, “Covert” and “Memory Outside The Head” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in Haight-Ashbury Literary Journal, Birmingham Arts Journal, La Presa and Shot Glass Journal.