Categories
Poetry

Slices of the Sun

Poems by John Grey

Tanager
ORANGE

Holy scent
of after rain,
the sigh of breezes
in the canopy,
flowers unbowed
by gilded rainbow,
brisk tanager
chirps crimson in the mist.

Such birthright. Such bequest.
Fervour of daylight,
silky sheen of utter midday,
luminous dawn,
crisp with heaven's air,
twilight,
the second wind of fire.

Night falls.
I eat an orange,
cut in quarters,
slices of the sun.



THE TRAUMA THAT REMAINS

You’re terrified of fire.
I can see it in your eyes.
A roaring hearth before you.
You struggle to tamp it down with tears.

Your mother and sister
perished in a blaze, 
caused by a faulty electric wire.
You were staying with friends at the time.

You’re also afraid of staying with friends.
You need to leave, go home to your empty apartment.
There’s no one there in need of saving.
At least, not until you get there.




THIS IS MY WORLD

The lake below the town
is a blue haze
in which two mute swans
glide back and forth like yellow-beaked sailboats.
The old fishing shack is half-smothered in moss.
An egret is shaking out its wings.
Light fades from the sky.
A chanting chorus of frogs
pulse the edge of day.
You can catch me at home later.
I’ll be listening to jazz.


John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Orbis, Dalhousie Review and the Round Table. His latest books, Leaves On Pages and Memory Outside The Head, are available through Amazon.

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PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

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