Raphael – Borderless

Poetry by John Grey

Madonna And Child by Raphael (1483-1520)

CONTRAST

Three in the morning,
and I’m wide awake,
in a room silent
everywhere but in my head.

My thoughts won’t lie down.
My imagination tosses and turns.

Beside me,
my wife is so deep in sleep,
the contrast between us
never more stark.

So it’s not just 
her rom-com movies
versus my horror flicks.

Our nights
could never be more different.

So her “meet cute” 
wakes up refreshed.
My “demon encounter”
still has hell to pay.


VACATION TIME

I wish you wouldn’t stroll
around this particular lake
while I am seated on the porch
of this cabin in New Hampshire
sipping my morning coffee.

Living in the city,
I don’t wake up 
to such a glistening blue
stretch of water
surrounded by lush greenery
with the possibility 
of a loon sighting
somewhere in the quiet ripple.
And I see attractive women
every day.

But my eyes are drawn
to the wind in your long blonde hair,
your shapely figure,
a face a modern-day Raphael
would set aside his Madonna and Child
to paint.

I’m here to get away from it all.
And, thankfully, it’s all here. 

THE METHOD ACTOR

He took acting class at school
and the teacher said, “You are a tree:”
So he stood still
with head high, legs together
and arms spread wide.
When the class was dismissed,
he still didn’t move.
The teacher said, “It’s okay, 
you’re no longer a tree.
You’re a boy again.”
But trees don’t understand
human language.

It’s years later
The new kids in acting class
have to work around him.

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in New World Writing, Santa Fe Literary Review, and Lost Pilots. His latest books, Between Two Fires, Covert and Memory Outside The Head are available through Amazon. He has upcoming poetry in the Seventh Quarry, La Presa and California Quarterly.

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Eve, Raphael & the Proletariat

(1) when she walks away she melts the snowflakes as raphael stares to draw lines and exhibit in a gallery in Paris where woody allen would direct a film on her untamed skin before the midnight grows old and falls down she causes earthquakes in multiple planets with each step marching forward as eyes gather to glimpse the art that inspired raphael to move away from God and draw Eve (2) If anyone asks you Who are you? Tell them You are violence The violence of the sickle That a farmer carries The violence of the hammer That a majdoor uses The violence of words That Paash vomited The violence of dissent That proletariats hold In their warm hearts *majdoor is a labourer *Paash is a Punjabi poet