Image: Unsplash, downloaded (https://unsplash.com/photos/body-of-water-during-sunset-YaS9pwdvPYg) 23. 6. 2024.
AT LAST
Brightening now.
No lightning.
No rattling cage.
The storm will not return.
Weather is nothing
if no amenable.
The possibility exists for shooting stars.
Or moonlight on your cheeks,
freckled and unsuspected.
ANOTHER ROUND
Sun’s up there,
a gleaming billiard ball,
and look at the moon,
a shiny round pebble
on a dark beach,
and the planets
as spherical as the day
they were born -
pass me an orange will you –
not to eat,
but to feel in my hand.
About the Author: John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in New World Writing, North Dakota Quarterly and Lost Pilots. Latest books, ”Between Two Fires”, “Covert” and “Memory Outside The Head” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in California Quarterly, Seventh Quarry, La Presa and Doubly Mad.
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