John Grey

For you, cabin in the woods


I came here with such an eager expression
in a jacket whose loose threads sing to me
and a pen that knows its share of subjects.
Every cause I take up has a strange insistence
that a better world lies at the end of it.
So here I am to claim it.

I headed north guided by the treasures in the air,
to the forest where graces give all that they have,
and the cabin, a willing substitute for my life up ‘til now,
deserted sure but not by memory,
mute of course but that’s where my footsteps come into play.

I settle down in a landscape of fading primary colors,
red tinged with orange, orange with red,
surrounded by trees that brave the seasons
and hills like wagons with rock wheels stuck in the earth.

My mind is done with the excess of the past
as I exalt the aging sky if not the maker of it,
a sunset to take away anger and pain,
a night perfect enough to attract new worshippers.

Greetings, black pools of sanity,
distant starlight that makes something of oblivion,
everything stripped down by the need to be no one,
until all that is left is this beauty alone.     




John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in New Plains Review, South Carolina Review, Stillwater Review and Big Muddy Review with work upcoming in Louisiana Review, Cape Rock and Spoon River Poetry Review.