January 25, 2016 Poetry , POETRY / FICTION


John Grey






Please look after me, Serena.

I’m confined to bed all day. My awareness is near dormant.


To be honest, I’ve no idea what’s lying here –

little feeling to my touch, no hopeful rumblings of psyche.


I do feel a thirst though. Could you bring me water?

If I can sip, then surely there’s something more to me


than breath and heartbeat. Yes, you’ll have to tilt my head

so I don’t choke. But talk to me as you do so.


I may not understand these missives from the living

but they reverberate somehow – and when they’re spoken


soft and with love, they verge on the revelatory.

Here you are, coming to my rescue, glass in hand.


No prayers please. No wistful eyes turned upward.

Quench my thirst, Serena. Bathe my brow.


Let’s keep this human.











It was like someone atop a cloud mountain,

mace in one hand, spear in the other,

wonderful and dreadful,

peering down into the swirls of the abyss

at those caught up in its deadly downward spiraling –


no, you simply picked me out of a crowd,

called my name

with force enough to fight off evil powers,

turn tides, unravel chaos –


actually it was the soft lilt in your voice

that broke through the bustle,

parted the noise of others,

hooked my ears and eyes in turn –


dear genius, generosity, power, surprise and seductiveness –

thank you for acknowledging me in this way –

who I am now matters.







john grey

John Grey

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in New Plains Review, Perceptions and the anthology, No Achilles with work upcoming in Big Muddy Review, Gargoyle, Coal City Review and Nebo.


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