A Florida Vacation
Waves awaken me
to the sight of pink, gray and white shells
that line the mantle,
their jaws agape
in yawns to match my own.
A window-slapping
palm tree frond,
the sun in
John Grey
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in <i>New Plains Review</i>,<i>Stillwater Review</i> and <i>Big Muddy Review</i> with work upcoming in <i>Louisiana Review</i>, <i>Cape
The Trail
I find the trail
the same as it has ever been,
highbush blueberry and rock,
ringed by hills,
the monsters of my boyhood nights.
Rediscovery is brought to grief
by the absence of
Navigator
Nothing else to do, they take a drive
to nowhere in particular, but away
from the suburbs. The car, at first,
protests from its deep chill within, but
slowly, assuredly, finds comfort
in
Graffiti Guy
When I had no paper, I took to the walls.
As pens were denied me, I came upon
an old spray can with paint still in it.
No, that wasn’t it. When
Guerrilla
AK47s lie awake under pillows.
It’s more than a dream can stand.
Enemy soldiers bursting through the door.
Even your own man turned traitor,
his rifle pointed in the direction
from which