Writer Pages

confetti pages by John Grey

• A Meal of Herself - by John Grey The woman at the next tableis eating meatballs with linguini.She’s attractive,but long strands of pasta,dollops of sauce,are the great equalizer.There’s a blob of redon her pert nose,a couple of spotslike instant freckleson her cheeks.Even that sensuous mouthis more like a gag reelthan a launching padfor kisses,as she… {more}
  
  
• A Morning Heraldry - by  John Grey House is broughtto attention by the sun,by how much I love youand how happy I amand how strong is this milieuand how the worldoperates outside ofhow we are to each other        I gather the inference,        whisper,        if you only knew        eyes staring, your body        like Samoan isles at dawnpromise never to go… {more}
  
  
• Cardinal Spies Its Reflection in a Hub Cap - by John Grey The bird doesn't admire but threatensits reflection –a rival with scarlet top-notch raisedit hops about, girding itselffor battle, flicks its tailback and forth likea reaping hook, shrieksa short, harsh kwut -the cardinal marks its territoryas surely as the onewho parkedthat '77 Mustang,polishes its preening actas bright as… {more}
  
  
• Construction - by John Grey That cabin in the woods,Sam built himself.He cut down trees.He hammered and sawednature into submission.It’s just one roomwith a bed, a table,and a fireplace,but it owes its lifeto his hands,his skill with tools,his determinationto deliver on his vision.A friend of mine paintsbut it’s the roofthat keeps the… {more}
  
  
• End of the Farming Year - by John Grey It’s early November.Trees are shedding leaveslike divas do lovers.Naked limbs shiver,unprepared for thenorth wind invasion.The farmer avertsthe gun to his head,hugs his stock,kisses his haystacks,surrenders his fields tocoming winter.His wife criesthe usual phantom’s tears.Daughter Adele is fifteen,stares at herself in the mirror.Dreams supportwhatever miracles are out there.The… {more}
  
  
• Featured Poet: John Grey - Biography, interview and content from featured poet John Grey.[Read more] {more}
  
  
• Learning a Trade - by John Grey The children areup in their roomplaying their favorite gameof used car salesman.They are the future.But, thoughthey have the shoddy goodsin their yard,so far there’ve been no customers.They’ve the giftof the shyster’s gaband faces that barely twitchwhen they spout false claimsbut no sucker is comingup the stairs,stepping into… {more}
  
  
• My Evolution - by John Grey How succinctly the seaspeaks to my origin.How triumphantly heaven mounts the sky,stakes out a radiant blueness.One gathers threads of existencedeep beneath.The other skims the hiss of swells,from shoreline to horizon.At my feet, the invisible rolls in.Above me,the scripture is taken upby gull and pelican disciples.On a slow… {more}
  
  
• Never-again People - by John Grey And that was it.She left the readingwith two of her college friendsand that was the last I ever saw of her.A phone call, some emails followed,but we were never againin the same place at the same time.She joined my mother,my sisters, a couple of friends,a few acquaintances,in… {more}
  
  
• The One Who Swam - by John Grey It was here, this lake.the largest in the county,where he dived from the rock,swam toward the far shore.He had company enough,all on the banks,wondering would he make it,or weary and turn back.I can stand here for hours,measure his progressagainst how long I knew him,and how deep these… {more}
  
  
• Tornado Children - by John Grey The air turned green,like the sky was sick and about to throw up.And then we saw the twister in the distance,a giant spiral in a sea of rainworming its way across the fields.We huddled in the cellaras it swirled closer and closer to the housebut then, at the… {more}
  
  

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