Free Verse Poem by John Grey
You say one tiny push of a domino and all the others fall. But I say no. There's one in the middle of the line who will refuse to tumble, who will take the strain so that some, at least, will survive. You tell me there is no beauty to rain. But of the thousand and one things that falls on me, none are softer, none more intimate, none so free of distress. And you reckon the lake is gray when my reflection comes up crystal enough for deer to sip. And you declare the room is not ready but I can willingly sleep on the floor. To you, geraniums make a good border, but to me, they can be content as well. And what of the whale that beached itself? Your judgment was something to do with the fickleness of currents. But I look back on the many times I've beached myself. Most were as a direct result of something you said.
John Grey is an Australian poet and US resident, recently published in Stand, Washington Square Review, and Floyd County Moonshine. The latest books, “Covert,” “Memory Outside The Head” and “Guest Of Myself” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in the McNeese Review and Santa Fe Liter.
