John Grey

This week cavalcadeofstars presents John Grey


Mountains rise above

the shadow of themselves,

draw clouds into their granite webs.

They spill rivers through

their rocky fingers,

grow trees only at the heights

where trees belong,

succor the beasts

that live on them like fleas.

Mountains allow the humming

of our dreams in them.

When we’re loud,

they mock our loudness

to the last snicker of echo.

When we’re silent,

they make that silence huge.


What did the ancient men think

when they first saw the bones of their fathers?

A skeletal heap where last he fell…

did the survivors make the connection?

Where did the idea to bury them come from?

Was it no more than a matter of please,

somebody, I don’t care how you do it

but get this puzzlement out of my sight.

And then one day, someone had the wherewithal

to take a finger bone, open up both ends,

chisel out the marrow, turn it into a flute.

A man could be music…

if the dirt didn’t get to him first.


The giant sunflower lowers its neck,

its golden head no more a gift from the sun

but a burden of gravity.

And we go along with it,

one as we are with the weight of the world,

backs bent, haunches bowed to almost bursting.

What promise in our upbringing,

higher and higher, fuller and fuller.

We were the ladders we pulled ourselves up on.

But we rose to a level where there were no rungs.

And now it’s earth below

and a long torturous landing.

What’s in store, not light, not warmth,

but dust, dust and more dust.

What faces cannot sweep clean,

mouths must feast upon.


We keep apart mostly,

walking, talking.

But occasionally there’s a wind

from somewhere,

and we come together

like two pines in a stand.

Could be just a monetary touch.

Or occasionally a lean,

gentle or, in some cases,

holding the other up.

Other times, a period of closeness

is followed by a full-fledged hug,

two bodies so entwined

you’d think there’s no way they could ever

spring back to their former parallel path.

We keep apart mostly,

walking, talking,

longing for that wind.


Australian born poet, works as financial systems analyst. Recently published in Poem,

Caveat Lector, Prism International and the horror anthology, “What Fears Become”

with work upcoming in Potomac Review, Hurricane Review and Pinyon.


About vision791

Pushcart nominee Jeanette Cheezum has been published on several online writing sites and in fifteen Anthology books and four poetry books. Three of these books have made the New York Times Best Sellers list. Awarded The Helium Networks Premium Writer’s Badge, Bronze Creative Writing Award and a Marketplace Writers award. Recently she has published fourteen ebooks at Barnes and Noble and Amazon. You may find a list of some of her work at
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One Response to John Grey

  1. vision791 says:

    It was nice to have you here.

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