January 7, 2025

8 Poems by John Grey

8 Poems by John Grey

*Featured image courtesy of Tama66 on Pixabay* Happy New Year! Let’s kick it off with a wonderful set of poems from longtime FC contributor, John Grey. CAR NERD  On his wall, he’s hung a poster  of an automobile cutaway.  It’s his version of Miss August in a swim-suit.  The poster’s so detailed you  can see the ball joint, the bushings,  tie rod, disc brake rotor, universal joint.  The tiny boxes with the arrows are unnecessary.  He knows each part by name and function.  I’m a book worm. I accept that.  But he’s this other kind of worm,  hatched in floor pans, fed on exhaust,  dressed in STP.  And, on his dresser, there’s this photograph  of a bright red mustang circa 1965.  One loving glance at it  and he’s on the highway,  foot to the floor, …

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November 13, 2023

“Wednesday in a Factory Town,” Poetry by John Grey

“Wednesday in a Factory Town,” Poetry by John Grey

WEDNESDAY IN A FACTORY TOWN Sunlight succumbs to weather and chimney, fat gray clouds, much billowing of smoke. In a town of factories, faces stare, solemn and blackened like stove flues, through windows, as red eyes make tunnels in the gloom. Rivers wait like standing water for more dust and grime to fuel their current. Shoppers cough their way from store to store. Kids grub up without even trying. No sky as once was promised. Not even the church, chiming three o’clock, can get back God’s attention. ** EMMA, A MONTH BEYOND THE DEATH OF HER FATHER She can’t swerve to avoid the dead possum on the road without crashing through huddled sobbing mourners and braking just in time so she doesn’t topple down into the freshly dug hole, and smash headlong into her father’s…

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April 28, 2022

“Points to Make,” Poetry by John Grey

“Points to Make,” Poetry by John Grey

POINTS TO MAKE Today began like a heart on fire. In between there was this hot-cold-hot-cold movement to establish the fact of me. It ended like a man with something to bury. I woke to the sight of a burning house, instructing firemen where to point their hoses. Family units are brittle. I’ve known this all along. I fell asleep that night like someone on a long, long highway. There must be something here about love – no, yearning – that’s it. In future excavation, you who yearn to uncover the ancient will find nothing but ancient yearning. Today, everything moved. It tried to leave me behind but I kept seeing me by my side. By night, I’d made it. I vowed to teach the light – teach it something new. I’m who I am…

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