Poetry by John Grey
He sits on a rock,
legs and arms folded
before him
in the last rays of daylight.
His brown fur
ruffles like prairie grass.
His eyes scan slowly,
see nothing more
than what he feels himself to be.
Such power, such strength,
held in at perfect peace –
if earth and heaven ever needed
a dividing line…
Any moment now,
I expect him to growl.
But my Buddha scratches instead.
Fine…so he itches…
that means something.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in New World Writing, River And South and Tenth Muse. Latest books, Subject Matters, Between Two Fires and Covert are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in Paterson Literary Review, White Wall Review and Cantos.
