Three Poems by John Grey
Naming Rites
Despite their name,
night herons are out in the day,
piercing the lake shoals
with determined black beaks.
A snowy egret flutters plumes
from back to head
in the height of summer.
From the other side of the pond,
the great egret is as small
as my thumb.
Only the great blue heron lives up to its billing,
spreads vast blue-black wings,
stretches its long neck
almost to the height of a man,
then opens its throat wide,
squawks enough to drown the frogs, the crickets.
On this July day,
woods are a mix of truth and paradox,
The mute swan hisses.
The black duck is dark brown.
The bald eagle is crowned
with lush feathers.
But the mockingbird mocks.
The snapping turtle snaps.
And the pleated woodpecker
pecks nothing but wood.
Who can make sense of it?
Oh mother nature,
what is it you've fathered?
January Song
Winter forest,
no bird song,
the cruel heart of migration
beats bloodless along
gray and empty veins.
White on dead apples,
ice teeth biting on dormant roots,
even love crawls into its cave
to sleep.
Skeletons cry out for fire
but only wind answers,
preys on scattered brown leaves,
devours, then spits away.
On the frozen river,
snow adds insult,
scattered birds wheeze open throats,
shriek their hard-won silence.
Field Guide and Crow
As best as I could translate
the crow cawed,
"What's he doing in the woods
with a field guide.
Will you look at that, chickadee.
He's bending down
in the wildflowers,
book held high,
illustrations glossy in the sun.
He's fingering the leaf,
sniffing the flower.
And would you believe it.
He's taken out a pen
and checked off tiger lily."
My wife says
he's just warning
other forest denizens
of our intrusion.
But no, I insist.
He's disturbed at my ignorance.
He's upset that I accumulate
the sighting of
living things like baseball cards.
He's concerned that a crow
is nothing more to me
than a page called 'crow.'
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in New Plains Review, Mudfish and Spindrift with work upcoming in South Carolina Review, Gargoyle, Sanskrit and Louisiana Literature.
