Going Home in a Near-Blizzard / Green Mountains by John Grey

Going Home in a Near-Blizzard

With the slashing 

of sleet,

my eyes are half-shuttered 

by ice-tips on lashes,

whitewashed, 

as snow grows around my feet,

my bicycle wheels,

as I plunge forward

in whirling air,

beneath the agitated bridge,

with not a star to be seen,

just houses, here and there,

inanimate objects

but for a nucleus of light.

  

 

 

 

Green Mountains

 

I hike in green mountains.

My mind is as refreshed

as my lungs.

 

What better to do

but wander

with an eye out for the trees,

an ear for the birds

and the crackle of brush,

where timid creatures live.

 

My boots snap twig,

clip-clap on rock.

A breeze blows gently.

The trees rustle.

Softly, softly,

I walk towards what comes next.

 

 

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Shift, Trampoline and Flights. Latest books, “Bittersweet”, “Subject Matters” and “Between Two Fires” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in Levitate, White Wall Review and Willow Review.