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Poetry Breakfast

Serving a little poetic nourishment every morning. Start your day with our new expanded menu. Poems, of course, are our specialty. But we will also be serving a fuller menu that includes poetry book reviews to feed poets' and poetry lovers' souls.

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John Grey

Superior Product – A Poem by John Grey

Superior Product 

An advertising sign blares
against a backdrop of blue sky and scattered clouds,

drawing the attention of both women and men,
now suddenly convinced there is a far

superior washing powder to the one they
have been using. It’s in a box, as powerful

as the American military in the Second World War.
A grinning boy, a real boy, shining like God’s aura.

A mother with a smile so broad
like she’s just accepted

the Congressional Medal of Honor
for duties on the home front.

For just one precious moment,
in an otherwise uneventful day,

the washing comes out clean and bright
and darkens the dreams of our enemies.

 

 

About the Poet:  John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in the Tau, Studio One and Columbia Review with work upcoming in Naugatuck River Review, Examined Life Journal and Midwest Quarterly.

 

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BABES IN THE WOODS by John Grey

BABES IN THE WOODS
by John Grey

We didn’t just wander through the woods,
we scoured their every root and clump and stand of brush.
Larry found ten dollars in quarters once.
Joe held up a much-used condom on a stick,
laughingly quizzed us on its purpose.

We combed with fingers, eyes and noses.
Shards of glass, bits of metal:
pirate treasures took their worth from our imaginations.

One day, we came upon a fresh-dead hare.
The bravest of us suggested a humane burial.
We dug a grave with branches and stones,
rolled the body into it with a nudge from our sneakers.
“Don’t get too close,” warned Larry. “You’ll catch lice.”
We filled in the hole, patted down the earth,
adorned it with a cross of twigs and grass.

Big brother Ed said we shouldn’t have interfered.
Bury a dead animal and the crows go hungry,
But, I argued, what about that poor creature’s soul.
Who’s ever risen heavenward from a blackbird’s gut?

Ed, six months of church instruction to the good,
firmly stated, “Animals don’t have souls.”
But if a rusty key is a doubloon, they do.

About John Grey:
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.

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