John Grey’s Group Poetry

John Grey’s Group Poetry 

A BIRD FLIES INTO OUR WINDOW

The bird thumped three or four times

against the window,

had no idea that

the room in which we sat

was not some extension

of the sky.

Its last attempt

saw it slapped back

as hard as it gave.

Then it dropped into the darkness below.

The way home’s not always easy.

Not when there are other homes in the way.

THE DAFFODIL

The daffodil has had enough of winter.

It makes a stand for living things

against the lifeless grip of the season.

Six petals, one for each degree above freezing,

counter the threat of coming darkness,

plunging temperature and another

cold helping of snow.

All day, it opens itself up to the world.

It delights in the modest sunshine.

It laps up the thawing ice.

While we hibernate inside the house,

its imagined spring is real enough

for that tender budding to survive.

Remember. this was the flower

pinned to your breast

at last year’s cancer charity.

Everybody wore one.

Like the snow, cancer did not recede.

And yet, the simple emblem

still felt victorious.

 

THE SUN AND I

The sun shines

on the patio

where I sit,

late afternoon,

reading a book,

sipping a coffee,

enjoying the rays,

the warmth.

I know

it’s astrophysics

but it sure does

feel like an arrangement.