BIO
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in New World Writing, Santa Fe Literary Review, and Lost Pilots. Latest books, ”Between Two Fires”, “Covert” and “Memory Outside The Head” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in the Seventh Quarry, La Presa and California Quarterly.
FULL DREAM AHEAD
As a teenager, I was a rock guitarist in utero.
Sometimes Eddie Van Halen. Sometimes Eric Clapton.
I plucked the strings of a tennis racket.
The amps were in my head.
I was never a pasty-faced clerk bent over a desk.
Or a guy in overalls wielding a spanner.
Or some schmuck, on an icy morning,
plunked down on a stool, milking a cow by hand.
I saw many a video clip of someone who’d made it,
tossing off riffs and solos like a chef making salad.
Surely they were once kids imitating their axe-wielding heroes.
But how did they make the leap from acolyte to god?
At seven, I was a would-be sergeant in the cavalry.
At eight, I donned cheap space gear for a trip to the galaxy’s edge.
At nine, I was a fireman. At ten, a cop.
When I was a kid, I was never what I am now.
THE OLD GARDENER
He pottered in his garden
wearing nothing but
a scruffy white undershirt,
and hand-me-down shorts.
Sadly, the vegetables grew
as stunted as he was.
The soil was poor.
So were his bones.
He ate what he could
of his crop.
But most he threw away
or replanted
to no better result than before.
His house was as shabby as he was.
When he cut the lawn,
it was with the last
remaining push-mower
on the street.
His heart was bad
and his knees no better.
For years, we expected to see
the ambulance pull up
outside his gate.
It never came
though it did for some
much younger.
He had a modest purpose in life
but it was enough
to keep him going.
He was an inept gardener.
The longer he lived
the more that was an honor.
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Beautiful poems❤️
Yes, they are. Thank you hon.
💗💗
Thank you dear Christine.
Creative pieces!
Thank you Michele.
Welcome! 🌻
stunning!
Thank you so much dearest Barbara.
I like these very much!
Thank you very much Dawn.
Dear John Grey,
Your poem “The Old Gardener” poignantly captures the essence of perseverance. The gardener, with his “scruffy white undershirt” and “hand-me-down shorts,” symbolizes the relentless spirit in the face of adversity. Despite the “poor soil” and his physical limitations, his dedication to his garden, albeit with modest success, is truly an honor to his resilience. This portrayal of enduring in the simplest of tasks, like gardening, resonates deeply. It’s a touching reminder of the beauty in persistence, however humble the results may be.
“Full dream Ahead” is such a lovely poetry with a nostalgic taste. Almost 99% of the people are NOT what they dream in their childhood & yes, their dreams regarding their profession keep on changing in their different phases the way clouds keep on changing their shapes as it is said in the last stanza, especially in the last line of the last stanza,
“When I was a kid, I was never what I am now.”
The comparison of the enthusiasm of a baby inside a mother’s womb as well as of a toddler to that of a rock guitarist is brilliantly beautiful.
I loved each word of the first stanza but the last two words of this stanza;
” I plucked the strings of a tennis racket.
The amps were in my head.”
— I have no words in the praise of this brilliant man’s work here.
I am fascinated the most by the third stanza. The bitter truth stated so softly and with sweetness, like an innocent kid asking a question just casually & with curiosity is a beautiful work of art.
I love the simile used in this stanza,
“tossing off riffs and solos like a chef making salad”
& then the way the bitter worldly fact is uncovered by means of a simple question, the way an innocent kid asks just with a curiosity is so brilliant.., i.e.,
“Surely they were once kids imitating their axe-wielding heroes. But how did they make the leap from acolyte to god?”
& I agree that almost all the kids at certain point try to copy their favorite hero’s actions; the actions done by their favourite heroes in their reel life.
They are so fascinated that they don’t understand that they are trying to blur the boundary between reel and real.
“Axe-wielding heroes ” is one of the wisest metaphors I have ever read.
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