Poems by Anne Gray


The water is running brown from the tap
Brown like rust, or brown like crap

You wouldn't really want to drink
The water coming out my sink

People ask if I like this town.
I like it just fine, when the water's not brown
(--November 22nd, 2009, Yellow Springs, OH)

September 12, 2009

Some of
the dishes are done.
Some of the counter is clean.

Some of
the laundry is folded.
Some of the office is neat.

Some of
the bathroom is scrubbed,
and--Hey! I'm showered and on my feet!

Some days,
just getting some things done
can be such a treat.

Vestigial Hair
Man once grew a ruff on the shoulder;
a remnant from when times were colder:
I now have one hair
that grows very long there.
I'm glad those genetics aren't bolder!
--August 27th, 2009

Budding Partnership

She grows accustomed
to having him clean her back
on winter mornings

Gift Exchange

A friend of mine sent me a pie full of books;
A pie full of corners and turn-the-page looks,
Full of plotting and playing and soft caring glances,
Adventure and conquest, and sometimes romances.

This wasn't a regular sort of a pie,
I thought to myself, with a satisfied sigh.

I sent to my good friend a pie full of dreams;
A pie that is not quite as sweet as it seems.
But one that sustains the same soul it delights,
Though it sometimes distracts from immediate sights.

I salted it lightly with flavors exotic;
He made me more books, so I'm sure that he got it.

He Says, She Says

He says
It’s not about
Having something
To say.

The people
Who will be
Successful writers
Want to play with words
Susserate the sound
Pound home their points
With punctuation.

It’s not a poem,
He says,
If it doesn’t rhyme.

If my ways and reasons for writing
Are very different from his,
Can I still succeed?
I might write something
Something new…

Some amateur thing that every other starting writer
Once thought was fabulously cool,
She says,
And then
She lifts her pen.

Unexpected Poetic Power

spilled out on the floor

suddenly, I find
myself facing a box full
of broken crayons

I wouldn’t have expected
to be that kind of person

to put crayons back
into the box, unordered
seems so unlike me

Poems by Anne K. Gay:

I know Someone who's Somebody

To Everybody else.
And Somebody is Noone, really,
Without a true self.
And Someone is standing there hiding
Behind Somebody's face.
In the middle of Everybody,
But still Noplace.

Helpless to help

I saw a man with tears in his eyes.
I went to him and asked him why.
"I'm lonely," he said.
Said I, "I'm here."
"I'm not," he said, and left me there.

Get It Out

Living a lie is like sand in your eye;
You wince and you cry and it hurts.
Your heart wants to shout just to get that grain out;
Your eye was not meant to hold dirt.
You must be direct, simply fish out that speck,
And when it is free let it fly:
Lay the dirt on the table; only then are you able
To look those you love in the eye.

A Moment In Passage

As the sun glints on metal, and leaves blow away,
I ponder tomorrow, and wonder today
If those which will follow shall know leaves at all,
Or feel how I feel, as they fall.

Random Haiku

Loneliness in a
King-size bed is far more sad
Than in a single

In Memory of Sam and Orpheus

Our cats are most important friends
And more, they're family
They give us love that never ends,
They teach humilty

And all their sweet, expressive ways
Like puking on the floor
Are worth it when they sit with us
Or meet us at the door

The memories of a cat that's gone
Are of his finest hour
A languid stretch, a playful prance
A proud and lordly glower

Not a print or any picture
Of your cat will mean so much
as the memory of his gaze or
of his soft and padded touch

What a lovely observation,
That our cats, like us, were friends
With their catly conversations
That we couldn't understand

We'll remember them together,
Both the sad and happy parts
And our cats will live forever
In the cockles of our hearts

And Then I May Go

Come Quickly, if I'm going to live --
Come racing to my side.
Come share with me your secret thoughts
Or make of me your bride.

Then later, if I'm going to die,
Come slowly, if you must.
You needn't race for one last word
With ashes in your dust.

If there are things you'd like to say
Or gifts we both might give
Then say them now or bring them by
Come Quick -- if I'm to live.