Poems by Anne Gray

Blech

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

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!

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

Different

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
3/10/2008

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.