John Grey

A Man in His Sunroom
 
Late roses, long we keep the frost at bay,
All afternoon, I recline in the sunroom
Like fresh red petals, no prophet of doom
Myself, drowning in thought, recall the way
I have for years, in what the neighbors say
Is idleness; unlike their routine gloom,
I have the rose's stamina, the bloom
To survive the rigors of cold hard day.

Reflective man slides through wide aperture
Into youth brilliant by the golden shore.
Cares not for changes in the temperature
When he has feeling, remembrance and more
Refuses the suburban ligature
Of time and season, blossoms to the core.

John Greyis an Australian poet and US resident, recently published in New World Writing, New English Review and Tenth Muse. His latest books, Subject Matters, Between Two Fires, and Covert, are available through Amazon. He has work upcoming in Broken Plate, Amazing Stories and River and South.