NOVEMBER HERE AND THERE // Poem by John Grey

In November,

when the wind was as suddenly bitter

            as second thoughts,

and the sky grew cold,

felt like something icy to touch,

            battles broke out in a warm land,

            armies drew lines in real sand,

            soldiers shot at the merest movement,

            blind missiles saw just enough to kill.

In mid-Fall,

every leaf was already on the ground

but dead in a good way,

            prepared to mulch itself

            into mineral and seed,

            become its own descendent

in forests to come –

            but the fallen proved useless,

            to their commanders, to themselves,

            remained in the place

            where the life first went out of them,

counted mutely to ten million

until carted away.

In my November,

            life entered the sparse

            curve of its cycle –

elsewhere, the world didn’t change much.

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in New World Writing, North Dakota Quarterly and Lost Pilots. Latest books, ”Between Two Fires”, “Covert” and  “Memory Outside The Head” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in California Quarterly, Seventh Quarry, La Presa and Doubly Mad.