The Demon Child
By
John Grey
He was such a tiny
red-faced little baby,
with dark eyes, red lips,
and what appeared to be tiny horns
growing out of the side of his head.
His first word was “Dada.”
His second was “Mama.”
Who knew it was
the beginning of a hit list.
This New Version of You
His heart beats within you.
His brain sends out signals
to your farthest body parts,
decodes the responses in return.
You’re already dead
but you will never die.
Not while others inform your every action.
And your thoughts are more succinct,
more imaginative, more dynamic,
than in those long-ago days
when it was your pathetic mind thinking them.
You were a factory worker.
You possessed muscle and tenacity
but that was your limit.
You never had an idea
that could come to anything.
Nor a feeling that could encompass
another human being.
But you made a perfect box
for a better man to come in.
A giant of a mind in a withered body,
an unconsummated poet
sucked down by the hell of disease.
You had to be evacuated
so a wiser, more caring being
could take your place.
The world no longer needed you.
Your arm-wrestling skills
did not translate into anything
of value to the world.,
But go look in the mirror.
Your face is still ruggedly handsome.
But you’re Einstein.
You’re Dante.
You look down your nose at Joe Six Pack.
Ironic, considering
that’s Joe Six Pack’s nose.
Dealing with Beasts
I creep slowly,
hardly breathing,
rolled up magazine in hand,
my eyesight perched immovably
on the back of the hornet
that clings to my parlor wall.
Once chance, he gives me.
Miss and he gets away.
Swat!
The creature’s splattered
across the yellow wallpaper.
Remember this,
I tell myself.
Remember this,
when night falls,
I’m all alone
and the real devils
come buzzing.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Leading Edge, Space and Time and Illumen. Latest books, “Between Two Fires” “Memory Outside The Head” and “Guest Of Myself” are available through Amazon. Has won a Rhysling award for genre poetry.
By
John Grey
He was such a tiny
red-faced little baby,
with dark eyes, red lips,
and what appeared to be tiny horns
growing out of the side of his head.
His first word was “Dada.”
His second was “Mama.”
Who knew it was
the beginning of a hit list.
This New Version of You
His heart beats within you.
His brain sends out signals
to your farthest body parts,
decodes the responses in return.
You’re already dead
but you will never die.
Not while others inform your every action.
And your thoughts are more succinct,
more imaginative, more dynamic,
than in those long-ago days
when it was your pathetic mind thinking them.
You were a factory worker.
You possessed muscle and tenacity
but that was your limit.
You never had an idea
that could come to anything.
Nor a feeling that could encompass
another human being.
But you made a perfect box
for a better man to come in.
A giant of a mind in a withered body,
an unconsummated poet
sucked down by the hell of disease.
You had to be evacuated
so a wiser, more caring being
could take your place.
The world no longer needed you.
Your arm-wrestling skills
did not translate into anything
of value to the world.,
But go look in the mirror.
Your face is still ruggedly handsome.
But you’re Einstein.
You’re Dante.
You look down your nose at Joe Six Pack.
Ironic, considering
that’s Joe Six Pack’s nose.
Dealing with Beasts
I creep slowly,
hardly breathing,
rolled up magazine in hand,
my eyesight perched immovably
on the back of the hornet
that clings to my parlor wall.
Once chance, he gives me.
Miss and he gets away.
Swat!
The creature’s splattered
across the yellow wallpaper.
Remember this,
I tell myself.
Remember this,
when night falls,
I’m all alone
and the real devils
come buzzing.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Leading Edge, Space and Time and Illumen. Latest books, “Between Two Fires” “Memory Outside The Head” and “Guest Of Myself” are available through Amazon. Has won a Rhysling award for genre poetry.
