John Grey

Camping in New Hampshire

John Grey

The night rolled in without hesitation, consumed my tent, the tiny patch of ground I claimed for my makeshift terrace. Now, every bird is a blackbird. All the trees are black birch. That is until they’re no longer trees at all but part of this vast, seamless entity called black forest. But my heart beats excitedly. My head is full of imagining. My nerves don’t tremble. They are eager to be part of their surrounds. It’s time to light a fire, one like the fire in me.

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident now living in Rhode Island, recently published in Sheepshead Review, Stand, Poetry Salzburg Review and Hollins Critic. Latest books, Leaves On Pages Memory Outside The Head and Guest Of Myself are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in Ellipsis, Blueline International Poetry Review.