Where life appears as death in still disguise,
The sundew droops, the cypress stands in gloom,
A frog clings mute beneath the leaden skies,
The gator floats -a log in nature’s tomb.
The air hangs thick, like drapes in mourning’s hall,
The surface ripples brown with creeping shell,
A scattered sound -a cry, a muffled call –
Even in mire, desire must cast its spell.
A serpent glides across the offered land,
Its scales dulled green by algae’s quiet blight.
No need to strike, its menace close at hand.
Its look alone enough to stir our fright.
The swamp, disease in nature’s grand charade,
In chills and tremors, I have been well paid.
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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, Birmingham Arts Journal, La Presa and Shot Glass Journal.
