Poetry

After this New England winter, I want to take off my clothes...so bad. But could it be cold here even in summer?

Imagine naked under the sun. Swimming through one million lakes. Or lying on grass...so warm warm warm.

Maybe count every leaf on every tree. I've always wanted to do that. And stars too!

Would you come with me? ...read more. 

She say his language of war be the same as his language of peace

Words of  a desperate brother and protector embodied as if in two men

They be like one another as two beans not sisters of oneness like we she say this chorus sings duality

Like a gong harmonizes silence echoing eternal song

For two hours trade a peace we cannot understand for a war that we do...read more 

On a precipice, a cliff overlooking a tremendous see, waves patting the rocks provokingly, tendering those above to come, summoning them as one would a pet, sitting I dangle my legs off the edge staring into the vacancy of life, coloring the terrible sky a color no sky has ever been, a darkness complete, to see one knows that by the darkness they've been seen, a bad exchange of visions, frightened then pacified with an open secret, as when one reveals all they've done, what they have, every detail...read more.

The Maggot on Maple Street is a book which delves into the complexities and nuances of the human experience. Through a series of evocative and thought-provoking poems, Gray explores themes of love, loss, identity, and the search for meaning in a world that can often feel overwhelming and uncertain. Whether through the raw honesty of a love poem, the haunting beauty of a lament, or the stirring inspiration of a call to action, The Maggot on Maple Street speaks to the heart of the reader and invites them on a journey of self-discovery and reflection. This is a book that will resonate with readers of all ages and backgrounds, and will leave a lasting impression on anyone who delves into its pages. Read more.

Driscoll’s lyrical ear, and dowser’s alertness to strong currents of feeling, as well as to meaning, provides deep pleasure in poem after poem.  A collection well-worth owning and returning to.
–Alan Feldman, Author of The Golden Coin

In the lead poem [Tom Driscoll] writes about birches, “sentries of the forest” and “their tendency towards light” as “delicate witnesses.” Tom is a birch, and this is a brave and wonderful book.

–Polly Brown, Author of Pebble Leaf Feather Knife. Read more.

The last ghostly patch of snow slips away,

winter's peaceful abandon slowly melting into memory and you remember the muck outside your kitchen window is the garden you promised to keep, must struggle with once more

Jeans died black by years of dirt,

you step again into the ache of your boots, clear dead spoils. trowel the soil for new life.

***

April's sun shifts on the horizon, lights up the dewed spiderwebs just like chandeliers. Clouds begin sailing in, cargoed with rain loud enough to rouse the flowers into...read more.

how is it so easy for you

to be kind to people he asked

milk and honey dripped

from my lips as I answered

cause people have not 

been kind to me

the first boy that kissed me

held my shoulders down

like the handlebars of

the first bicycle

he ever rode

I was five

he had the smell of

starvation on his lips

which he picked up from

his father feasting on his mother at 4 a.m...read more.

you do not even know

how much the story

you are scared to tell

could help someone else

out of their own

isolated hell.

repeat after me;

i am worthy of being here today

exactly as i want to be.

i do not need to change

or mold myself

just to make other people

comfortable with me.

i do not allow people

to get close to me.

and i do not allow myself

to get close to them. Read more.

little girl, four days old, you go

lifeless in the grimy nails of

a starving man

shu-

cking petals off

a girl

pale tulle

pair of hips wide as your country

your country wrecked

your sky

and sun

my daughter’s father was mejicano

and i fear that border

more than the sun and its glandular splotches

more than a tsunami

[…]

and i wonder whether my daughter

now understands she’s a borderless bird

who killed her father during a walled-in bolero

wounded me fatally...read more.

you do not even know

how much the story

you are scared to tell

could help someone else

out of their own

isolated hell.

repeat after me;

i am worthy of being here today

exactly as i want to be.

i do not need to change

or mold myself

just to make other people

comfortable with me.

i do not allow people

to get close to me.

and i do not allow myself

to get close to them. Read more.