a poetry e-zine










Poems By Greg Gregory
Last Poem of May

Outside the crowded hours,
intricate as Italian masks,
we pour a straw-colored wine.

Its surface shimmers like hummingbirds.
We drink in the open moment.

We send our breaths deep into the glass
and we remember.

The last edges of heaven
in the afternoon light disappear

like the smile of a Cheshire cat
into its lost landscape.

Life hangs in the air,
just about to fall.
It leaves no footprints.

Greg Gregory works in educational media although his first love has always been language and the printed word. He was raised in Los Angeles, lived in the San Francisco Bay area for awhile, then moved to Sacramento. He loves the seasonal changes in the bird-rich marshes and rice fields that still haven’t been developed into subdivisions. He has been published in California Quarterly, Rosebud, Windsor Review (Canada), Amherst Review, Poetry Nottingham (England), and others.

Copyright 2009  Chantarelle's Notebook