THE RISE OF WINTER

by John Grey

It’s winter

and the ground is bare,

the trees skeletal,

the flowers withered,

the wind fierce and bitter,

and breathing the air

is like kissing an icy flagpole.

But then the dead

rise up out of their graves.

The count

flies down from his castle.

Savage beasts

go in search of prey.

And a great white hairy creature

emerges from

the slimy gizzards of its cave.

So it’s spring-like in a way

for there is a kind

of blooming here.

But don’t go sniffing

the scents of death.

Your lungs won’t thank you.

And don’t try picking the blossoms.

They just might pick you instead.

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Shift, River and South, and Flights. Latest books, Bittersweet, Subject Matters, and Between Two Fires, are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in Rush, Spotlong Review, and Trampoline.