Poetry Super Highway

Poetry Super Highway

May 13-19, 2013: John Grey and David Chorlton

John Grey and David Chorlton

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John Grey
 jgrey10233@aol.com

Bio (auto)

John Grey is an Australian born poet. Recently published in International Poetry Review, Chrysalis and the science fiction anthology, “Futuredaze”with work upcoming in Potomac Review, Sanskrit and Fox Cry Review.

The following work is Copyright © 2013, and owned by John Grey and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Debtor Society

Been paying off this car for years.
First to the bank.
Now to the garage and the insurance company.
And the house, of course,
is another thing that’ll never be mine.
The mortgage is a killer.
Taxes provide armed backup.
Not forgetting how paint peels,
pipes burst, dust collects on mantles.
There’s nothing I have
that I don’t owe on.
Wife loves me
and that’s sure an expense.
The job pays me a salary,
but add it up and it’s a loan.
And then there’s my body.
Grew the thing myself
and yet I’m still writing checks to doctors
just so I can keep on using it.

David Chorlton
rdchorlton@netzero.net

Bio (auto)

David Chorlton was born in Austria, grew up in England, and spent several years in Vienna before moving to Phoenix in 1978. He pursued his visual art and had several shows as well as writing and publishing his poetry in magazines and collections, the latest of which is The Devil’s Sonata from FutureCycle Press. Although he became ever more interested in the desert and its wildlife, the shadow side of Vienna emerges in his fiction and The Taste of Fog, which was published by Rain Mountain Press.

The following work is Copyright © 2013, and owned by David Chorlton and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Enhanced Interrogations

Can we force more light from the bulb
by increasing the power, Sir? How hard
must we pull the elastic
until it’s taut enough to snap?
Will the bridge take more weight
without falling apart, or should we twist
the ropes so tight
the abyss screams beneath it?
 
Let’s increase the pressure now
and listen
as the world reveals its truth,
quietly at first
then loud enough to hurt
even those who hear it,
 
but there’d be no point in this
if nobody knows we’re doing it.

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Love’s, Labour’s, Lost by David Supper

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