James Grey

  About the Poet

James Grey author/poet. I have been writing since the age of 13 or 14.  After winning a contest for young writers I was motivated to continue writing poetry and short stories. I have published in several anthologies and am presently working on a collection of prose and poetry. 

I am a deeply spiritual person and much of my work deals with social and spiritual matters.  Being from the rural south has also had a big impact on my view of the world and the way I write and I purposely waited until I was older to attempt any major writing projects. Now I am ready to share my view of the world with you and hopefully you will find it at the very least food for thought.

Iggin Me

Its a damned shame the way you say my name; 
I aint got no basketball or no bat, 
I dont like watermelon and I dont smoke crack. 
when im strong you want me weak 
and when Im weak you break my back,
 Its Iggin me. 

Look bro, 
I aint claming to be blameless, 
but I can say what you see is what you get and seeing as

how i aint dead yet tell me , what’s going on?
Damn, makes me wanna holla.
So when the lion roars tell me whos gonna be standing? 

Oh you say youve got a sudden case of amnesia, 
and you dont know jack?
who you think you foolin black? 
Its iggin me.

So here go a couple of pair, try em on for size, 
you’ll see things are different when you see them from this side, 
it all comes out in the wash , but where does it drain?

cause once things change they can’t remain the same, can you hang? 
personally , I dont have a choice. 
It’s iggin

Veils of Time

It makes no matter to me, 
for I have been there a million times before;
In that place where the coolness of the shade 
meets the searing heat of the day.
In that place where shadows become your veil and the thin tapestry of what was flows softly in the wind, 
the streaming winds of time;
And when there is nothing left around me which I can hold close to me, 
I will simply fade into oblivion, 
with but one spark left to rekindle on that great day.

Je ne se qua

The point where the mind meets the body, 
meets the body, 
meets the spirit, 
what is it called? 
It is the crossroads of our human existence, 
an amalgamation of what was, 
what we are, 
and what we shall become.
In one brief moment of clarity the 3 are in harmony, 
the two become one, 
and the likeness is perpetuated.
In one brief moment the dividers melt and the golden 
tie that binds us is visible.
If I could but remain in the moment,
paused in time and space;
Then you say,
”Good morning love.”

Rays of Hope

The morning sun shines through my window pane, 
so blistering bright, 
how very vain to think that you can so freely shine, 
on this cold hard room I claim as mine.
If I into the heavens ascend through cloud and sky,
through ether thin, 
and into your shining glory place one ray of gloom,
the other pain,
would you your countenance withdraw from all the life 
you nourish so to squelch the fears of one foolish man, 
and never show your face again?
Would you shine even brighter with rays so bright they’d chase away the darkest night, 
and things that creep in blackness deep would hide their faces to forever weep?
Would you continue to just be oblivious to those like me, 
and in your deep and icy heavenly home, 
on your endless journey continue to roam?
In the end I think it best,
I guess, 
to embrace your rays like all the rest,
for when my pain has long since been, 
your piercing rays will shine again.