thin hip bones, hills of urgency, the grounding

of incomprehensible joy. At sea. Socks. Blindfolded

on the top bunk, looking into blackness, sure

of the kaleidoscope formations forming that press behind

eyes – optic nerves more alive than when there is

sun. Impulses

propelling new positions – toes touching,

calves locked, demanding, skin against

similar refined surfaces.

    Clarity climbs the spine. Minds are removed from symbols,

divulged of an audience, resting easy in sounds, validations

of hidden obsessions and kerosene wanting. Wanting

outward what is inward – to pick a pearl

in the tossing waters, to be that pearl

torn from ligament bondage.

    Death sings, switches axles. Inside that box,

larvae are destroyed, what is wax-paper-winged

emerges like steam, twisting with a giddy haste, singing

and shedding the crust of coveted seclusion.

Like the brushing wind

of wet breath on an upper thigh, it sings, or

like the smells of predatory indulgence coupled

with tender consideration, cheeks are under siege.

And even what is awkward delivers

unexpected fulfillment.

The box is handprints on glass, fingers drawing

biological notes. Open. Each time

time has no bearing. Each time venturing, the box

is a blade, contracting – multiplying an adrenalin spectrum.

Each time excessive sensitivity expounds, actualizes,

there, flushing.

What is given, returns larger – corners are lifted, four-sided

confinement collapses as two fibrous silhouettes gain height,

hum tangible, hold steady and then

mutually unroll.



Copyright © 2012 by Allison Grayhurst



First published in “New Binary Press Anthology”, 2012


You can listen to the poem by clicking below:



“Allison Grayhurst intertwines a potent spirituality throughout her work so that each poem is not simply a statement or observation, but a revelation that demands the reader’s personal involvement. Grayhurst’s poetic genius is profound and evident. Her voice is uniquely authentic, undeniable in its dignified vulnerability as it is in its significance,” Kyp Harness, singer/songwriter, author.

“Allison Grayhurst’s poems are like cathedrals witnessing and articulating in unflinching graphic detail the gritty angst and grief of life, while taking it to rare clarity, calm and comfort. Grayhurst’s work is haunting, majestic and cleansing, often leaving one breathless in the wake of its intelligence, hope, faith and love amidst the muck of life. Many of Allison Grayhurst’s poems are simply masterpieces. Grayhurst’s poetry is a lighthouse of intelligent honour… indeed, intelligence rips through her work like white water,” Taylor Jane Green, Registered Spiritual Psychotherapist and author.


Book reviews of the River is Blind paperback:

“Throughout (The River is Blind), she (Allison Grayhurst) employs 
reiterated tropes of swallowing and being consumed, spatial fullness 
and emptiness, shut- in, caverns, chasms, cavities; angels, archangels, 
blasphemy, psalms; satiation or starved. With a conceit of unrequited sex as “my desire”, nocturnal emissions, awakening in the morning, the poet lives at capacity, uninhibited, dancing,” Anne Burke, poet, regional representative for Alberta on the League of Canadian Poets’ Council, and chair of the Feminist Caucus.


“Allison’s poetic prose is insightful, enwrapping, illuminating and brutally truthful. It probes the nature of the human spirit, relationships, spirituality and God. It is sung as the clearest song is sung within a cathedral by choir. It is whispered as faintly as a heartbroken goodbye. It is alive with the life of a thousand birds in flight within the first glint of morning sun. It is as solemn as the sad-sung ballad of a noble death. Read at your peril. You will never look at this world in quite the same way again. Your eye will instinctively search the sky for eagles and scan the dark earth for the slightest movement of smallest ant, your heart will reach for tall mountains, bathe in the most intimate of passions and in the grain and grit of our earth. Such is Allison Grayhurst. Such is her poetry. THE RIVER IS BLIND is a must-read,”  Eric M. Vogt, poet and author.



2 responses to “Box

  1. Romantic Dominant – A faded romantic Dominant with a love of all things beautiful and a taste for the darkly sensual and decadent. A lover of music, food and wine, literature, theatre, film and art. A writer. Though not a good one. Of novels, shorts stories, songs and poetry. The written word is my joy and my curse. I am tall, silver haired, slender with piercing hazel/blue eyes and long, sensitive hands. I am neither handsome nor unattractive. I am a realistic dreamer, an idealistic pragmatist. I am a sexually dominant but patient and sensual lover. I adore intelligent, elegant, independent, beautiful women . I am not young. I am faded and fading. But if the music is playing, and the wine is good, and the stars are shining bright in a soft velvet night sky, and the light falls on me just right, then you might see the man who could break hearts. Well, if you have a very good imagination anyway ...
    Romantic Dominant says:

    Beautifully written and read

  2. Well, I’m ending my Saturday night with beautiful poetry from Allison Grayhurst…but, I must go to bed and tomorrow I will finish reading the poems I haven’t read yet from April. I’m glad to end my evening here.

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