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Those Who Hunt For Inspiration

 

            It is not so easy

to hold the

delicate fear of

being.

            Continuously terrified

& charmed

by the intimate surge

of desire and music and touch.

            Silence yields to the cry

then back to soft desperation.

            Some days delirium sets in,

as if a child again, drunk by

every electric beat of the wind.

 

The moon is full of torment.

The sun throws kisses to our

small eyes, piercing like nails.

 

            So sick of its bright caresses,

so grateful for its yellow warmth

we vacillate between excessive dreams

& boredom.

 

All is flesh. All is flesh

& memory & unspeakable hopes.

 

(There is a mad ghost cruising on the breeze.

There is mud corrupting every vein.)

 

            We wait for love to shake us alive.

We wait for the blue-winged god

to lie down & hold us until

our bellies break

like waves –

                        announcing All

                        to earth and sea.

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Copyright © 1995 by Allison Grayhurst

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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First published in “Next Exit” #21  1993

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

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“Somewhere Falling has a richness of imagery and an intensity of emotion rare in contemporary poetry. Drawn in sharp outlines of light and darkness, and rich shades of colour, with a deep sense of loss and longing and the possibility of salvation, this is an unusual book by a gifted young poet. Grayhurst’s voice is one to which we should continue to pay attention.” — Maggie Helwig, author of Apocalypse Jazz and Eating Glass.

“Responsibility and passion don’t often go together, especially in the work of a young poet. Allison Grayhurst combines them in audacious ways. Somewhere Falling is a grave, yet sensuous book.” – Mark Abley, author of Glasburyon and Blue Sand, Blue Moon.

“Biting into the clouds and bones of desire and devotion, love and grief, Allison Grayhurst basks the reader, with breathtaking eloquence, in an elixir of words. Like lace, the elegance is revealed by what isn’t said. This is stunning poetry.” – Angela Hryniuk, author of no visual scars.

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