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The bough breaks
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and dreams collapse uncushioned
like the smile that forsakes me
and the wonderful illusion of things past
but never lost.
For here I cut my antennae down
and kiss the pyramid on my grass,
blessed by the end result
but never by the happening:
I know the world
and it needs forgiveness.
For here the smell grew toxic
and the glass filled to overflowing,
but the grime inside never got better,
though polished every day.
For here I cradle my body to sleep,
the long way down is the only way down
and we are sold by the scars upon our throat,
by the longing discarded that never knew it
could end
and by the only relationship we are all
bound to have – our stronghold with or
not with
God.
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Copyright © 2006 by Allison Grayhurst
amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst
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First published in “Crack the Spine”issue 64, and “Crack The Spine Summer 2013 anthology” under the title “For Here”
http://www.crackthespine.com/2013/09/summer-2013-anthology.html
http://www.crackthespine.com/2013/05/issue-sixty-four-contributors.html#more
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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:
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“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.
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There’s a painting by Peter Doig called ‘Pelican’ which he’d painted from seeing a man catching a Pelican at sea and the man giving him a stare as he passed holding the Pelican out of sight – and this narrative you know because he wrote it all down but there is no trace of the Pelican in his painting and it doesn’t need the narrative to explain its effect.
Reblogged this on The ObamaCrat™.
A fine end to this poem, although God has become all part of yesterdays furnishings, as I believe God transcribed by various authorities, is not to be confused with what God is to the individuals own interpretation of existence.
A classic. Words that tingle and weave a depth story. Brilliant.
“and we are sold by the scars upon our throat,
by the longing discarded that never knew it
could end
and by the only relationship we are all
bound to have – our stronghold with or
not with
God.”