Prophets

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Prophets

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They hold the ghost feather.

They cry by cause of extreme imaginations.

Paranoia on pillows,

the stench of shoes and month-old towels

under fingernails.

Liberty in sleeping pills & mirrors

that have no shine.

 

This they have, spirits stabbed

with hunger, doubt & arrogance

raging equally by their bedsides.

Encyclopedias divulged in dead languages

& hoards of filthy critics teasing with

axe and indifference

their true-goal flower.

 

They crack their heads on insecurity.

They do not believe in this world.

 

From balconies, from strait-jackets,

from honeymoon apartments, they expose

the human guilt, delicate visions

that seduce the blind with wonder.

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Copyright © 1995 by Allison Grayhurst

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For Every Rain Cover 5

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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First published in “Drift, Issue #82”, 1996

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

 

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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One response to “Prophets

  1. Can it get anymore visceral and ethereal than this? Bravo!

    “Encyclopedias divulged in dead languages
    & hoards of filthy critics teasing with
    axe and indifference
    their true-goal flower.

    They crack their heads on insecurity.
    They do not believe in this world.

    From balconies, from strait-jackets,
    from honeymoon apartments, they expose
    the human guilt, delicate visions
    that seduce the blind with wonder.”

    I espcecially love this conclusive and comprehensive description:

    “hoards of filthy critics teasing with
    axe and indifference
    their true-goal flower.”

    Like

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