Something found

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Something found

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Babyskin and bare,

these roots protrude from

the steady earth, assaulted

by squirrels digging and the sleet

of nocturnal phantoms.

Breath, I need to breathe like being

touched and not so alone, received

in male waters and a female sky, accompanied

by tirades of kisses, kissing jellyfish and crows.

I need to move my eyes slowly across piano notes,

type each sad circumstance, shine my injury like

a just-bronzed statue and wait to be collected.

But the salt is fresh like thunder, entering my mouth,

making its way dryly down my throat and I am tired

of bitter happenstance that is boundless

with surprises, never

worthy of a relieving smile. I am centred in this silence,

anticipating a hunt or legs I can conjoin

with my own. Flowers are small.

I can hear trains in the morning

when windows are stubbornly closed,

when I am walking and it is dark,

and the space around fills me with the ache

of unintended solitude.

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Copyright © 2012 by Allison Grayhurst

3021

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

Surrogate Dharma chapbook 1

http://barometricpressures.blogspot.ca/2014/10/surrogate-dharma-allision-grayhurst.html?spref=fb

https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B-DuKJaq66ClMlFIWWU5cTY2RTQ/view

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First published in “Misfits Miscellany”

misfitmisfit-something-found-1 misfit-something-found-2

http://misfitsmiscellany.wordpress.com/page/2/?s=allison+grayhurst

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

https://allisongrayhurst.files.wordpress.com/2012/01/something-found2.m4a

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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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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.

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“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.

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4 responses to “Something found

  1. To the marrow of the bone description – one wonders how she makes it through a day with such intensity of observance of the subtleties of life’s moments both inner and outer: the fireworks of the earth’s outer displays (tree roots, crows, conjoined legs, “windows stubbornly closed”) and the human being’s inner life (“a relieving smile”, “unintended solitude”). Thank you for your witnessing of all the layers, moods and moments – all embraced by your eye and unflinchingly given ‘voice’.

    “Flowers are small. I can hear trains in the morning

    when windows are stubbornly closed,

    when I am walking and it is dark,

    and the space around fills me with the ache

    of unintended solitude.”

    Like

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