The Bells

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The bells

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The bells speak of a hurt

that is mounting the circumference

of a life, mourning the death that splinters the arteries,

the hip bones, each vertebrae. Begging to the stars to tell

a colossal fable, a majestic myth to solve this boring condition

of being here, away from the infinite sky, swallowing

mounds of dirt where many others have had their footprints.

Speak of woods, and of creatures that love but cannot

laugh. My lover, I am freed from the concrete

chamber – you freed me and helped me find

an arrow. There is ringing in my ears and a sorrow

triumphant, clinging to me like barnacles.

It is what I have chosen – to not pretend and to kindle

a primal inspiration. Desire like a ceremony –

days of meditation long past, but trances and

swaying and throwing words out, guttural,

epidemic with desire, those days are here.

On the roof, hands at my side. Hurt in my ankles and

in my teeth: A snake is in the front garden and

I am watching it.

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Copyright © 2012 by Allison Grayhurst

3021

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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First published in “The Tophat Raven”

tophat raven 1tophat raven 5tophat raven 4tophat raven the bellstophat raven 3

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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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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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2 responses to “The Bells

  1. This piece is colossal. Glinting, sparkling jewels that are blinding in their treasure – sentences that shine and wink in their light of depth and meaning. What a treasure Allison Grayhurst is. Her gift? To unfold for us life at this intensity of feeling and revelation. Who knew truth and beauty could be so intertwined and so passionate?

    “The bells speak of a hurt
    that is mounting the circumference
    of a life”

    “Begging to the stars to tell
    a colossal fable, a majestic myth to solve this boring condition
    of being here, away from the infinite sky, swallowing
    mounds of dirt where many others have had their footprints.”

    “There is ringing in my ears and a sorrow
    triumphant … It is what I have chosen – to not pretend and to kindle
    a primal inspiration.”

    “Desire like a ceremony –
    days of meditation long past, but trances and
    swaying and throwing words out, guttural,
    epidemic with desire, those days are here.”

    Like

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