Our children are orchards

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Our children are orchards

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By the door

we wait for the end of school,

for the long day to bloom

to lay to rest the tricks of superstition and our obstinate ache

to be carried to the next fertile shore.

 

Blocked, but that too must be an answer

to the polished space that compresses and invades

our waking hours.

 

Risk that comes out of despair

as a last ditch effort to not give up

has been told in chronicles, as surrendering stories

that rain away dust and heal the hunt of weighted hunger,

nourishing spiritual belonging.

 

Leaves and feathers we collect with our children,

graveyards we visit to look at lost names,

where our hands seed deeper into the Earth,

rise higher than the hawk-bird into the stratosphere of grace,

 

grace as wind we depend upon to navigate our footsteps,

to quilt together our four-way love,

cooling the cut of arduous days and pilgrimage.

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Copyright  © 2012 by Allison Grayhurst

BookCoverPreview (3)

Our Children Are Orchards

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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Published in “The American Aesthetic, Volume 5, Summer 2017” June 2017

http://www.theamericanaesthetic.org/poetry-summer-2017.html

http://www.theamericanaesthetic.org/biographical.html#Grayhurst

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First published in “The American Aesthetic, Volume 2, Spring 2014”

American Aesthetic 7American Aesthetic 1 American Aesthetic 2 American Aesthetic 3American Aesthetic 4 American Aesthetic 5

American Aesthetic Archives 1 American Aesthetic Archives 2 American Aesthetic Archives 3

http://www.theamericanaesthetic.org/spring-2014.html

http://www.theamericanaesthetic.org/archives-2014-present.html

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

Our children are orchards

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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,”  Eric M. Vogt, poet and author.

“Grayhurst is a great Canadian poet. All of Allison Grayhurst’s poetry is original, sometimes startling, and more often than not, powerful. Anyone who loves modern poetry that does not follow the common path will find Grayhurst complex, insightful, and as good a poet as anyone writing in the world today. Grayhurst’s poetry volumes are highly, highly recommended,” Tom Davis, poet, novelist and educator.
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3 responses to “Our children are orchards

  1. Rich, fraught with depth, relief and instruction:

    “Leaves and feathers we collect with our children,
    graveyards we visit to look at lost names,
    where our hands seed deeper into the Earth,
    rise higher than the hawk-bird into the stratosphere of grace,

    grace as wind we depend upon to navigate our footsteps,
    to quilt together our four-way love,
    cooling the cut of arduous days and pilgrimage.”

    Yes, I have expereienced this and it is so challenging to do in our culture which preaches the opposite everywhere except places like here:

    “Risk that comes out of despair
    as a last ditch effort to not give up
    has been told in chronicles, as surrendering stories
    that rain away dust and heal the hunt of weighted hunger,
    nourishing spiritual belonging.”

    Like

  2. “Leaves and feathers we collect with our children,
    graveyards we visit to look at lost names,
    where our hands seed deeper into the Earth,
    rise higher than the hawk-bird into the stratosphere of grace,”
    I agree with your thoughts in the amazing poetry. Our children are like flowers. We water them with knowledge, protect them against the cold and we love them. Thank you for the outstanding poetry.

    Like

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