Dual forming on slopes of darker minds.
Succulent nodes of effervescent whispers,
whispering Oh! Blood clots bending
in unison to sharp solstices.
Dig and reap tomorrow’s regrets,
piled on like love you thought was comfortable.
Comfort is a guard you let loose,
let down and found judgments –
platters to be served and roasted upon.
Singing for sale. A number left to a key. Fickle
verdicts oscillating between indifference and approval.
Release and acceptance – what else is there?
I am only unhappy when I want what isn’t.
Platypus cans of tonic – drink down, flushing
through organs. I see orange. Orange buses,
orange lines of direction on the road, in homes
where anger is held at stillpoint. One point
on a curve. I have lost my feathers,
all means of flight. There is nothing left
but hunger for the skyspace, outerspace, space
where I once travelled through meteor fields,
ballooning over planets’ edges like a seamstress,
owning it all before I got grounded, committed
to personal love and the necessity of graves.
Why did I come here? To cry for my loved ones,
hold vigil for the slaughtered pigs?
Centuries that just were, lingering, licking
on waves of vastness, licking dark matter like a candy cane.
Not a soul, but the planets vibrating their orchestra – deep,
varying at intervals, then again, and never changing.
God, what am I doing in the sunlight – on the sidewalks,
making room for children on bicycles?
Putting pressure on my shoulders so I cannot sleep,
cannot appease this malcontent.
Why did I leave – to connect with misplaced animals?
Babies only born? Looking for union when before
I thought myself whole?
Material made from the moon. I understand
the beauty of caves, the great sea turtle’s solitary plight…
but more and more – I never wanted more than you
again inside of me – infinity in corporeal form.
God separates to know Itself. God is only what we give,
awakening as we do to warmth and kindness – choices
under the wrap of gravity and yet, somehow,
lifted into altruism.
Copyright © by Allison Grayhurst 2014
First published in “The Muse – An International Journal of Poetry” Volume 4, Number 1, June Issue 2014
You can listen to the poem below:
In response to the poem – Walkways:
“This is brilliant! Brilliant. Reminds me of when I first read Walt Whitman’s “Leaves of Grass”. And I wanted to stand up on the city bus and exclaim aloud: “Listen to this!” A comprehensive capturing of human earthly experience in all its dimensions without missing a beat – beyond the conscious mind – dancing with the levels of our knowing and sensing – that we feel but do not always recognize, and rarely, oh so rarely articulate. Clearly, Grayhurst’s poetic journey has taken her to the mountain top,” Taylor Jane Green, registered holistic talk therapist and author.