Last day under water with
the dragging weight of toe-the-line.
I taught myself the art of manifesting
a carry-on bag full from the hunt.
Days drifting on the sandbox dunes,
gleaming but never fresh as a horizon,
snatched from my mountain onto
a foreign homeland.
Limbo dives into infertile meeting rooms,
tables as round as King Arthur’s invention, but no knights
are these, only sagging eager pretenders, saying ‘fun!”
“O hell, this is a hell-of-a-climb!”
I know my magic, the hand I was dealt and have
learned to never underestimate a leap of faith.
I trust my God – already bright and joyfully burning.
A sword is harmony. I can’t think of a way
but around me is between me, and I am
swept of my burdens and my prisoners, trusting
to be clothed, this sacred baptism
into surf-riding the foaming plateaus of the tenuous
and difficult-breathing realms
Published in “Zaira Journal, Issue 2” April 2016
Published in “The Peregrine Muse” December 2015
First published in “Dog Is Wearing Pants Literary Page” October 2015
Click to access Make_the_Wind20160404Allison_Grayhurst.pdf
You can listen to the poem by clicking below:
“Grayhurst’s poetry is a translucent, ethereal dream in which words push through the fog, always searching, struggling, and reaching for the powerful soul at its heart. Her work is vibrant and shockingly original,” Beach Holme Publishers.
“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.
Reblogged this on The Militant Negro™.