Below the bending wave,
waving like Medusa’s snakes
in mid-air, frantic with
emptiness, broken by
the ruthlessness of time.
All this is like a chant,
like a sore foot in summer.
I am not waiting,
not for death nor for the
of a starving muse.
It is in me like a carnivorous worm,
stealing my insides, throwing me against
the wall, overboard
where nothing but the alien cold
awaits. How many times
must I cry out to claim space for my own?
The thrashing of children,
the noise in even a good afternoon, the demands
of a suckling babe. Hand me the dream, but
give me no time to bathe. It is late.
The autumn winds are drawing near.
Copyright © 2004 by Allison Grayhurst
.First published in “Tangerine Heart Poetry Zine”, November 2015
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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.