Hands, tucked under head,
supporting the weight of so much
Stomach, a flat curve,
bones and muscles perfectly
Sleeping, no one would know
his timeless howl, his long
wait in grief’s unrelenting realm,
his requiem fire, or spirit
that outdoes the marvel
Quiet, he finds
no peace on the pavement of this town,
he holds solitude sacred and feels
each soul’s whisper as an unnursable cry.
He breaks all habit with his horn
of piercing mercy.
He, so still, even birds
hold their song to watch
his placid breathing.
Copyright © 1997 by Allison Grayhurst
First published in “Novelmasters” November 2016
You can listen to the poem by clicking below:
“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.
Reblogged this on The Militant Negro™.
Pretty amazing. Wish the person in the poem could be comforted somehow.