Creativity

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Peeled of my own death,

entering a corridor of dawn,

heat without fire,

a staircase into the void,

buried in the gas furnace, this

guest that never comes, eats bread

or slips into the cradle of a comfortable

home. Pen and beauty, an inevitable

loneliness that victory cannot solve,

a transitory opera, bird songs, fragile,

almost breaking, vibrating at a desperate

but soft speed.

 

A woodland to walk through that inherits

a shadow canopy darkness. Walk through

regardless of doubts full-blown,

regardless of scrapes across your tender surface.

Love is just an image

as you walk,

sounds are menacing but

never reach crescendo,

never sustain the heavier beat that leads

to ecstasy’s blackout.

 

        Leaves become teeth.

        Impressions are unkind.

        Your husk is broken

        and your blood is a heap of

        dead violets crushed

        in a celebrated summer.

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Copyright © 2014 by Allison Grayhurst

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

http://barometricpressures.blogspot.ca/2014/10/surrogate-dharma-allision-grayhurst.html?spref=fb

https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B-DuKJaq66ClMlFIWWU5cTY2RTQ/view

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First published in “The Continuist”, June 2014 and print 2015/2016

“We’ve recently received the work of Toronto poet Allison Grayhurst, a collection of vivid imagery and gripping enjambment that puts the reader in a spiralling world of despair. By using language to express the human conflicts of inner turmoil and the way in which our past burdens interact with the subconscious, the self and the world around us, Grayhurst sculpts poems that are revealing and confessional, as well as technically adept in their formatting and diction. Check out her impressive resume and poems below:,” David Eatock, The Continuist.

 

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