The Answer

.

The Answer

 .

 .

We must be a potion

mixed. Alone we have

potency and purpose still,

but combined is the breakthrough

explosion, the cry of light that

will grind heaven into sparkling

dust we can bathe our bodies in.

Let’s bathe, hand in hand, limb over limb,

relax in shimmering warm waters.

 

The guilt that was yours,

guilt for feeling responsible for choices

that were not yours, exorcise it,

burn that haunted palace down and construct

a new hut where we can live and make

a clean home in, pure from ghosts

and the blood bonds of false ownership.

 

I see you alive and blazing,

your chained foot unchained

and the sun warming your back.

I see you with two hands working their strength,

kneading this sick world with your voice

so strong it will spawn revelations, shape

spiritual fires, ladders from lightning bolts, splitting

the wheat from the chaff.

 

Be honoured you were chosen for this task.

How could you record it if you didn’t live it,

if you didn’t suck in the last

of its shame and suffering threshold,

choke on its dry and brittle pieces of bone?

So suck it in, take it into your bleeding esophagus,

then watch it dissolve, its frayed and familiar howling

vanished into a new-found brightness.

 

We must climb the high wall together.

Us, as one, or not at all.

That is the commitment of our marriage

 – spit and gore, glory and bond –

 

        Eccentric dancers, fierce creators,

        our shoulders as swords slicing the pie,

        casting off this second mortality,

        together, breaking the wind in two,

        being born in the space between, landed.

 

 

.

© 2018 by Allison Grayhurst

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

.

.

First published in “BlogNostics” February 2019

https://blognostics.net/blognostics-an-innovative-experience-in-literature-poetry-and-art/2019/02/07/the-answer-by-allison-grayhurst/

.

.

You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

 

.

Not a Dream

.

Not a Dream

.

.

It will seem like a dream,

blanketing your shackles in light

until they vanish like a passing breath of

wind.

 

You will walk

and the iron gate will be unlocked and open.

At the intersection

you will know it is not a dream,

but a beautiful reckoning, a reconciliation

between reality and ideals.

 

What you value and keep,

and what you hand over

will equal in authority.

You will be escorted onto the path

in spite of practical obstacles.

In spite of the guarded prison cell,

your freedom will arrive,

gloriously and easefully.

You will get dressed and follow.

 

This is not a dream. There will be no blood spilt

to ensure your release. It will feel like a dream.

What you commit to will be your lead and your tether.

The shadow of tormented suffering will

be waved away by the angel’s magnificent hand.

 

The way will be cleared

and tomorrow

you will be rejoicing, opened,

remaining open.

 

 

.

© 2018 by Allison Grayhurst

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

.

.

First published in “BlogNostics” February 2019

https://blognostics.net/blognostics-an-innovative-experience-in-literature-poetry-and-art/2019/02/11/not-a-dream-by-allison-grayhurst/

.

.

You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

.

Never Holy

.

Never Holy

.

You asked for a light

at the end of the tunnel

and was told

there is no light at the end

because you are the light

guiding your escape.

You are the living fresh-water fountain

you seek, the high rock in the ocean.

 

Then you were told there is no tunnel,

no distance between the dark and light.

There is pain and loyalty to that pain

and false hopes that claim us

like a deceitful friend plotting betrayal.

You were told to be glad at daybreak, when the battle

ensues. Against the rain, don’t have any secrets,

even let your own death be revealed.

 

You were told never stop longing for the clarity

of your spirit, give no one up to the slaughter,

eat only what does not scream or thrash.

If there is a high wall, climb.

If a steep incline, find a rope, tie a rope

and edge your way gently down.

 

You were told to make bread, give a loaf away

and you might never go hungry.

And even if you do go hungry, then hunger

is the season you are called to endure.

 

You asked for light at the end of the tunnel

and was told

six more days, then seven – open sail –

eventually the wind will wake, spare you

the cause of your consuming dread.

 

.

© 2018 by Allison Grayhurst

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

.

.

First published in “BlogNostics” January 2019

https://blognostics.net/blognostics-an-innovative-experience-in-literature-poetry-and-art/2019/02/11/never-holy-by-allison-grayhurst/

.

.

You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

 

.

Revival

Revival

.

.

Be still, in the hostile landscape, be still,

find provision, refuse the fear.

Firmly self-sufficient, valuing your

success measured by fulfilment of God’s commands

and the sweet exchange of eternal experiences.

Is there anything to regret? No,

there is only what must be given up

– self-pity – the grotesque body

that grew beside your own, grew because

of your suffering, a deformity that

grew to help you carry the weight of that suffering,

a deformity that held a place for your secret pride.

 

But now, unbound, you must mercy-kill it,

release and dissolve its surface layers and under-layers.

It is always in a state of perpetual decay, supporting.

Release the poltergeist apparition,

re-distribute your cells, align

without its sickly features haunting and its whisperings

that lead to madness, whispering

“This suffering is yours. How amazing you are to carry it!”

and “No one will love you if you don’t carry it.”

 

Be loved in your joy and crazy impulses,

your sinews riveting creative overflow.

Be bouncing, impossible, wrenched from its illusion,

off your leash, off your rocker.

Discover dignity under the high trees,

by the rapids, skipping stones,

stepping on the slippery rocks,

stepping closer to the thrashing contours,

closer yet to its elemental song.

 

.

© 2018 by Allison Grayhurst

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

.

.

First published in “BlogNostics” January 2019

https://blognostics.net/blognostics-an-innovative-experience-in-literature-poetry-and-art/2019/02/11/revival-by-allison-grayhurst/

.

.

You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

 

.

 

Calling In

.

Calling In

 .

 .

If you see the daybreak

but cannot walk out of the cave,

if you are still feasting on small beetles and cave-moss

instead of apples and mushrooms, how far really

does your sight go? Far, winning yourself

a legacy but not far enough to be more than

a story told.

 

How do you collect the emptiness and make a stone,

a salvation, carved with a celestial roof and sturdy ground?

 

Beg for movement – ask to drink from the cup today –

to perch on the hillside, walk down

the hillside and greet the blessing

like an open-hearted child, running

full speed into your arms.

 

Take more than symbols, signs, tarot and spells.

Lick the forehead of love, taste the salt

on your tongue, gently covering folds and creases.

Stay in the glory, tangible, building, connecting.

 

The deck is clear. Hatch the egg.

Search the upper rooms,

carry your bed to the second floor, welcome in

the seductive sweetness, invite it to climb your steps.

First, shedding its secrets, single in its carnal commitment.

Then, feeding your body with its gravity and resolve.

 

 

.

© 2018 by Allison Grayhurst

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

.

.

First published in “BlogNostics” January 2019

https://blognostics.net/blognostics-an-innovative-experience-in-literature-poetry-and-art/2019/01/29/calling-in-by-allison-grayhurst/

.

.

You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

.

Snip the Seams

.

Snip the Seams

.

.

Snip the cord

Snip the line

 

Denial is suffering

under the veil of false

understanding.

The wound is the womb,

the low-road and the high shore-line.

 

Snip all means of flight,

all laws and inhibitions.

 

Shapes made are never final,

words too, alter meaning.

Look and snip

the draining pipe, the solid memory.

The way you were sure was open

but never was, snip

and be done with it.

 

Why the painter who cannot paint, hot days

in global-warming winter,

the bird bath with a hole?

Scissor-queen, wire-cutter machine, bow

to the bitter land before you, make peace

with the locking tide. Snip

 

the pictures from the walls,

the broken limb from the rest of the body.

Try it on. Wear it before a mirror, into a crowd.

Pass over the keys.

 

Take tomorrow, hold tomorrow now

and snip.

 

.

.

© 2018 by Allison Grayhurst

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

.

.

First published in “Cordella Magazine” March 2019

http://www.cordella.org/fieldnotes/snip-the-seams

 

 

.

.

You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

.

Choosing

.

Choosing

.

.

to trade these hands

for a house in the forest, landed

on a hill above any risk of flood, but near

a flowing stream

 

to tear off the shingles

for an open view, converse with hawks,

whisk out the stale air and leave

the smell of rain

 

to untie myself from this ball-bearing spinning

spider’s lair, empty that middle drawer and fill it

with the crust of shattered seeds, still green enough

to keep, keep

to help me make sense

of the seasons and explain the age of the moon,

keep them as momentums of gratitude, candy wrappers

or the dropped feather from a favourite pet – proof

of something once solid, soft and natural

 

to set the barn on fire

after everyone has moved out, and not

a swallow or mouse remains, gamble everything

on the gospel pages. This

 

is what

I am going to do, sooner than it takes a tide to

rise. I am going out the window, out on the street,

my face remade like when in the womb.

 

At first my loved ones will say Who?

Not before long, they will join me.

There on the street we will gather, cloistered as one.

There we will count to three, set out to race,

nothing at our heels, wide, in all directions.

 

 

.

© 2018 by Allison Grayhurst

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

.

.

First published in “Merek” March 2019

https://merakmag.com/choosing/

 

.

You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

 

.