Sparrow

I see the spider dance, smoke

dancing on the edge of a scream.

I am that spider

dancing as I continue downstream.

Can I be a tree or a curvy vine?

Can I grow a cloud or just one

bulb flower?

Fated to be broken like all else

living on the Earth, soiled, striving, but always incomplete.

Can I trust enough to win back my soul?

Be immersed in the fog and still know the way?

My keeper, my mid-summer garden,

the bull shark is coming with the encroaching wave,

swimming will not be enough, not a floaty, not a raft

will stave off its violent power.

I will need something larger to fit on, something absolute

to cull this danger, an island on its own, a hand,

blessed and strong to raise me from the inevitable grave.

Your love is all I have ever known

when I know love. Pick me up with the rest of

the laundry you plan to clean – make light work of me,

set me down folded, refreshed,

ready to be worn. I am prepared to live

and I don’t want to die

like a rusted vent, my metal

slowly corroding, crumbling until I am left without

grace, usefulness or substance. I don’t want to walk

into the darkness again – the hollow of all hollows,

wailing with pain and rage and nakedness

in the burning coal fires.

I am your child. I am your sparrow, please

open the cage-latch, cup me as your own –

then let me go, and my freedom

will give you joy, will give you glory.

Copyright © 2022 by Allison Grayhurst

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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.Published in “Clayjar Review Issue 2” August 2022

https://clayjar.review/issues/wise-and-gentle

https://clayjar.review/issues/wise-and-gentle/sparrow

https://clayjar.review/authors/allison-grayhurst

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Published in “Creation and Criticism, Vol. 07” October 2022

http://www.creationandcriticism.com/loss-and-other-poems-by-allison-grayhurst.html

http://www.creationandcriticism.com/_blog/search/tag/Poet

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Published in “Medusa’s Kitchen” July 2022

http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/2022/07/that-spider-dancing.html

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

Crisis

Release this sickness from my spirit,

call me to recuperate,

to be on the verge of a tremendous awakening,

and then to cross over.

       Pluck me from this impending catastrophe.

It is yours to do and no one else’,

to solve the riddle and allow me

to heighten my focus, undistracted by

this draining burden.

In this place, there is silence,

has been for so long, silence enough

to make any atheist gloat,

affirming a barren heaven, denying

everything that does not serve gravity

and inevitable darkness.

       But I am no atheist.

I have felt your ground-shaking tenderness

envelop me, make me yours, eternal.

I have known your great mercy, your personal love,

your taking away what must be gone

and letting stay what I cannot live without.

       But here, in this spawning hell of hopelessness

I cannot find you, cannot hear your

whisper or your guidance out.

I am scared and at the end.

Everyday the birds wake at 4 a.m.

and sing your glory.

I know your glory

       and so I must see

this harrowing hardship as an illusion,

crack this façade

and its senseless insides,

hold it to your light, saturate in your light,

and believe in that light, only.

.Copyright © 2022 by Allison Grayhurst

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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Published in “Open Skies Poetry Anthology” August 2022

https://facetspoetry.wixsite.com/openskiespoetry/downloads-and-recommended-reading

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0B8BPKMSR

Open Skies Poetry Anthology

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Published in “New Mystics” July 2022

https://www.newmystics.com/lit/AllisonGrayhurst.html

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

Combat-zone

How do I receive a future,

inheritor of such

a dense darkness?

Healing is spared, the sunburn

grows into a rash and takes over

the possibility for stillness, sanity.

Everyday I am splintered, struggling

to conquer the dominant strain

lacerating my equilibrium with

its anarchy and drive.

I see the black hole conjunct

with the sun, transitions

that can transform any wound

into a terrifying progression.

I embody lethargy as the renouncer of hope

in the afternoons where there is nothing

to understand.

Fantasy is not a future, not

a worthy evaluation, though hypnotic

in its almost tangible relief.

It is not about an unfortunate circumstance,

but about the journey of my faith,

the validity of miracles

and God’s gracious love.

Sing me a future. Do I believe?

Do I step down from all insight

and fall into an agnostic stand-still?

Do I accept this nullifying reality,

impenetrable, embrace meaninglessness

and lose my final ground?

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Copyright © 2022 by Allison Grayhurst

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

.

.Published in “Open Skies Poetry Anthology” August 2022

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0B8BPKMSR

https://facetspoetry.wixsite.com/openskiespoetry/downloads-and-recommended-reading

Open Skies Poetry Anthology

 .

.

First published in “New Mystics” July 2022

https://www.newmystics.com/lit/AllisonGrayhurst.html

New Mystics July 2022 AllisonGrayhurst-9Poems

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below: