Govinda in the mud

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Govinda in the mud

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  This line of devotion that moves

bitterly as lust tracing unresponsive thighs,

cups a poor groan of invisible blooming,

following you underneath a diseased tree,

smelling as you spread your aloofness

and mingled your affection tighter with the dealers of denial.

 

It came to me at first in healthy moderation,

as a permit to appease my obsession. Then it grew indecent,

flushed through me like a spell, drowning

my apprentice music with your own reclusive master-drum.

 

I found you in the carcass, in the millipede’s dart into the drain.

You swelled your glow across all my sunny spots, mighty,

but not brave, only bored with the circular twists

of relief, thirst and sorrow – diamond clear,

you asked for everything, wanting nothing for yourself.

 

I knitted together the practicalities of decomposition

to the voyage of your ever-increasing detachment,

understanding what you did not – that love

is not living alone on a dried-up hill

nor is it consuming every crumb of dream-life

until the flesh is reduced to accident.

I cannot rekindle my devotion, so I must leave you

to authenticate a future. This deed of leaving is like you like

a star – old, seen many times over by many eyes,

power with no purpose but to be bright

and desolate, eating away

waves of darkness, emptied of praise, tenderness, the bullet

needed to puncture a human heart with revelation.

 

I do not believe in nirvana. I do not believe in immortality:

when things change they die and do not revert.

We were, it seemed, perpetual, connected

by the red rope of my loyalty.

 

I am dawning. I that is I,

cracking the dome of my hereditary inertia.

I leave the shadow-guilt of solemn yearning, and also you

of coral-reef intricacy, simplicity, perfection.

 

I know I am alone, though permanently imprinted –

by my years of unnoticed devotion,

by the shunning of personal expectations

and by your long finger,

tanned, transcendental, a spiritual aphrodisiac still

pointing.

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Copyright  © 2012 by Allison Grayhurst

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Currents - pastlife poems cover 4

No Raft - No Ocean

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First published in “Sentinel Literary Quarterly” February 2016

Sentinel Quarterly 1 Sentinel Quarterly Govinda 1 Sentinel Quarterly Govinda 2    Sentinel Quarterly bio

http://sentinelquarterly.com/2016/02/three-poems-by-allison-grayhurst/

http://sentinelquarterly.com/tag/allison-grayhurst/

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govinda 2 Govinda 3

http://scars.tv/pdf/2015/20151023No_Raft_No_Ocean_by_Allison_Grayhurst.pdf

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Scars writingScars Govinda 1 Scars Govinda 2 Scars Govinda 3

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

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“Allison’s poetic prose is insightful, enwrapping, illuminating and brutally truthful. It probes the nature of the human spirit, relationships, spirituality and God. It is sung as the clearest song is sung within a cathedral by choir. It is whispered as faintly as a heartbroken goodbye. It is alive with the life of a thousand birds in flight within the first glint of morning sun. It is as solemn as the sad-sung ballad of a noble death. Read at your peril. You will never look at this world in quite the same way again. Your eye will instinctively search the sky for eagles and scan the dark earth for the slightest movement of smallest ant, your heart will reach for tall mountains, bathe in the most intimate of passions and in the grain and grit of our earth. Such is Allison Grayhurst. Such is her poetry,”  Eric M. Vogt, poet and author.

“Grayhurst is a great Canadian poet. All of Allison Grayhurst’s poetry is original, sometimes startling, and more often than not, powerful. Anyone who loves modern poetry that does not follow the common path will find Grayhurst complex, insightful, and as good a poet as anyone writing in the world today. Grayhurst’s poetry volumes are highly, highly recommended,” Tom Davis, poet, novelist and educator.
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If I was responsible

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If I was responsible

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I would sell my discipline for higher wages.

As it is, I blame the supermarket shoppers

and the crowds of Buddha-dreamers crossing the Himalayans

pursuing visions of acceptance.

 

Survival is a closed evolution – stealth and teeth,

a method where love has no allegiance.

I don’t want anymore, not spacecraft theories, not mornings

of self-defeating mythology or philosophical discussions.

I don’t want degrees of ecstasy or appointments.

I refuse to grow into a ghost or budge my integrity for

a bowl of temporary fulfilment. And here, I am wrong,

don’t belong with the wine-seller stockers and

the coral reef hiders.

 

I have a garden where I walk through the tall weeds,

eliminate insects with methodical steps like squashing

the patterns of horoscopes, a place where I crush

newspaper absurdities, sidestep the reactionary circle-act,

redefining my personal salvation.

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.Copyright  © 2012 by Allison Grayhurst

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First published in “Sentinel Literary Quarterly” February 2016

Sentinel Quarterly 1 Sentinel Quarterly If I was Sentinel Quarterly bio

http://sentinelquarterly.com/2016/02/three-poems-by-allison-grayhurst/

http://sentinelquarterly.com/tag/allison-grayhurst/

.

You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

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“Allison’s poetic prose is insightful, enwrapping, illuminating and brutally truthful. It probes the nature of the human spirit, relationships, spirituality and God. It is sung as the clearest song is sung within a cathedral by choir. It is whispered as faintly as a heartbroken goodbye. It is alive with the life of a thousand birds in flight within the first glint of morning sun. It is as solemn as the sad-sung ballad of a noble death. Read at your peril. You will never look at this world in quite the same way again. Your eye will instinctively search the sky for eagles and scan the dark earth for the slightest movement of smallest ant, your heart will reach for tall mountains, bathe in the most intimate of passions and in the grain and grit of our earth. Such is Allison Grayhurst. Such is her poetry,”  Eric M. Vogt, poet and author.

“Grayhurst is a great Canadian poet. All of Allison Grayhurst’s poetry is original, sometimes startling, and more often than not, powerful. Anyone who loves modern poetry that does not follow the common path will find Grayhurst complex, insightful, and as good a poet as anyone writing in the world today. Grayhurst’s poetry volumes are highly, highly recommended,” Tom Davis, poet, novelist and educator.
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Spread your Fullness

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Spread your Fullness

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Bust and be in the damp flame of dusk

where you tongue and blow the dark

all over the sky. Then the crows

waiting out the cold night on city branches

will take it in and weep your panic.

Gifts are embryos pumping, and doorways

working to keep order. You pour yourself into a bottle,

fixing your concentration on a loose particle

until it too grinds a motion, dispersing

through fast friction into emptiness.

Hollow in the cells where substance is

supposed to thrive but cannot multiply, hijacked

by an encroaching virus, miracles

are offered as gateways or a cleansing grace

that removes the dustcloud of consequences, miracles

as alabaster rays of divine yielding, freeing

hard fragments, trapped behind bone.

You always make it, over the toothpick cliffs

you gallop across, hacking off tight-throat grips,

shedding the layers of your debris.

You have outlived the keepers of contrast, kissed

the pavement into a sea, equal hush and hunt.

You do not accumulate.

 

There is a cavity under the earth’s crust,

where you build your broken nests, laugh like propagating

and beat again against the flags of your lineage,

like a vibration building power or

like a moist grain growing, gaining unseen.

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..Copyright  © 2012 by Allison Grayhurst

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amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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First published in “Sentinel Literary Quarterly” February 2016

Sentinel Quarterly 1 Sentinel Quarterly Spread 1 Sentinel Quarterly Spread 2 Sentinel Quarterly bio

http://sentinelquarterly.com/2016/02/three-poems-by-allison-grayhurst/

http://sentinelquarterly.com/tag/allison-grayhurst/

.

You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

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“Allison’s poetic prose is insightful, enwrapping, illuminating and brutally truthful. It probes the nature of the human spirit, relationships, spirituality and God. It is sung as the clearest song is sung within a cathedral by choir. It is whispered as faintly as a heartbroken goodbye. It is alive with the life of a thousand birds in flight within the first glint of morning sun. It is as solemn as the sad-sung ballad of a noble death. Read at your peril. You will never look at this world in quite the same way again. Your eye will instinctively search the sky for eagles and scan the dark earth for the slightest movement of smallest ant, your heart will reach for tall mountains, bathe in the most intimate of passions and in the grain and grit of our earth. Such is Allison Grayhurst. Such is her poetry,”  Eric M. Vogt, poet and author.

“Grayhurst is a great Canadian poet. All of Allison Grayhurst’s poetry is original, sometimes startling, and more often than not, powerful. Anyone who loves modern poetry that does not follow the common path will find Grayhurst complex, insightful, and as good a poet as anyone writing in the world today. Grayhurst’s poetry volumes are highly, highly recommended,” Tom Davis, poet, novelist and educator.
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Fire and more,

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Fire and more,

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gracefully bobbing

like a floating stone trapped in my throat.

To do something with a sting but with skin

that will not scrap or twist, caught in a door. Choices

get caught and limp back, collapsing in confidence

because of the hum-drum yawn of repercussions.

Death is anywhere, a man wrapped in a sleeping bag

walking fast through the barely wet streets of almost winter.

You were almost broken. I have seen it, and heaven too,

pregnant with souls, never born, never beginning.

It is the order of lips as they move to recite a dog’s thoughts

or the solid sidewalk, taking and taking.

I know a sigh is a feeble cry. I know the animals are mine

like pressure is, concentrated tight

where vital organs are supposed to break or function.

It has been a long while since

you watched me and glowed. Broken windshield wipers

collected on my porch remind me of the time you were driving,

days before you died, when your countenance was calm,

and your smile, half formed.

Many missed dreams, hardly turning,

your eyes were things of crowns and deep earth.

Changed by a shifting conversation, you cracked the horizon.

 

Edify me in the lizard’s stillness. I will be a tulip in the night,

saturated with this meditation.

 

I have eaten roses, rose up from my father’s sixteen year sleep,

knowing I was loved.

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.Copyright  © 2012 by Allison Grayhurst

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First published in “Indiana Voice Journal, Issue 15” October 2015

Indiana Voice Journal October 1 Indiana Voice Journal October 2 Indiana Voice Journal October 3 Indiana Voice Journal October Fire and more, 1 Indiana Voice Journal October Fire and more, 2Indiana Voice Journal October 4

.http://www.indianavoicejournal.com/2015/10/three-poems-by-allison-grayhurst-yes.html

http://www.indianavoicejournal.com/

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

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“Allison’s poetic prose is insightful, enwrapping, illuminating and brutally truthful. It probes the nature of the human spirit, relationships, spirituality and God. It is sung as the clearest song is sung within a cathedral by choir. It is whispered as faintly as a heartbroken goodbye. It is alive with the life of a thousand birds in flight within the first glint of morning sun. It is as solemn as the sad-sung ballad of a noble death. Read at your peril. You will never look at this world in quite the same way again. Your eye will instinctively search the sky for eagles and scan the dark earth for the slightest movement of smallest ant, your heart will reach for tall mountains, bathe in the most intimate of passions and in the grain and grit of our earth. Such is Allison Grayhurst. Such is her poetry,”  Eric M. Vogt, poet and author.

“Grayhurst is a great Canadian poet. All of Allison Grayhurst’s poetry is original, sometimes startling, and more often than not, powerful. Anyone who loves modern poetry that does not follow the common path will find Grayhurst complex, insightful, and as good a poet as anyone writing in the world today. Grayhurst’s poetry volumes are highly, highly recommended,” Tom Davis, poet, novelist and educator.
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With the purity of a single intention

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With the purity of a single intention

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Days of history voyage low

into nations, beside graveyards.

You played with the existential architects for a while,

breathing in their deconstruction, but your laughter

languished. Straddled between crossroads,

you could not form a picture.

Days of comfort can be understood

when the crack tents with severity enough

to slice two wholes.

In your mind there are mountains

you have lost the ambition to cross, or to look up

at their venerated summits, and listen.

You have lost the cunning to cope, continents of wayward

possibilities. Look up, for the sake of past miracles

that swooned into your embrace like found love

as a perfect match

against fatalism and rising futility. Look up – out

into outerspace

and grow yourself a fierce mystic midnight.

Whitewash trails and gardens, places

where children are allowed to dig a hole in the ground,

tunnels where the earth shines copper

with forgotten buried pennies.

Look up and drop the stone of objection,

the stretching sorrows of realism.

It is divine, if you choose it to be.

It is the freedom of a fugitive, freed

of the rusted bars, equipped with appetite

and the exuberance of a gamble.

The ship is lost and an ocean is gained.

Water and water rhythms

are teaming between your toes,

salting your hair and open wounds.

From side to side, look at the glorious space around you,

then up, envisioning yourself strong-winged, safe

as a seafaring bird.

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.Copyright  © 2012 by Allison Grayhurst

BookCoverPreview

No Raft - No Ocean

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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First published in “Contemporary Poetry-an Anthology of Present Day Best Poems (Volume 2)” September 2015

Contemporary Poetry Anthology 3 Contempory Poetry Volume 2- 1CP 1 CP 2 CP 3 CP 4

https://www.createspace.com/5725069

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with the purity 1with the purity 2

http://scars.tv/pdf/2015/20151023No_Raft_No_Ocean_by_Allison_Grayhurst.pdf

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Scars writingScars with the purity 1 Scars with the purity 2 Scars with the purity 3

http://scars.tv/cgi-bin/framesmain.pl?writers

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

.

“Allison’s poetic prose is insightful, enwrapping, illuminating and brutally truthful. It probes the nature of the human spirit, relationships, spirituality and God. It is sung as the clearest song is sung within a cathedral by choir. It is whispered as faintly as a heartbroken goodbye. It is alive with the life of a thousand birds in flight within the first glint of morning sun. It is as solemn as the sad-sung ballad of a noble death. Read at your peril. You will never look at this world in quite the same way again. Your eye will instinctively search the sky for eagles and scan the dark earth for the slightest movement of smallest ant, your heart will reach for tall mountains, bathe in the most intimate of passions and in the grain and grit of our earth. Such is Allison Grayhurst. Such is her poetry,”  Eric M. Vogt, poet and author.

“Grayhurst is a great Canadian poet. All of Allison Grayhurst’s poetry is original, sometimes startling, and more often than not, powerful. Anyone who loves modern poetry that does not follow the common path will find Grayhurst complex, insightful, and as good a poet as anyone writing in the world today. Grayhurst’s poetry volumes are highly, highly recommended,” Tom Davis, poet, novelist and educator.
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Soldier

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Soldier

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Bleed and cup my blood

into the robe of your ever-after.

Be on your feet and bark at the joy

that lit fire and now is nowhere.

 

Spider in my sink, spider that is holy.

I want to kill you, but I will not. Today,

I empathize with your scurrying fear

and how you dangle, almost flying.

 

How long must I sleep beside the lizards, with

their devouring claws and eclipsing cold scales?

 

In a river, the laundry was made. Soft and thunderstruck,

you are in an open yard, counting rooftops

and dewdrops simultaneously, keeping in time

with the innate music that saturates your origami mind.

 

Breastkisses, bellykisses. It started and it is

rushing, restless and rained-on. You know a place

where traffic will not find us, where fingertips are never afraid

of fondling, and noise is floating overhead like a weather balloon.

 

Insanity scrapes the insides of shells until all flesh is gone,

consumed by a dead-hour echo of a pulse.

Step on me, I want to be stepped on, torn

apart by a moth. Gritty nails and wrinkled throats.

 

You give pressure to the cord. I am

losing myself to the undercurrent surfacing –

thwarted by my own aggression and desires growing

a thousand eyes.

 

Bridges everywhere I will not cross because I have crossed

into a more real role. I don’t smile unless I feel it. I feel it

hardly looking at pictures. But at you,

it is different, always established that I will fall backwards

into the water for you and you will be warm for me,

lap at my earlobes, under my knee caps, morphing your

temporal needs with my own. Faith, you said,

cannot be a part-time affair.

 

You land on my petals, demonstrate

vulnerability, wise in the ways of how to gently land

and how to bud at zero speed.

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.Copyright  © 2012 by Allison Grayhurst

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First published in “Winamop” September 2015

winamop 1 winamop 3winamop 2 winamop Soldier 1 winamop Soldier 2winamop bio

http://www.winamop.com/poems.htm

http://www.winamop.com/ag1500.htm

http://www.winamop.com/us.htm#ag

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

.

“Allison’s poetic prose is insightful, enwrapping, illuminating and brutally truthful. It probes the nature of the human spirit, relationships, spirituality and God. It is sung as the clearest song is sung within a cathedral by choir. It is whispered as faintly as a heartbroken goodbye. It is alive with the life of a thousand birds in flight within the first glint of morning sun. It is as solemn as the sad-sung ballad of a noble death. Read at your peril. You will never look at this world in quite the same way again. Your eye will instinctively search the sky for eagles and scan the dark earth for the slightest movement of smallest ant, your heart will reach for tall mountains, bathe in the most intimate of passions and in the grain and grit of our earth. Such is Allison Grayhurst. Such is her poetry,”  Eric M. Vogt, poet and author.

“Grayhurst is a great Canadian poet. All of Allison Grayhurst’s poetry is original, sometimes startling, and more often than not, powerful. Anyone who loves modern poetry that does not follow the common path will find Grayhurst complex, insightful, and as good a poet as anyone writing in the world today. Grayhurst’s poetry volumes are highly, highly recommended,” Tom Davis, poet, novelist and educator.
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plunging into a chilled lake, muscles arrested, infinity found

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plunging into a chilled lake,

muscles arrested, infinity found

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Flawless sheen in a ladybug’s eyes.

Elephants chain-footed, castrated at the core

without tether or lead. Burning wood.

Dead fish rocking, cold on the fisherman’s hook,

hamster in a toilet paper roll, rolling.

 

          It is heavy, this voice you grow outside of me,

this voice I cannot mistake for imagination.

I wake up, examine the leaves, fold dishtowels,

clean counters, feed my children,

no water to cool my fevering wrists,

no nourishment of a practical nature,

occupying no worthier devotion.

          A pillaging, reflection of

a doorway. Chimes have lost

their meaning a quarter-of-a-century ago

when they chimed in a make-shift Japanese garden,

where lifetimes remembered were gumballs pocketed,

to be taken out at leisure, savoured over, replayed, role-played

then returned to compartmentalized pleasure.

 

          Lips move across hairlines,

back-of-the-neck lines, dry from quick breaths,

building beyond capacity, unforgiving

with controlled intent.

          Waiting to be snatched

without hesitation, tasted like a ripe blueberry,

not to be a modern atheist, pruned of pure intensity,

but to be fresh as a baby’s full-body smile,

cover my calendar with a satyr faith flowing,

live with dolphins, participate in a kinder society

where the privileged and pickpockets have no play,

go on a pilgrimage, take my family, disappear

on a cold high mountain, watch animals

give birth and die.

          Urgency escapes me,

months merge, asking nothing in return,

pulsing a diluted vibrancy, no more

as bread or fire.

          Swing from a crane

or a swinging crane in a storm.

Indulgences dig as glass into exposed roots.

Ambitious notes fail, will always fail

before a greater sun.

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.Copyright  © 2012 by Allison Grayhurst

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First published in “The Furious Gazelle” June 2015

Furious Gazelle 1   Furious Gazelle plunging 1 Furious Gazelle plunging 2 Furious Gazelle plunging 3 Furious Gazelle plunging 4     Furious Gazelle bio

http://thefuriousgazelle.com/2015/06/16/allison-grayhurst/

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

.

“Allison’s poetic prose is insightful, enwrapping, illuminating and brutally truthful. It probes the nature of the human spirit, relationships, spirituality and God. It is sung as the clearest song is sung within a cathedral by choir. It is whispered as faintly as a heartbroken goodbye. It is alive with the life of a thousand birds in flight within the first glint of morning sun. It is as solemn as the sad-sung ballad of a noble death. Read at your peril. You will never look at this world in quite the same way again. Your eye will instinctively search the sky for eagles and scan the dark earth for the slightest movement of smallest ant, your heart will reach for tall mountains, bathe in the most intimate of passions and in the grain and grit of our earth. Such is Allison Grayhurst. Such is her poetry,”  Eric M. Vogt, poet and author.

“Grayhurst is a great Canadian poet. All of Allison Grayhurst’s poetry is original, sometimes startling, and more often than not, powerful. Anyone who loves modern poetry that does not follow the common path will find Grayhurst complex, insightful, and as good a poet as anyone writing in the world today. Grayhurst’s poetry volumes are highly, highly recommended,” Tom Davis, poet, novelist and educator.
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