Fire and more,

.

Fire and more,

.

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.

.

.

.

.Copyright  © 2012 by Allison Grayhurst

BookCoverPreview

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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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:

.

“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

 .

      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.

 .

.

.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

.

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

.

Soldier

.

.

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.

.

.

.

.Copyright  © 2012 by Allison Grayhurst

BookCoverPreview

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

.

.

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

.

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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.
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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.

.

.

.Copyright  © 2012 by Allison Grayhurst

BookCoverPreview

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

.

.

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/

.

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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The fault of sages

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The fault of sages

.

      Love was there

spreading hope like jam over my taste buds.

Then the first skipping rope broke,

got snared on a fence and frayed.

I stole away on a subway train where

hundreds have gone walking into a warzone.

      Amen to the end and the predator’s

happy-go-lucky disposition. One claw,

one tentacle, in flowing precise motion.

Another lifetime and it may be different,

tender as lovers beneath their first full moon,

or worse, like cartilage deteriorating.

      I rehearsed a familiar pattern,

sabotaging memories to find a way to be holy,

to make only God matter, dismantling adult days

of calculation, days of stultifying impulses,

of consciously unplugging the push of inspiration.

      I flicked the splinter and loosened its stem, learning

that every homecoming is different – some shed

their most treasured members, others,

an accommodating persona. Still others constrict

just to pitch thought and become a pulse.

      Love I lifted like a heavy stone,

trying to grow flowers between sparrows’ toes

where they nested and puffed up under eavestroughs,

trying to weave myself an escape in the shade,

a carpet to lie back on.         

      Solutions were bare,

offered crossword puzzle satisfaction

but no retreat from passengers staring

and the continuous stab of uncertainty.

 

      Templates I now break and breathe and blow all away

into the sandalwood spring, into the eyes of my dog.

      Stiff joints lend themselves to patience,

planting wings in my palm – empty spaces finally

accepted. Shadows I see take on a life of their own

and keep dancing. God I see in the sloping deformity

of all steps climbed, treacherously taken, born whole

from parallel paths of lack and yearning.

.

.

.Copyright  © 2012 by Allison Grayhurst

BookCoverPreview

No Raft - No Ocean

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

.

First published in “The Furious Gazelle” June 2015

Furious Gazelle 1 Furious Gazelle The fault of sages 1 Furious Gazelle The fault of sages 2 Furious Gazelle The fault of sages 3     Furious Gazelle bio

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

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the fault of sages 1 the fault of sages 2

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

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Scars writingScars The fault of sages 1 Scars The fault of sages 2 Scars The fault of sages 3

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

.

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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Making up questions

.

Making up questions

.

to fog the edge of our clarity.

We journey along, colourful,

undressing, resting little, opposite

of taking a stance, a stand against

another’s point of view.

Would it flash when we crack, and

would the wind take us six beats closer

to our death, offer some refuge from

the tedium tick of reiterating rituals

fueled by habit? Acclimatized. But not up here,

on the dry dry plain, freed of proselytizing

and rivers fat with this food, that

cup of water. We have been warm and now we are shot,

unable to don our dilemmas well. There is no

easy-to-open window or entourage

to hook us up with a ladder,

no place under the bed or in the linen closet to hide

and give hope in spite of the ensuing horror.

We leap to explore, though inertia is always the obstacle.

Problems seduce like textures, filling the talk. I saw it all

in some gum stuck under the table,

as we dined on our ripened suffering, and our veracity ended

in another fool-hardy freeze.

Fundamentally, we are our own culture.

We are crazed as lit candles by the vent.

We can’t love with logic, be hairy-legged sages, casual

at the fork in the road, conjuring a capacity for true meditation.

We can’t be nurtured with formalities

or play-acting acts of kindness.

.

.

.Copyright  © 2012 by Allison Grayhurst

BookCoverPreview

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

.

.

First published in “Writing Raw June Issue” June 2015

WritingRaw 1 Writing Raw Making Up Questions 1 Writing Raw Making Up Questions 2 Writing Raw bio Writing Raw bio 2 WritingRaw bio 4

http://writingraw.com/files/5%20Poems%20by%20Allison%20Grayhurst.pdf

http://writingraw.com/Poetry.html

http://writingraw.com/Bios%20and%20Archive.html

.

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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Before you

.

Before you

 .

wide with surrender

with no backdrop or formula,

with the accomplishment of releasing

plans by the wayside into the swamp

that used to be an instrument playing,

a cliff of clay forming a tireless gale

of heavy sensual dreams.

      I belong to you and to the strength of your empty hands,

the endings you leave me with, harvesting

ephemeral food – a soul full

of coastal curves that break the waters and is broken

by them, pressing and caressing the chain of tidal

obliteration as an umbilical cord connecting

to the vast sweet space that is you.

      Never meant to anchor roots or climb a sturdy cliff,

you stop my struggle to illuminate a typical liberation,

gaining the wherewithal to stay pale,

upright and destined in my cage.

For it not a hellish home, but submerged

in the damp abandon of your shaking,

it is subject to your prying appendages poking,

tearing away speech and understanding.

      I am yours, withdrawn from words into a connection

washed with elements of prayer but unlike prayer

more like lemonade to the day labourer or grass

to the grazing mare – away from bit, halter and reigns –

your sun sinking its evening heat into my back and shoulders,

erasing division, drawing an intimacy

that frees my blood’s natural flow, squeezes out

the clotted clump of summoning-up

of years scarred by grief and hidden,

rebellious longing.

 .

.

.Copyright  © 2012 by Allison Grayhurst

BookCoverPreview

No Raft - No Ocean

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

.

.

First published in “Change Seven Magazine, Issue 1.2 Summer 2015” June 2015

Change Seven 1Change Seven 2Change Seven 3Change Seven 4Change Seven Before you 1Change Seven Before you 2Change Seven bio

http://changesevenmag.com/read/current-issue/issue-1-2/

http://changesevenmag.com/two-poems-by-allison-grayhurst/

.

before you

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

.

Scars writingScars before you 1 Scars before you 2

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

.

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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