If it is empty then it is empty

 .

        Perishing like wasps in wet tar,

we can’t claim an answer

but only wear our raincoats,

acting out past wounds, meditating

by watergardens where amphibians breed,

owners of the pond.

        Perishing enough to create parables

to be sold to our advantage,

holding hands in the summer or after a bath.

We look through windows, keeping

vigil with homebound strangers, unlocking cupboards,

storing gifts on laundryroom shelves.

We welcome the red squirrel, make love

most afternoons, tie-dye our t-shirts.

burning colours hotter at the edges.

        We meet old mentors perishing,

drunk and mutated, mentors who taught us

to read the lines in our palms, how to find music underwater,

poetry under siege, sometimes showing us

the pitter-patter pace of caterpillars on a damp park lawn.

        Depths pushing out like a well-nourished womb,

depths we perish in, drained of desire,

listless in the light. Don’t bother complaining,

we were made to perish, grow a revolutionary peace

in the crisp leaves of burnt sage, discover mercy

in a backwards fall.

.

.

.

Copyright © 2013 by Allison Grayhurst

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

First published in “Kritya”, 2013

http://www.kritya.in/0808/En/poetry_at_our_time 4.html

.

Click to access 20151023No_Raft_No_Ocean_by_Allison_Grayhurst.pdf

.

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.

.

.

Sanctum

 .

        Cedar wood, dark spaces under wood

where beetles mate then hide their own. There,

you smile, your forehead groomed

of false expression. I study you like my one-chance solution,

or steps to take to shield me from this penetrating boredom

that slips unwanted under my heavy housecoat.

        Narwhales shaped like epigrams, like the undecipherable

complexities in the creases of your folded hands.

        You are taut as a sail in a strong wind, capable of

unmatched speed, stretched, though not even

close to ripping.

If you were a tree, 100 years and on, pulling sunlight

from its throne, shimmering green, a stronger brilliance

than a vault brimming with polished gold,

still you could not be better than what you are –

        sitting close to the corner, on the couch,

unwashed hair and an irritated mouth,

reluctantly waking into the noon-light, drinking coffee,

salted, sometimes sorrowful, mostly spring-time budding –

a supplier of oxygen, maker of songs received

as storm-sturdy harbours, worlds to land on,

dig or nest or claim a hole, many branches,

many escape routes, many life-saving homes.

.

.

.Copyright  © 2012 by Allison Grayhurst

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

.

First published in “Cartagena Journal Issue 3”

http://cartagenajournal.com/2014/08/10/summer2014-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.

Under mosaic whisperings

 .

and cesspool attempts at betterment, spiritual

or otherwise, neuroses rise raw to the lips

to sip on again like the new day’s dew.

Hoisting up fences or spring saplings, laying

out books to see their titles and choose

between that or combustion. Enchantments shed

to make way for awareness that glimpses nirvana –

particles of burnt-out folly, at times, pervading.

        Bytes are streaming beaming supernova synchronistic

melting downs, past thresholds that cannot be returned from

or spoken about. Density surrounds

like the deep moist grey cold innards of a cloud.

Fish on a stick, in a stream, going around –

whirlpool blackholes to vanish in and touch upon an echo.

        Giving in to the storm, giving over to the voice repeating,

compressing joy and urgency into a single crescendo.

      Three days left to saw down the dead tree

and sweep the bird droppings from the driveway.

In three days the winds will pick up, and

looking out schoolbus windows, children

will be arriving at the campground,

close to letting loose, like lavender flowers

anticipating their first sunrise bloom.

.

.

.Copyright  © 2012 by Allison Grayhurst

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

.

First published in “Ginosko Literary Journal Issue 16” May 2015

http://ginoskoliteraryjournal.com/images/ginosko16.pdf

http://ginoskoliteraryjournal.com/downloads.htm

.

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.

 .