As My Blindness Burns

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As My Blindness Burns

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Without these things

of rainbow and insight

I stand, fragmented

by despair, fleeting as daylight,

composed of failed hopes

and held-back tears.

 

Young, like truth is

when first found,

are the swollen joys

of new understandings.

And secret still is

the unsculpted future

that rises unexpected without

resolution.

 

The muses of this universe hold faith

and doubt equally

in their impregnated beams,

and me with my hideous cowardice

that grows stronger with age, hides

the things that challenge

and direct me to an edge, ignoring the

simple surrender needed

to grow and to deeply be

someone.

 

This city sobs

when hearing its own wind die,

takes in its industrious hands

the sluggish and the bitter.

 

And the few who rebuke

this smog-breathing serpent

lean depleted in each other’s arms,

hoping to embody something beyond

the world or melancholic pain.

 

And here, wanting, each slave is born, each

mistrust upheld like a perfected attitude.

 

People hold conviction without vision,

walking the subway floors, staring

out to empty highways.

Stale are the nutrients of each wished-on star.

Stale ambition bleating into

each small ear.

 

Lament now the corpses in caverns,

in parades and family restaurants.

Lament the eclipsed beauty of impulse,

the restraint of every compelling break-a-way.

 

For just one hope to tread behind

Jesus’ sandal, freeze,

then crack all chains.

 

I would delight

in the struggles of individuals

conquering the downcast clouds

that hinder and fill a soul

with stagnant woe.

 

But like I am, sick with human

needs, political and ungenerous, I face

the storms and hide my pleas inside the

thunder.

 

Naked, lovers divulge

their infinite shades. Lovers

lean like dried up trees against

an autumn’s ground, lean

for mercy and for each

affection denied.

 

But love they do

in the wintry airs

trying to overcome

personality, imbedded habits,

each other’s foreign sphere.

 

I am pale, forgetful,

I lie awake all night taken down,

breathing the vaporous stench of

decay, in nightmares,

while kneeling before

the brightest flower.

 

I watch you thinning,

keeping

my anguish private,

for none will accept my five open

senses, the reasons for my withered will.

 

I cannot embrace my interior

with humble affection, but must

know the labyrinth’s breathing tide;

mysteries renounced, complexities explained

by pensive reason.

 

Where I sit, seeking the inaccessible cure,

madness comes to kill through dissection,

definition and spiritual systems decreed.

 

In water I am numb,

drifting dazed through dark

androgynous waves.

 

I think of whispering to your waiting grave,

of netting grief and memory,

starving each of their sustenance

blind.

 

But then alone, in death, in life,

connection is our bread,

our higher air that beckons and repairs

the cracks that would kill on

tougher days.

 

How long to hold you in this sandpit sinking?

How long to watch your unwilling heart fade?

 

That I am through with annihilating snares

Through with the brutes of cold consuming despair

 

Through your life yielding to

sudden disease, through the closed door

that echoes strong sighs like screams

down corridors of love’s

last stroke . . .

 

Longing for nether fields,

I want to run

in these subterranean, primal places, want

limbs of fire, eternally

red and dancing over the waking darkness.

I want to seal you

                                               

into the living Divine.

 

I am suspended, believing

the horror will not come, believing

death will not make

a skeleton out of you.

.

 

Copyright © 1997 by Allison Grayhurst

3000

As My Blindness Burns cover 8

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

 

.First published in “Poetry Life & Times” September 2015

Poetry Life and Times As my Blindness Burns 1 Poetry Life and Times As my Blindness Burns 2 Poetry Life and Times As my Blindness Burns 3 Poetry Life and Times As my Blindness Burns 4 Poetry Life and Times As my Blindness Burns 5 Poetry Life and Times As my Blindness Burns 6 Poetry Life and Times As my Blindness Burns 7Poet's Circle 2 Poet's Circle 3Poetry Lifetimes 1 Poetry Liftimes 2

http://www.artvilla.com/plt/as-my-blindness-burns-a-poem-by-allison-grayhurst/

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

(Part 1)

(Part 2)

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“Allison Grayhurst intertwines a potent spirituality throughout her work so that each poem is not simply a statement or observation, but a revelation that demands the reader’s personal involvement. Grayhurst’s poetic genius is profound and evident. Her voice is uniquely authentic, undeniable in its dignified vulnerability as it is in its significance,” Kyp Harness, singer/songwriter, author.

“Allison Grayhurst’s poems are like cathedrals witnessing and articulating in unflinching graphic detail the gritty angst and grief of life, while taking it to rare clarity, calm and comfort. Grayhurst’s work is haunting, majestic and cleansing, often leaving one breathless in the wake of its intelligence, hope, faith and love amidst the muck of life. Many of Allison Grayhurst’s poems are simply masterpieces. Grayhurst’s poetry is a lighthouse of intelligent honour… indeed, intelligence rips through her work like white water,” Taylor Jane Green, Registered Spiritual Psychotherapist and author.

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Reviews of  ‘Journey of the Awakening’:
“Journey of the Awakening is the first book of poetry that I have read of Allison Grayhurst. While reading it began to sound familiar, the comment to myself was “She is as good as Sylvia Plath”. When I finished the book I read comments from others who referred to her as “In the style of Sylvia Plath”; Ms Plath, one of my favorite poets had no match until Ms Grayhurst’s work. Congratulations to her on her achievements, I am already a ‘fan’, the love of her work will continue to grow,” Ann Johnson-Murphree, poet and author.
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“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. This, and other Grayhurst poetry volumes are highly, highly recommended,” Tom Davis, poet, novelist and educator.

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Two new books FREE on Kindle

My two new poetry books: Walkways and

As My Blindness Burns – three long poems

are available for FREE on Kindle 

starting today November 7

through to and including November 11.

The paperback versions are also available 

for sale on Amazon sites.

 

http://www.amazon.com/Walkways-poetry-Allison-Grayhurst/dp/1502792133/ref=la_B001KIWQUS_1_27?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1414844907&sr=1-27

http://www.amazon.com/As-My-Blindness-Burns-Grayhurst/dp/1502838265/ref=la_B001KIWQUS_1_23?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1414844939&sr=1-23

 

Direct Kindle Links:

http://www.amazon.com/Walkways-poetry-Allison-Grayhurst-ebook/dp/B00OR1VVH4/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&sr=1-27&qid=1414844817

http://www.amazon.com/As-My-Blindness-Burns-Grayhurst-ebook/dp/B00OS7HFZY/ref=la_B001KIWQUS_1_23_title_1_kin?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1414845632&sr=1-23

 

Walkways cover 2

As My Blindness Burns cover 8

 

A response to the poem – Walkways:

 

“This is brilliant! Brilliant. Reminds me of when I first read Walt Whitman’s “Leaves of Grass”. And I wanted to stand up on the city bus and exclaim aloud: “Listen to this!” A comprehensive capturing of human earthly experience in all its dimensions without missing a beat – beyond the conscious mind – dancing with the levels of our knowing and sensing – that we feel but do not always recognize, and rarely, oh so rarely articulate. Clearly, Grayhurst’s poetic journey has taken her to the mountain top,” Taylor Jane Green, registered holistic talk therapist and author. 

 

Walkways – the poem – part 16 of 16

….

photo (20)

Principles of duty

overtaking sleep like a wave.

Heavy love rooted in isolation,

reflecting the depths of true giving.

A condition turns to disease, restrictions

bare down. What is ordinary becomes like

a cage. Children in the drifting storm, drifting

on condensed-traffic streets, how I love you.

How I would do everything I cannot do to ease

the grip of your elephant shackles. Mine was the angel’s

autonomy, where nothing was miscellaneous and my bed

was a rich blackness that absorbed all time. Mine was loud

without noise or distraction, just the buoyant sparkle flow

of paired-off stars and the countless debris of ongoing creation.

Mine is yours now, inside less-than-working-organs, kidneys

like puzzle pieces, seamed together by an amateur.

Where are you now, God-who-remembers, reminds me

of what I once was? My God and Jesus of the lilies,

why the children? Why this fluke,

this bizarre nightmare crawling, closer,

closer than when I had no body, no loves to look after?

And oh I am tired, worn as an old shoe that must keep

the broken glass at bay. Where are you my God, my Jesus?

I know you are here. I know something, but not enough

to deflate my bloating anxiety. It is grief all over again and I

hide myself in older hands, friendless, unsupported, remembering

the wholeness in every flaw, in the universe’s veined light

I once travelled on. Remembering that what is flawed sparkles

with a unique variation of beauty, rainbow fractions, infractions

that are blessings that seep and saturate sinews

and bones, galaxies

perpetual, renewable

where everything sings useful –

seemingly incongruent, yet in truth, masterfully

precise.

….

photo (22)

 Copyright © 2014 by Allison Grayhurst (poem and images)

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Copyright © by Allison Grayhurst 2014

Walkways cover 2 As My Blindness Burns cover 8

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

.

 

First published in “The Muse – An International Journal of Poetry” Volume 4, Number 1, June Issue 2014

http://themuse.webs.com/June%202014/muse%20june%2014.pdf

http://themuse.webs.com/latestissues.htm

The Muse cover

.

You can listen to the poem below:

 

In response to the poem – Walkways:

“This is brilliant! Brilliant. Reminds me of when I first read Walt Whitman’s “Leaves of Grass”. And I wanted to stand up on the city bus and exclaim aloud: “Listen to this!” A comprehensive capturing of human earthly experience in all its dimensions without missing a beat – beyond the conscious mind – dancing with the levels of our knowing and sensing – that we feel but do not always recognize, and rarely, oh so rarely articulate. Clearly, Grayhurst’s poetic journey has taken her to the mountain top,” Taylor Jane Green, registered holistic talk therapist and author..

.

.

Walkways – the poem – part 15 of 16

….

photo (19)

Gaze, focus, hold.

Unconscious stream

of raw fluidity streaming,

rising over barriers, drowning them

with the pressure of an open door.

Cracks of circumstantial disease,

creating pockmarks to expand destiny choices, 

fashioning gifts to give,

earned by bomb-droppings

and low flying plane-explosions.

Cobweb parties, graffiti

on the skin of your back,

made with a blade as small and smooth

as the tip of a hawk’s feather.

Weaning off the burnt oak,

preening patches of grime.

Wake and rhyme, garden-keeper,

ambush your fear – it cannot be real!

Lungs run the same vibration as a flame.

It is hard, but not impossible. Gulp the sea

of senseless over-warming, pool the salt-taste

in your mouth, feel it

around your lip-rim, the sides of your cheeks. And there,

be safe, joining with the translucent swimmers, floaters

of prehistoric heritage.

 

Copyright © by Allison Grayhurst 2014

Walkways cover 2 As My Blindness Burns cover 8

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

.

 

First published in “The Muse – An International Journal of Poetry” Volume 4, Number 1, June Issue 2014

http://themuse.webs.com/June%202014/muse%20june%2014.pdf

http://themuse.webs.com/latestissues.htm

The Muse cover

.

You can listen to the poem below:

 

 

In response to the poem – Walkways:

“This is brilliant! Brilliant. Reminds me of when I first read Walt Whitman’s “Leaves of Grass”. And I wanted to stand up on the city bus and exclaim aloud: “Listen to this!” A comprehensive capturing of human earthly experience in all its dimensions without missing a beat – beyond the conscious mind – dancing with the levels of our knowing and sensing – that we feel but do not always recognize, and rarely, oh so rarely articulate. Clearly, Grayhurst’s poetic journey has taken her to the mountain top,” Taylor Jane Green, registered holistic talk therapist and author.

 

Walkways – the poem – part 14 of 16

….

photo (18)

Fresh, potted

bright as an angel. Death is a whip

I put down. Ill health slumber,

but God is my mercy-king. Queen

of loving miracles. I will sing to

keep the right intention and grieve

minimally for what I cannot do.

Little red tree, no higher than

a toddler-child. Disco ball,

ball blue and gold,

twirl for me, let the grey dissipate into your

twinkling glow and all my blood into your veins,

little tree

plump and flourishing, readying for greater heights,

string-stream through me, weave me into your branches,

still firmly on the ground.

Angels everywhere I need your temperance. I need

to know my children are protected by your grace,

wing-spread, and even

your cold white eyes.

 

Copyright © by Allison Grayhurst 2014

Walkways cover 2 As My Blindness Burns cover 8

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

.

 

First published in “The Muse – An International Journal of Poetry” Volume 4, Number 1, June Issue 2014

http://themuse.webs.com/June%202014/muse%20june%2014.pdf

http://themuse.webs.com/latestissues.htm

The Muse cover

.

You can listen to the poem below:

 

In response to the poem – Walkways:

“This is brilliant! Brilliant. Reminds me of when I first read Walt Whitman’s “Leaves of Grass”. And I wanted to stand up on the city bus and exclaim aloud: “Listen to this!” A comprehensive capturing of human earthly experience in all its dimensions without missing a beat – beyond the conscious mind – dancing with the levels of our knowing and sensing – that we feel but do not always recognize, and rarely, oh so rarely articulate. Clearly, Grayhurst’s poetic journey has taken her to the mountain top,” Taylor Jane Green,  registered holistic talk therapist and author.

.

.

Walkways – the poem – part 13 of 16

….

photo (17)

For a while –

deathcamps, blue balls

baskin’robbins. Play tomorrow

the lute-song of today and remember

the ground-swell

pounding paradise into my brain, collapsing

from overload, reloading fodder

and flighty friendships I’ve lost use for.

Nothing counts, count on nothing but playfighting

over the bank, over the brim – rim – keeper

of the fixer-upper, of the still fire, fire still

as yellowed corpses. Mid-fall.

Fake it! Love! kindness, tenderness – be

polite, because very little is

anything you want to take with you.

Care-giver, carer of the children,

the laundry, pets and bank account.

It is all you are – rainstorm.

You must take this stone and swallow,

make peace with your burden, make love

with the swarming emptiness, stuck

in a gravitational pull,

planets, solar systems spinning around you

but you are heavy, must be,

unfazed by the pressured wind – stains

on the ground. Inside of you, chopped-up bits of fate

and crimes conceived before you

were born. Fake it, wallpaper it. Go on, try, smile

 

Copyright © by Allison Grayhurst 2014

Walkways cover 2 As My Blindness Burns cover 8

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

.

 

First published in “The Muse – An International Journal of Poetry” Volume 4, Number 1, June Issue 2014

http://themuse.webs.com/June%202014/muse%20june%2014.pdf

http://themuse.webs.com/latestissues.htm

The Muse cover

.

You can listen to the poem below:

 

In response to the poem – Walkways:

“This is brilliant! Brilliant. Reminds me of when I first read Walt Whitman’s “Leaves of Grass”. And I wanted to stand up on the city bus and exclaim aloud: “Listen to this!” A comprehensive capturing of human earthly experience in all its dimensions without missing a beat – beyond the conscious mind – dancing with the levels of our knowing and sensing – that we feel but do not always recognize, and rarely, oh so rarely articulate. Clearly, Grayhurst’s poetic journey has taken her to the mountain top,” Taylor Jane Green, registered holistic talk therapist and author.

.

.

Walkways – the poem – part 12 of 16

….

photo (16)

Once, gentle. Now, riled and nowhere but where

the stench of sewage is piled on the curb.

The gears of bitter disappointment snatching

you into a feral hold. Exotic tall weeds,

broken at the base.

Friendships are spoiled at the root, even love is

overshadowed by the decay.

Less obligation, less affection, less loyalty.

I must pretend we are healed, but the only healing

that happened was a cauterization of our severed bond.

There is anger but less hurt,

just the motions of getting through

undetected, and me by myself,

always alone –

separate happenings, entities, isolated

aspects merging, but never

whole. White car on the road.

Red car on the road. Silver then

blue. The only place absolute is

the place I left where faith was unnecessary

and all cells were one cell, not like here –

different functions – each dominated by its own survival.

No wonder love is weakened, can only achieve

a temporary claim on completion.

I accidently crush the insect with my heel. It is consumed

by another of its kind, carried off

into the hive of practicality –

a gesture void of remorse or sentimentality.

In the end, there is nothing but wires and fences

and frames of flesh, cartilage and senses. Tomorrow

there will be talk and tea and eyes

locked in intense recognition.

Good for the moment

Good until there comes

the something we want

more of, less of, had enough of….

 

Copyright © by Allison Grayhurst 2014

Walkways cover 2 As My Blindness Burns cover 8

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

.

 

First published in “The Muse – An International Journal of Poetry” Volume 4, Number 1, June Issue 2014

http://themuse.webs.com/June%202014/muse%20june%2014.pdf

http://themuse.webs.com/latestissues.htm

The Muse cover

.

You can listen to the poem below:

 

In response to the poem – Walkways:

“This is brilliant! Brilliant. Reminds me of when I first read Walt Whitman’s “Leaves of Grass”. And I wanted to stand up on the city bus and exclaim aloud: “Listen to this!” A comprehensive capturing of human earthly experience in all its dimensions without missing a beat – beyond the conscious mind – dancing with the levels of our knowing and sensing – that we feel but do not always recognize, and rarely, oh so rarely articulate. Clearly, Grayhurst’s poetic journey has taken her to the mountain top,” Taylor Jane Green,  registered holistic talk therapist and author.