OnlyOneGod

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OnlyOneGod

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In you I place

the hope of centuries,

a hope beginning before

the pounding of water on rock.

For you I sang the anthem

of my ancient race and

waited to hear a reply.

Before you, I stand

revealed, lonely, in need of change.

Against you, I lean

like a child who has never known parents

or any connection for so so long.

Because of you, I remember

the gifts in my hands, the core of my striving

and the reasons I have

to stay

  with you

  in you

  where I place

  my will and means

              to be restored.

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Copyright © 2008 by Allison Grayhurst

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Published in “SUFI Journal, Issue #95 Sacred Spaces” June 2018 (Featured Poet)

https://www.sufijournal.org/95-featured-poet/

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https://www.sufijournal.org/sufijournal-latest-issue/

Sufi Journal Issue 95

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I Find Clarity

 

I Find Clarity

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I find clarity

beside the open coffin

beside the one made of glass

with the see-through dogma

and beside the one of simple majesty.

I find myself free of the cumbersome hunger

for revival. I find myself just wanting

to be in the shadow, away from direct

light and the attitude of sentimentality and guilt.

I find my hands are strong and my legs

are capable of walking long distances.

I find that that is enough

to complete me.

I find food in someone else’s grocery cart

and my thirst is something I have learned to live with.

I find I am not so impressed with what used to

impress me. I am not striving for passion

at every turn, but I find passion at the lower levels

where rodents crawl and babies

muse at the ceiling.

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Copyright © 2008 by Allison Grayhurst

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BookCoverImage Allison GrayhurstTrial and Witness back cover final

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First published in “Jumping Blue Gods”

 

Parameters

 

Parameters

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The gift of all this crumbles

with a single out-of-sync happening.

Geraniums are frosting over

and the high grass is yellowing.

Yesterday was a cat in symmetrical slumber,

pictures stood straight and warmth

was gathering like a sweet wind over the neighbourhood.

Does this mean it is my mind? like an insect living

one season, sees only that season, dies before winter,

content to have made it so long?

Does this mean the puddle

I jump in, wade in, determine in

is only a pail of water, nothing beside the ocean?

When the puddle is stirred from its stillness or

becomes a bath for snakes or dries up from too much sun –

it is still the puddle and will replenish again

as all puddles do in the rain, maybe

in the early evening just before the lion comes

to take a long, relaxed drink.

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Copyright © 2008 by Allison Grayhurst

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Review of poetry chapbook "The River is Blind"

BookCoverImage Allison GrayhurstTrial and Witness back cover final

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 First published in “Literary Orphans”, Issue 13, May 2014

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The Path Before

 

The Path Before

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Inside this cup polliwogs drown

for the sake of a child’s curiosity. Following a man

wearing a long maroon robe around his shoulders,

a group walked the dirty morning streets,

pretending inner peace.

I was there, there in the sinking sand, abandoned

to mud and nature. I was there, handing out sandwiches

I couldn’t afford to make, following the one

with the robe, thinking he would save me.

              Save me from the dead fish lodged in my throat,

from the desolation of my eunuch intimacies, save me

from the ulcer that tore apart my insides like a feral cat,

trapped and too far gone to look around.

              Waiting at 4 a.m. to steal away into my cubicle

and watch the dawn break over the park,

              or running with my brother

over the farmland of a mutual friend that frightened us,

who we kept because we had no other, as we sat quietly

on his cast-iron stove, quietly in the danger, not together

as brother and sister should be, but separately wondering,

never holding hands.

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Copyright © 2008 by Allison Grayhurst

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First published in “Juxtaprose Literary Magazine, Volume 1” April 2015

 

Poem nominated for “Best of the Net” 2015

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Done

 

Done

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I am done

with the breaststroke of infernal lies.

I am done with the twitching eyes,

people without boundaries – hard things

like crossing graveyards, hesitating

intimacy. I am done with money.

I am through with platforms and curls,

with the forceful devil and things that make me feel

unsure. I see the spring

and it is waiting to throw me

a rose. I see things, and I am done with

the loins of the zodiac, through with eastern gods

and western hopes. This is me, standing empty –

fields on either side. Drown me in this solitude.

Take my blood and make me

a monastery.

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Copyright © 2010 by Allison Grayhurst

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First published in “Far Enough East – Issue Six”, September 2014

 

 

Thirst

 

Thirst

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Mapping out oblivion, putting

lines where there are no lines. Like the small moths

that live all year in my closet, nibbling at clothes

I forget to wear,

making a feast with what has been discarded –

I feel connection, but only at one end,

like cutting eyelids

out of clay: Finger-made eyes that cannot see,

cannot approach my trembling body, gaze over it

and crack the distance.

 

Entering this thirst like entering a church,

climbing wide stone steps,

being bombarded with that floral, incense smell, or

like warring with a round whitish eucharist wafer,

stuck to the roof of my mouth.

There is no garment to keep me warm,

no thistle to swallow, scarring

all the way down. There is only the afterbirth of this thirst,

void of the fattened wail, shadow, the kind

the TV traps in its frame.

 

How am I to dissipate this growing, encroaching wave, rest

like before, when my mouth was not so dry, rest

on a raft, my head leaning over, under seawater,

conversing calmly and feeling one with

schools of curious but contented swimmers?

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.Copyright © 2012 by Allison Grayhurst

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First published in “Wax Poetry and Art Magazine, Volume 3, Number 5”

 

River – the song and the poem

 

River – songs from the poetry of Allison Grayhurst

https://dianebarbarash.bandcamp.com/

https://store.cdbaby.com/cd/dianebarbarash3

https://itunes.apple.com/ca/album/river-songs-from-the-poetry-of-allison-grayhurst/id1293420648

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0766X9LDJ/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1507310524&sr=8-1&keywords=diane+barbarash

 

 

The Poem:

 

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River

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I will run my breath across your eyelids,

go to you, trace the edges of your hands,

finding infinity inside your torment. I will

drift into you like wind and you will not mind

my lips like a concentrated shadow on your skin,

darkening but leaving no weight. You will let me

be inside your picture, a background to your lyrics,

softly at first, I will heal the red in the whites of your eyes.

I will release my wardrobe for you and you will be the mania

that I climb through to reach tranquility. I will

cup your flesh and stretch you through this intimacy because

I own you as you own me and it is not a bad thing, not

blasphemy or anything

to fear. It is your hands, mine – these

poignant burial grounds that have been excavated,

these days of standing close, depending upon the ease

of our mutual exposure. I will speak in your ear and you

will step into my voice

like stepping into a river.

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Copyright © 2011 by Allison Grayhurst

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Currents - pastlife poems cover 4 

 

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First published in “InnerChildPress” 2012

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