Like A Wave

Like A Wave

In the obscure attempts

to do more than survive, tomorrow is but

a wishing well where all the fish

have turned belly-up.

But the journey down is sacred,

more like flying than falling,

reflecting like a crystal its rainbow colours.

Into my 30’s like out of a war zone,

saying goodbye to the dead and amputees.

Fresh is the light, though I carry on a string

a grey cloud of memories.

Love is never a metaphor, though it

recognizes itself in infinite ways.

It is a servant of the living,

mutable as sound.

How do I tell the thing

that is brittle from the thing that is brave?

In sorrow, I left the highway to find a home.

I found a tenderness and left my shell abandoned.

Beauty is curved like the wave of a rapid river.

It carries me to a path of bread and struggling purity.

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Copyright 2000 by Allison Grayhurst

3005

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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First published in “The Toronto Quarterly”, 2012

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

https://allisongrayhurst.files.wordpress.com/2012/05/like-a-wave.m4a

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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.

Transfigured

 

Transfigured

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Each day I wear my grief

like metal mesh. I see you

as a spirit burdened to speak.

You try to comfort this field

of wounds. You tend the amputees

and bound the screaming with soft song.

But it is hard for you to stay,

to not let go completely into the light.

I let you go. I make this year my bridge.

Though my heart has ruptured and cannot heal,

and I am forever overcome with this sadness

of our love silenced by brutal, unnamable death,

I will build a new house, dive with both hands

into my yard until the evergreens grow.

I will contain you as more than memory –

in my harvest will bloom many sunflowers

of your great generosity. And your fiery blood

will sprout the roots and flesh of passion fruit.

The maple tree will grow large like you, protecting all

within its strong and tender shadow. And children

will be drawn to this yard, to play there amongst

the tall dramatic grass, and then sit still to watch

with wonder the many shades of sky, reflecting

the warmth of your paternal sun-setting colours.

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Copyright © 2000 by Allison Grayhurst

3005

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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First published in “Turk’s Head Review”, July 2014