Consecrated

In a murky limpid place

you speak to me, vanquish my

anxieties with your radiant flame,

speak and say

the circumference is the sphere, is the line

and the space beyond

the sphere.

Cruelty is natural, mercy takes effort,

choice, consciousness.

Accepting mercy takes even more, a leap

out of the perpetual karma-shadows, a daring

to be without a past or a people or pebble stones

in your shoes.

You speak and say

succumb, and I will take your greed of self-knowledge,

all of your knowing, intelligence, reduce it to vapour,

collapse your preconceptions with the tranquility of

the first morning, and you will praise me with the wonder

of all who are newborn, without guise or storages.

Fall down, you say, to your hands and knees.

Look up, you say, to the charity of the sky.

Your being that was before is burned.

You say, love,

and I will be your restitution,

your water, your vortex, your art.

Copyright © 2021 by Allison Grayhurst

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

 .https://issuu.com/allisongrayhurst/docs/book_32_-ways_of_mercy_-_the_poetry_of_allison_gra

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Published in “ILA Magazine – Feature Poet” September 2021

https://www.ilamagazine.net/post/poetic-feature-of-allison-grayhurst/

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First published in “Chicago Record Magazine” March 2021

https://magazine-record.blogspot.com/2021/03/consecrated-in-murky-limpid-place-you.html

https://magazine-record.blogspot.com/2021/03/

You can listen to this poem by clicking the link below:

Episodes, cascading

Phoebus Apollo, cascade your light

around the dreary onlookers singing,

singing for the smooth edges of their many cracked bones,

for their children moving off the jagged rocks,

for the perishing of wasps in autumn,

and for the loss of those who pretended their hearts were pure.

Twice I fell away from all I knew.

Twice in one year the earthquake-volcano-tsunami

erupted, sickening my house, my loved ones

and all my belongings.

There I bent like a moist twig,

rose out of the waters, slug-like, cold like

the first touch of hot hot fire.

Once more God’s name is intricate, exact,

washing me aimless in my once

spiritual certainties.

Once more, every bridge is broken, the waters

swell, jut onto, swallowing, the shore.

My fear is a razor frantically cutting.

My panic is plural, multiplying,

tightening its barb-wire around my chest, throat,

and my eyes are hurting, pinprick pain when they open,

my eyes when they open

have gone silent, silent, blank.

Copyright © 2021 by Allison Grayhurst

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

 .https://issuu.com/allisongrayhurst/docs/book_32_-ways_of_mercy_-_the_poetry_of_allison_gra

.

First published in “Chicago Record Magazine” March 2021

https://magazine-record.blogspot.com/2021/03/consecrated-in-murky-limpid-place-you.html

https://magazine-record.blogspot.com/2021/03/

You can listen to this poem by clicking the link below:

Down Stream

Savage poison

eclipsing the Wolf moon.

Time is putrid, embracing me

like an impending slaughter.

Can’t stop the attack no matter

how hard I strain, or promise

to defend the purity of my thoughts.

It will come to no good end, going on

to this end, head in a block wrench,

dreams staggering crippled

out of sight.

Come back before

I smash my back

on a long fall down the stairs,

into the darkness, past purgatory,

past the tragically resigned.

Come on, enough of this fated disaster.

For months now I’ve held my own,

held my head high, praised

every morning with directed action.

I can’t go back, picking through the rotting carnage,

pretending, giving energy to the pretense,

when my energy is sacred, belongs

to you O God and nothing else.

Please save me from this hissing atrocity,

this lethal succubus and the flashing behind

my eyes – the gigantic war inside,

knife wielding, piercing, rein-less

and the dark blood pain.

Please O God and Jesus, breathe your light

into me, fully. Let me love you the best I can.

Is there anything I can do? Is there any chance

for a miracle?

The shades are being pulled. The dungeon steps

are steep and I am heading down,

into that familiar filthy chamber.

Please take my hand, O God, lead me

into the open air and say “Go on your way –

you are mine, no longer a stranger.”

Copyright © 2021 by Allison Grayhurst

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

 .https://issuu.com/allisongrayhurst/docs/book_32_-ways_of_mercy_-_the_poetry_of_allison_gra

.

Published in “ILA Magazine – Feature Poet” September 2021

https://www.ilamagazine.net/post/poetic-feature-of-allison-grayhurst/

.

.

Published in “Spillwords Press” March 2021

https://spillwords.com/down-stream/

.

.

Published in “Chicago Record Magazine”

https://magazine-record.blogspot.com/2021/03/consecrated-in-murky-limpid-place-you.html

https://magazine-record.blogspot.com/2021/03/

.You can listen to this poem by clicking the link below: