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

3021

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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

 

Now you are

 

Now

you are

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Were you the jealous seeker?

Always annihilating intimacy, but craving

a pulsating communion? Were you stuck

on magic and the stagnant fallacy of control?

Were you pinned to a savage terror,

hating everything that made you feel – trees, a follicle of hair,

the smell of summer approaching?  

Are you through with that now? Covered as you are

with deep eternal connection –

limbs and kisses, words and no fear

behind what might be opened?

Are you through with the angel armour,

the denial of  touch, your secret superiority?

Are you on the balcony? It is still a long way to the light.

People are mostly ghosts and you are always desperate,

full of instinct, shunning, and the comfort of solitude.

But you are through with make-belief, with yourself being

a rock of brilliant hues. You are through. You are accepting

all that stands here – love. trust. fierce truth –

made again and again

by such brightness.

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Copyright © 2012 by Allison Grayhurst

3021

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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First published in “Jotter United Lit-zine, Issue 7”

 

 

I see differently

 

I see differently

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I see things differently,

like lyrics and shades,

differently than the cold pale mouth

of worry and intellectual revelation.

I feel things differently – what was empty,

just background,

a faint perfume, is now sharp, suffocating,

expecting so much from my guarded solitude.

I walk differently, hesitating at the sound of birds,

watching lines in the clouds, a child angry with

her mother and the small cracks on the sidewalk stone.

I sleep differently as though I never do, remembering

each hour passing in the depth

of daydreams not sleep dreams,

not resting, but rising, my breath, my flame, living

and musical.

I wake differently, never tired, but full of throbbing,

heavy beating

and the spring is almost here, trapped

in ‘the-moment-before’, in the power of painted hair

and earlobes caressed and kissed.

I love differently, like I’ve never loved, demanding

the wind, the desert, a vigil of remarkable intensity.

Love, lacking

dilemmas. Love, like a place to play, playing,

then laying flat out and waiting for

rain, a hand, or stars.

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Copyright © 2012 by Allison Grayhurst

3021

 

First published in “Jotter United Lit-zine, Issue 7”

 

 

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

 .

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

3021 img069

Currents - pastlife poems cover 4 

 

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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First published in “InnerChildPress” 2012

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Seamless – 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:

 

 

Seamless      

 .

    Raincoats and rainy seasons are behind us now.

I picked up a feather.

You took it from me and now it is yours. And just like that,

rich as the coral reef waters, we were initiated into

a lower layer.

    Intensity is a button. It is concentration – one part,

one of your parts unrelentingly explored

while ignoring other

distracting sensations. It is the thick blood

raking of thighs against our lesser faith.

    Fears of the future put aside and left to their weeping.

Shoulders become secrets receiving

probing pressure-point intrusions.

Like a primeval working of strings,

through this communication, we see

the courage of our history rise, become an advancing truth,

and our pores

grow and sparkle like thousands of tiny sun-drenched ants

pooling together to parallel a single purpose.

    We know ‘just survival’ is tyranny.

What we seek is not movement

purely for the sake of employment, but to create canvases

of vigorous struggles – ones that can only be cemented

in unison.

    Our bodies have abandoned their blood-lines.

We are touching every crease

and tense design with undiluted intention –

first blotting out words, then delectable conversations.

We rejoice in the grand dramatics of our compatibility,

equally committed to corporeal immersion.

    The past culminates in this single outpouring. It is

a privileged evolution. It is months of misfortune

exterminated by the exertion of our mouths:

    Strange rhythms are risked, foreheads pressed,

giving way

to beautiful unadulterated disclosure.

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Copyright © 2012 by Allison Grayhurst

3021 img069  

 

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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First published in “New Binary Press Anthology”, 2012

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Now I am Two — the song and the poem

“This song “Now I am Two” speaks to the dedication intimacy asks and the deep subtle bond that follows… River is now available on iTunes and Amazon, and of course on Bandcamp. Bandcamp downloads come with a bonus,” Diane Barbarash

 

 

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:

 

Now I am Two

.

It is this way, togetherness:

A covenant with tenderness and speaking thoughts

only glimpsed.

The snow falls like rain as the afternoon moves

without time, our hands pressed as one,

lips and then, something better. Always

miraculous, unexpected, awakening. Always

us, vanishing and then re-emerging with these things

of harmony and friction engulfing our scent and path. Soon,

the tiger lilies will bloom and being just us will be made difficult

with the children gathered in our arms. But this ‘difficult’ is

whole and adds to our liberation – making coffee, laughing

at things shared and only ours.

It is what was prayed for, what years and hardship has not

diluted, but has fused into an unbreakable bond – us –

the summoning of all our parts – ancient, immediate

so that even when death comes or fate and terrible sobbing,

neither of us will ever be again

without the other

alone.

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Copyright © 2012 by Allison Grayhurst

3021 img069   

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

 

First published in “Anchor & Plume: Kindred, Issue 5, Nest”, 2014

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Needle

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Needle

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Would it be power or the soft faith

of idolatry that brought you empty-handed

upon this Earth?

Because your history is poison to my heavier

heaven, I should be running parallel to your great

evolution, but I am not.

Your moods are total, obsessive as fungi –

growing shallow until everything is blinded

under your curtain. I used to love you – the facts

in your brain, your anti-cultural immaturity, your freedom

from the process. You, only tied to the result. I used to stay

up all night, half-a-human,

fumbling through books for a deeper

education. I used to be becoming, not this hard

calcified thing dependent on your reflection – a slave

to your dragon, to your brutal needs.

You used my brokenness to mould yourself a follower.

I followed you, but now that

is over.

.

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Copyright © 2012 by Allison Grayhurst

3021

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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First published in “Bold Monkey” October 2015

Bold Monkey 1 Bold Monkey 2 Bold Monkey NeedleBold Monkey bio

http://georgedanderson.blogspot.com.au/2015/10/featuring-allison-grayhurst.html

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

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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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Book reviews of the River is Blind paperback:

“Throughout (The River is Blind), she (Allison Grayhurst) employs 
reiterated tropes of swallowing and being consumed, spatial fullness 
and emptiness, shut- in, caverns, chasms, cavities; angels, archangels, 
blasphemy, psalms; satiation or starved. With a conceit of unrequited sex 
as “my desire”, nocturnal emissions, awakening in the morning, the poet lives 
at capacity, uninhibited, dancing,” Anne Burke, poet, regional representative 
for Alberta on the League of Canadian Poets’ Council, and chair of 
the Feminist Caucus.

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“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. THE RIVER IS BLIND is a must-read,”  Eric M. Vogt, poet and author.

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