Bowl of candy

 .

                It falls and it dies, dried

blood on a tombstone –

palliative care, parallel petals

of varying hues. Leaning against

a concrete pole plastered with posters of faded

dreams, dreaming their last gasp – ambulances,

lawnmowers, bird sounds – feeling the sun’s

rough tongue circle and slide with moist intensity

over the sleeves of my new jacket.

                I feel the civilized crowd, absent of judgment,

crossing streets, side-stepping grates. What does it mean

to be disguised as a butterfly or hospital nurse? Pacing

the torrid tea stores, listening to the woodpeckers, wishing

I could be so industrious. But

my hands were made heavy and

I continue dragging my head like a rock, lifting it

into the sky, over airplane tracks,

and vegetable patch gardens.

                Sorrow is open, festers like boredom,

breathing an unmarked passage

through my vascular system. Wobbly and wanting only

to be taken, to let my thoughts be devoured

by survival and sensation –

one more week of salt without substance,

to be a mole in a wave

of fragrant calamity, to awaken in a bed with hands

covering my chest and trembling in the shower stall –

walking, walking – vines and the roots of old trees –

whistling in my ears – flint and enlightened temperatures,

silver and worn. How does everything enter?

                Am I the sea? Am I a balcony or a rooftop?

Away from this place, I will never be pardoned or at peace.

Maybe this is just wilderness and burning,

but never once did I know stagnation or

was I afraid.

.

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Copyright © 2012 by Allison Grayhurst

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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First published in “Jellyfish Whispers”, June 2014

http://www.jellyfishwhispers.com/2014/06/a-poem-by-allison-grayhurst.html

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

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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

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

.

First published in “New Binary Press Anthology”, 2012

http://newbinarypress.com/product/the-new-binary-press-anthology-of-poetry-volume-i/#

http://www.amazon.com/The-Binary-Press-Anthology-Poetry/dp/0957466102/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1383226605&sr=8-1&keywords=new+binary+press

.

You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

.

 .

River – Songs from the poetry of Allison Grayhurst

river-songs-from-the-poetry-of-allison-grayhurst-booklet

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

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Edified

 .

    Was I bound by the artificial?

Driftwood down an interceding flow?

Horse stance, back muscles rolling, lines of twine,

and fishing. I will not fish or tighten my spinal cord

for the appearance of strength.

I will not bask relaxed in hot spring nobility or lick the nose

of prey I someday plan to devour.

Was I combined or conditioned

to make a unified shape?

    Loudly, my name was spoken. It was God, I am

sure of that. And it was angry, pressing, urging me

to wake and take nothing lightly or so hard.

It was the second time

at the time of 2:30 a.m., when my bed flushed with instant

rigidity, lifting me with dominance

from the gardens of my despair.

    It was spoken as a permit to build, to trap the past inside

the future – not as vintage romanticism, but for the sake

of journeying onward, to be integrated

with what must be re-owned, absolved by the fact

that nothing can escape the impact of eternity. I was shown

that the igloo mansions I once erected,

featuring such elaborate depictions,

cerebral justifications of indignant loneliness,

were natural and could not be dismantled.

    I heard my name spoken, calling me to dart alert

from a shrinking sleep, to walk the hallway, carve

myself an inclusive center, to answer boldly,

unconditionally step

into the dictates of a personal command.

.

.

Copyright © 2012 by Allison Grayhurst

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

.

First published in “New Binary Press Anthology”, 2012

http://newbinarypress.com/product/the-new-binary-press-anthology-of-poetry-volume-i/#

http://www.amazon.com/The-Binary-Press-Anthology-Poetry/dp/0957466102/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1383226605&sr=8-1&keywords=new+binary+press

.

Click to access 20151023No_Raft_No_Ocean_by_Allison_Grayhurst.pdf

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http://scars.tv/cgi-bin/framesmain.pl?writers

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

  .