Govinda in the mud

.

Govinda in the mud

.

.

  This line of devotion that moves

bitterly as lust tracing unresponsive thighs,

cups a poor groan of invisible blooming,

following you underneath a diseased tree,

smelling as you spread your aloofness

and mingled your affection tighter with the dealers of denial.

 

It came to me at first in healthy moderation,

as a permit to appease my obsession. Then it grew indecent,

flushed through me like a spell, drowning

my apprentice music with your own reclusive master-drum.

 

I found you in the carcass, in the millipede’s dart into the drain.

You swelled your glow across all my sunny spots, mighty,

but not brave, only bored with the circular twists

of relief, thirst and sorrow – diamond clear,

you asked for everything, wanting nothing for yourself.

 

I knitted together the practicalities of decomposition

to the voyage of your ever-increasing detachment,

understanding what you did not – that love

is not living alone on a dried-up hill

nor is it consuming every crumb of dream-life

until the flesh is reduced to accident.

I cannot rekindle my devotion, so I must leave you

to authenticate a future. This deed of leaving is like you like

a star – old, seen many times over by many eyes,

power with no purpose but to be bright

and desolate, eating away

waves of darkness, emptied of praise, tenderness, the bullet

needed to puncture a human heart with revelation.

 

I do not believe in nirvana. I do not believe in immortality:

when things change they die and do not revert.

We were, it seemed, perpetual, connected

by the red rope of my loyalty.

 

I am dawning. I that is I,

cracking the dome of my hereditary inertia.

I leave the shadow-guilt of solemn yearning, and also you

of coral-reef intricacy, simplicity, perfection.

 

I know I am alone, though permanently imprinted –

by my years of unnoticed devotion,

by the shunning of personal expectations

and by your long finger,

tanned, transcendental, a spiritual aphrodisiac still

pointing.

.

.

Copyright  © 2012 by Allison Grayhurst

BookCoverPreview

Currents - pastlife poems cover 4

No Raft - No Ocean

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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First published in “Sentinel Literary Quarterly” February 2016

Sentinel Quarterly 1 Sentinel Quarterly Govinda 1 Sentinel Quarterly Govinda 2    Sentinel Quarterly bio

http://sentinelquarterly.com/2016/02/three-poems-by-allison-grayhurst/

http://sentinelquarterly.com/tag/allison-grayhurst/

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govinda 2 Govinda 3

http://scars.tv/pdf/2015/20151023No_Raft_No_Ocean_by_Allison_Grayhurst.pdf

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Scars writingScars Govinda 1 Scars Govinda 2 Scars Govinda 3

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

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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,”  Eric M. Vogt, poet and author.

“Grayhurst is a great Canadian poet. All of Allison Grayhurst’s poetry is original, sometimes startling, and more often than not, powerful. Anyone who loves modern poetry that does not follow the common path will find Grayhurst complex, insightful, and as good a poet as anyone writing in the world today. Grayhurst’s poetry volumes are highly, highly recommended,” Tom Davis, poet, novelist and educator.
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With the purity of a single intention

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With the purity of a single intention

 .

Days of history voyage low

into nations, beside graveyards.

You played with the existential architects for a while,

breathing in their deconstruction, but your laughter

languished. Straddled between crossroads,

you could not form a picture.

Days of comfort can be understood

when the crack tents with severity enough

to slice two wholes.

In your mind there are mountains

you have lost the ambition to cross, or to look up

at their venerated summits, and listen.

You have lost the cunning to cope, continents of wayward

possibilities. Look up, for the sake of past miracles

that swooned into your embrace like found love

as a perfect match

against fatalism and rising futility. Look up – out

into outerspace

and grow yourself a fierce mystic midnight.

Whitewash trails and gardens, places

where children are allowed to dig a hole in the ground,

tunnels where the earth shines copper

with forgotten buried pennies.

Look up and drop the stone of objection,

the stretching sorrows of realism.

It is divine, if you choose it to be.

It is the freedom of a fugitive, freed

of the rusted bars, equipped with appetite

and the exuberance of a gamble.

The ship is lost and an ocean is gained.

Water and water rhythms

are teaming between your toes,

salting your hair and open wounds.

From side to side, look at the glorious space around you,

then up, envisioning yourself strong-winged, safe

as a seafaring bird.

 .

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.Copyright  © 2012 by Allison Grayhurst

BookCoverPreview

No Raft - No Ocean

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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First published in “Contemporary Poetry-an Anthology of Present Day Best Poems (Volume 2)” September 2015

Contemporary Poetry Anthology 3 Contempory Poetry Volume 2- 1CP 1 CP 2 CP 3 CP 4

https://www.createspace.com/5725069

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with the purity 1with the purity 2

http://scars.tv/pdf/2015/20151023No_Raft_No_Ocean_by_Allison_Grayhurst.pdf

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Scars writingScars with the purity 1 Scars with the purity 2 Scars with the purity 3

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

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

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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,”  Eric M. Vogt, poet and author.

“Grayhurst is a great Canadian poet. All of Allison Grayhurst’s poetry is original, sometimes startling, and more often than not, powerful. Anyone who loves modern poetry that does not follow the common path will find Grayhurst complex, insightful, and as good a poet as anyone writing in the world today. Grayhurst’s poetry volumes are highly, highly recommended,” Tom Davis, poet, novelist and educator.
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.
 .

 

New Chapbook Published “No Raft – No Ocean”

New chapbook

No Raft – No Ocean

has just been published by Scars Publications.

Available on Amazon

No Raft - No OceanNo Raft - No Ocean 2No Raft - No Ocean 3No Raft - No Ocean 4

No Raft - No Ocean 5

http://www.amazon.com/No-Raft-Ocean-Allison-Grayhurst/dp/1518842046/ref=sr_1_sc_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1448399111&sr=8-1-spell&keywords=scars+publications+allison+grayhrust

http://scars.tv/pdf/2015/20151023No_Raft_No_Ocean_by_Allison_Grayhurst.pdf

No_Raft_No_Ocean_by_Allison_Grayhurst

http://scars.tv/chapbooks/

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Structures I pretend to own

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Structures I pretend to own

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Organs flayed

Nightmares understood

    God is a scientist, a retina with constricted veins,

dictating an obituary with every birth.

Circular spots; ink-stains, light-stains . . .

there are so many preconceptions I need to let go of.

I must grasp that rationality and chaos both

are immature theories, primitive understandings.

Nothing can be drawn to scale. Inside the void,

it is fizzing, being expelled then absorbed with

a brief division and then a brief collision – beautiful osmosis.

I saw a strawberry swallowed,

progress from being a fruit to being

a taste-bud treasure. I was engulfed in vastness,

cultivating a pattern.

But there is no pattern, though there is geometry, formula,

and muscles functioning by invariable laws.

    God loves most things with a sense of humour,

with an unexpected discharge. Energy cannot be

damaged, but it can pulse too quickly, get caught in a tachycardia loop,

be confined to a fixed pathway like a spasm, repeating,

stagnant in its activity. That is not love.

It leads to heart failure, lacking

arousal, inflammation, surprise. That is a condition where

sludge is formed and purity is suffocated, and all and all

it is not very crisp. The result is not creation, movement only, not breathing.

    I know I am not meant to hear the angels flutter,

but I hear them anyways. Some nights

they enjoy a quick wing-shudder, jettisoning

in and out of phase. On my sloping rooftop,

near my bedroom window,

they say to me: pregnancy demands a gentle cultivation,

a willingness for a foreign inclusion. They say: do not look for equilibrium

because exact balance

would mean obliteration.

.

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Copyright © 2012 by Allison Grayhurst

3021

img059

No Raft - No Ocean

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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First published in “Of/With Issue 3” September 2015

Of With 1 of with 2 of with 3 of with 4 Of with 6

Of-With Issue 3

http://www.of-with.com/issue-3.html

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structures i pretend

http://scars.tv/pdf/2015/20151023No_Raft_No_Ocean_by_Allison_Grayhurst.pdf

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Scars writingScars Structures Scars Structures 2 Scars Structures 3

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

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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.

.

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.

.

“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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.

 

Matchstick, Acorn Hill

.

Matchstick, acorn hill

.

Some altered landscapes go unnoticed,

hidden by mature growth,

lush angular anomalies,

and streets continue on

as though limping was not a hindrance

only an eccentricity – limping slow

as our sun’s heat is slow to reach the exoplanets

or slow as destined love can be before it is

fully embraced.

 

Self-definitions needing

to be re-defined and illusions

of future bliss needing

to be released for more authentic possibilities.

Years of pebble-hopping, fresh denials

embodied into lifestyles.

The spot is marked. Grass stained,

unwashable, obvious to everyone,

 

but you are on the rafters, singing

to a made-up ghost, you are whistling

the tune you learned as a child,

whistling without variation,

plodding the automatic path

you were told would to lead to joy,

to a mandatory means of fulfillment,

 

instead of seeing and serving the deformity,

blessing its merging waters with your own,

becoming stronger still, blooming as it grows,

methodically eliminating your most coveted

expectations.

.

.

Copyright © 2014 by Allison Grayhurst

Walkways cover 2

No Raft - No Ocean

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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Published in “Tiny Moments, anthology, Pringmill Media Corp.” March 2016

Tiny Moments 1 Tiny Moments 2 Tiny Moments Matchstick Tiny Moments bio 1 Tiny Moments bio 2 Tiny Moments 3 Tiny Moments 4 Tiny Moments amazon

http://www.pringmill.com/publishing#/tiny-moments/

http://www.amazon.com/Tiny-Moments-David-Pring Mill/dp/1530263956/ref=sr_1_9?ie=UTF8&qid=1457628009&sr=8-9&keywords=%22tiny+moments%22

Tiny Moments (1)

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Published in “Nothing.No One.Nowhere, Volume 2, Number 1” September 2015NNN6Nothing.

NNN1 NNN2 NNN3 Nothing. No One. Nowhere

http://www.amazon.com/Nothing-No-One-Nowhere-1/dp/0692519483/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1445709903&sr=8-1&keywords=Nothing.+No+One.+Nowhere.+%28Volume+1%29

nnnv2n1

http://www.nothingnoonenowhere.com/p/issues.html

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..matchstick

http://scars.tv/pdf/2015/20151023No_Raft_No_Ocean_by_Allison_Grayhurst.pdf

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Scars writingScars Matchstick 1 Scars Matchstick 2

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

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You can listen to the poems my clicking below:

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“Her (Allison Grayhurst’s) poetry appears visceral, not for the faint of heart, and moves forward with a dynamism, with a frenetic pulse. If you seek the truth, the physical blood and bones, then, by all means, open the world into which we were all born,” Anne Burke, poet, regional representative for Alberta on the League of Canadian Poets’ Council, and chair of the Feminist Caucus.

“What a treasure Allison Grayhurst is. Her gift? To unfold for us life at this intensity of feeling and revelation. Who knew truth and beauty could be so intertwined and so passionate?,” Taylor Jane Green BA, RIHR, CH, Registered Holistic Talk Therapist, and author of Swan Wheeler: A North American Mythology, Swan – A Planetary Mythology, and The Rise of Eros, 2014.

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I turn the corner and

.

I turn the corner and

 .

someone has been here, picking up clover,

invading front lawns, rebelling against privacy.

A rat’s corpse as slender as a leaf lies at my feet.

     I kneel down to meet it and I am stuck, retrieving

information about decay, the smell of a flattened skull

and the effect of dehydration. I get up. I walk

around not over, and butterflies are moving. They are

wrinkled energy lines, producing abstract patterns near

sturdy bushes. All roads are shattered if I look closely enough –

mini-fault lines of labyrinth tubing curiously crushed

like the nutshell is under my heel.

     Summer is almost beginning –

heat encroaches and people smile

untrustworthy but predictable.

Dogs are minerals of volatile emotion

which they never struggle to conceal.

The moon is still in the sky. It should not

be there like it is, a half-faded stamp,

pale on blue, larger, closer

than the obvious sun.

     In my fantasy, pine cones are eatable. There,

there is courage enough in every relationship

to feed the demands

of wedded intimacy. And I can sketch tall, yellow weeds.

I can even paint

the striking space between them like dialogue.

I can carve the curves

of a sitting brindle squirrel, carve

where the tail meets the spine

and the spine, two twitching ears.

     In my mind I am actualized, verified and seen,

vague dread is much like a pebble tossed and lost

under a parked car. Anytime I look into another’s eyes,

be it a hawk, child or mild foe –

there is the colour of wet river stones,

a healthy delirium, the feeling of faintly floating

through deep-breath ministrations, into

puzzle-piece convergence.

 

.

Copyright © 2012 by Allison Grayhurst

3021

No Raft - No Ocean

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

.

.

First published in “Cosmonauts Avenue 1.8” August 2015

Cosmonaughts 1 Cosmonaughts 7 Cosmonaughts 8Cosmonaughts 2 Cosmonaughts 3 Cosmonaughts 4 Cosmonaughts 5 Cosmonaughts 6

http://www.cosmonautsavenue.com/poetry.html

http://www.cosmonautsavenue.com/poetry-allison-grayhurst.html

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I turn the corner 1 I turn the corner 2I turn the corner 2

http://scars.tv/pdf/2015/20151023No_Raft_No_Ocean_by_Allison_Grayhurst.pdf

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Scars writingScars I turn the corner 1 Scars I turn the corner 2 Scars I turn the corner 3

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

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

.

“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.

.

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.

.

“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.

.

.

 

Desires traversed

.

Desires traversed

.

There are lines that frame me in negative expectations.

There are sweet tufts of weeds I would like to pet like a kitten.

And eyelashes that spark a gentle nostalgia.

There are too many eras

walked through, never to be re-entered,

and remnants of lore and legends

like pigeon droppings on pavement, washed away by storm.

    I have grown too used to the drapes being closed,

to all mannerisms of my fugitive vitality being ignored.

Saturn is a vacuum, galactic in its weighty substance

and in its cold temperature push –

condensing my liquid garden into impenetrable ice.

    A tightening in my intestines. Shoelaces undone and left.

I eat the seeds I am supposed to discard. I am beyond knowing if

I am broken. And oh the circle of things! Up the escalator.

Colour-coded stars. A dermal abrasion.

    Things conspire like sunken feet in the mire

unwinding of doom. Archaeology I cannot speak of,

guaranteeing a false result.

Straining to sound a faith that will cleanse.

    Distances crossed, to point to and witness

the handicap of being a single being

amongst a kaleidoscope of organic tapestry.

Shifting to let go, to imagine archangel

power and not have it substituted with

a neutralizing force – a force that stops the growth

of artful transformation.           

    There are hills and hallways that draw me to their altars.

Little did I know that dreams too long waited on become waterlogged,

that suffering is not a stigma or a banner

to flaunt, and love,

is mostly about honouring inner limitations,

challenging them to consolidate, regain momentum then

unequivocally be breached or be immutably restored.

    I am dissolved into this squeezing, into denying

the little that I know that quivers precise,

deconstructing the intricate

solidity of greed and hard resilient walls.

    Orbits are barb-wired.

Countdowns counting, dictating short spurt breaths.

As my tendons stretch

only in my imagination. And these doorways become

sunsets I stand straddled across.

    History is a hyena, grotesquely curved,

pulling down royal constellations.

I have learned that peace can be a pyre

were loins burn exquisite, can also be a dishonest maturing,

where desires are reduced to fruit fly annoyances,

where coming to terms with reality is a step toward

entropy.

    Little did I know that bodies melt with their spirits –

more than dead houses or gloves, defining one tick, one

conjoining of fibers, pulsing a fingerprint, pulsing

one lifetime possessed.

 

.

Copyright © 2012 by Allison Grayhurst

3021

No Raft - No Ocean

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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.

First published in “Rasputin” August 2015

Rasputin 1 Rasputin 2Rasputin Desires 1 Rasputin Desires 2Rasputin 3

http://rasputinpoetry.blogspot.ca/2015/08/allison-grayhurst-knows-that-history-is.html

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Published in “The Voices Project” December 2015

Voices project 1 Voices project 2 Voices project 3 Voices project 4

http://www.thevoicesproject.org/poetry-library

 

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desires traversed 2 desires traversed 3

http://scars.tv/pdf/2015/20151023No_Raft_No_Ocean_by_Allison_Grayhurst.pdf

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Scars writingScars desires traversed 1 Scars desires traversed 2 Scars desires traversed 3

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

.

You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

.

“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.

.

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.

.

“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.

.

.