Treading Water

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Treading Water

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I hear hummingbird’s wings

figure-eight beneath my skin.

Too many bitten sandwiches, people

walking by, containing

their anguish.

The wordless hymn

is a waterfall, pouring

through the smoke: not a dry ocean,

but, rejoicing. But this mind

is like an axe, slaughtering my joy

with world-worn concerns.

 

Who craves the contradictory high? Do I?

Do I love for nothing but death and bramble?

 

To be blinded by ecstasy,

to hunt again for the colossal Self.

 

I walk through the dust-ridden morn.

The wind splits my shell like a labouring woman:

It enters. It expels. It knows

everything.

 

 

Copyright © 1995 by Allison Grayhurst

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Published in “Synchronized Chaos” June 2018

https://synchchaos.com/synchronized-chaos-june-2018/

http://synchchaos.com/poetry-from-allison-grayhurst-6/

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

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Anonymous

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Anonymous

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The man on the corner curb,

knees bandaged and bloodstained,

mocks

each passer-by

with a wink from his drunken

eyes.

Long hair like seaweed

glued around his neck and shoulders.

Child

of a tortured past, says he sees miracles

looking into storefront windows.

Lovers

ignore him, only children notice,

tugging on pant legs with defiance and

trepidation.

Says he plays cards with leprechauns,

has lived through an avalanche which fractured his

soul

into two. Unravels his bandages and shows

his wound: can’t remember how it happened.

Rain

floods his open hands.

His mouth, catching drops like

diamonds.

 

 

Copyright © 1995 by Allison Grayhurst

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amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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Published in “The Pangolin Review, Issue 3.5”, June 2018

https://thepangolinreview.wixsite.com/mypoetrysite/current-issue-1

https://thepangolinreview.wixsite.com/mypoetrysite/archives

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

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Ambush Your Rage

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Ambush Your Rage

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Savour the shock

that makes a weak person perish.

            Savour the shape

of abandonment in an old man’s eyes,

the grit of bitterness that taints the forgotten,

the pinpoint range of hurt

which lasts beyond

all means of distraction or comfort.

            Savour the fruit of your

awareness, its fierce caress and symbolism.

            Live long along the roadside’s edge. Let

the ants weave your shroud.

            Give nothing to the canyons, to the diving

bottom-feeders while winter freezes overhead.

            Give nothing to this minnow town, these

streets of helter-skelter code.

            Let the heron guide the way as you

kneel before your destined trials

and seize the tide

to follow.

 

 

 

Copyright © 1995 by Allison Grayhurst

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amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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Published in “”Synchronized Chaos” June 2018

https://synchchaos.com/synchronized-chaos-june-2018/

http://synchchaos.com/poetry-from-allison-grayhurst-6/

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

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The Way of Separation

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The Way of Separation

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If today I cry for you

would you weep

with me, though

your paradise is found

and my life is strange to your eyes?

 

Blue shade in my

palm. Midnight in

my shoe. I give up

hope, give up the covers

to shield me from ruin.

 

If you could love me differently,

with a love not so dead to deeds,

so proud in its moral conviction,

would the moon appear different too,

and its bone-white light, could I bear it

whole?

 

            I learn to will my famine numb

            I learn our intimacy was hollow,

            nothing is sure but God

            I learn the way starfish see –

            slow, slow change, that none

            but the intent can observe.

 

                        (Mortal heart

                        that hears the

                        resonating thunder,

                        feels the owl’s burning

                        eyes. Modern heart

                        of secret logic, robed

                        in the gales of a coming

                        age.)

 

 

Do you remember the heat

of our stride, our anxious days

of youth, christened by our friendship?

 

You go into airy ideals.

I break with your walking.

 

You go into arms that praise your every gesture.

I look to the river.

 

You ask my forgiveness.

I am stronger now, enough

 

to bless (and I bless)

without taking.

 

 

 

Copyright © 1995 by Allison Grayhurst

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amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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Published in “”Synchronized Chaos” June 2018

https://synchchaos.com/synchronized-chaos-june-2018/

http://synchchaos.com/poetry-from-allison-grayhurst-6/

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

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You walk

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You walk

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the branches.

 

You put Sunday in your

pocket. Unlike you, I am not

destined for immeasurable acts.

 

I speak to the stones, to someone like you,

looking up your stairway, into your hallway

of a holy place.

 

You move to the rooftop,

eyeing the crowd with a distant tear.

 

I would hold my hands out to you but

your love is criminal, is metal slowly

burning through the streets, congesting

the autumn air.

 

Why do you devour me

into your sweet, immaculate hell?

 

You circle me and circle my door with your

smiles and waves

of irresponsible feigned devotion.

 

I am too soft for such deception.

I am no rock, no easy rider.

 

Your lies like your beauty

live in me, aimlessly

 

cutting.

 

 

 

Copyright © 1995 by Allison Grayhurst

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amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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Published in “Synchronized Chaos” June 2018

https://synchchaos.com/synchronized-chaos-june-2018/

http://synchchaos.com/poetry-from-allison-grayhurst-6/

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

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Nomad and Wife

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Nomad and Wife

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            Her dying bones

which still have the strength

of moon and fight are held

up on his altar-hut.

            Watching over – a small

figure with the once milking

flow of feminine

curve and charm.

            He will not be undone

by the pain or

winter’s fast approach.

(He places a carved bird at her feet.)

            He has killed for her dignity

marred and she for the power of his

wide-set eyes. They touch

hand to weatherworn hand

and know the sensation

singular like the sun

is singular in its power

to bless or deprive.

            They do not smile, their union

is too rich for such

a soft space between.

(They remember their children)

            Watching as her life departs,

his anguish echoes the high plains

undefended, heard only

by the gods. And the trees

so placid, absorb each cry,

accepting.

 

 

 

Copyright © 1995 by Allison Grayhurst

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Published in “Synchronized Chaos” June 2018

https://synchchaos.com/synchronized-chaos-june-2018/

http://synchchaos.com/poetry-from-allison-grayhurst-6/

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

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Birth

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Birth

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I hear the tumbleweed bounce

and the jewelled breath of the

antelope. Pebbles under my

tongue. His aura is heavenbound.

His mind is breaking up

in his landscape beyond my reach.

I turn to him – his leg stretched

out, tilting clockwise.

 

Where power is shapeless

and some shrilling sorrow

is sealed in fishbowl eyes,

ruling from behind glass worlds –

I see him born, towering between

flesh. His head is a miracle, a

signing bonfire.

 

I turn to him. I run to him.

His belly makes me weep. Pulsing

up and down, warm with life.

 

He is coming out from the

quicksand wound. His beauty,

quenchless. His is innocence is

revived.

 

 

 

Copyright © 1995 by Allison Grayhurst

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amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

.

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Published in “Synchronized Chaos” June 2018

https://synchchaos.com/synchronized-chaos-june-2018/

http://synchchaos.com/poetry-from-allison-grayhurst-6/

.

.

You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

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