Beyond The Grave – the song and the poem

 

River – songs from the poetry of Allison Grayhurst

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The Poem:

 

Beyond The Grave

If all the seeds fell like blood

or blood like seeds into

the ravenous earth and time

was a wagging tail in the dark

then I would know that death would come

by any reason and be a blessing

all on its own. But as it is, death is

the hollow spot of the living – some with

grief and others with fear, and me myself,

it is memory that unbuttons the flesh of my chest

to leave me poked and burning.

It is the hill I climb and stumble

down its rocky incline whenever I return

if only once a day

to meet death’s stalking eyes.

It is not my heart that fails me,

but the things outside

like the shadow on the neighbours’ window

and the frightening madness of so many strangers.

It is here and there like an insect

on my wall, like the fatherly love

I’ll never find again in another’s eyes,

but is with me in the coming autumn air,

and in the quietude of these joy-filled days.

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Copyright © 2002 by Allison Grayhurst

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First published in “Veil – Journal of Darker Musings”

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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

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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

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Currents - pastlife poems cover 4 

 

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First published in “InnerChildPress” 2012

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