Because it is a Stone

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Because it is a Stone

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Because it is a stone

the fire hits it, moves around,

changing shape like a wave.

 

Because grief is not a word

that counts footsteps or encapsulates

the butcher’s madness, just builds like

a deep stagnant pool of a pond – one drop,

one drop, rising.

 

Because all the vegetables have not been picked through,

and more people hold compassion than they do hate,

the tree can grow, the fountain can flow up and make

a statement of solidarity, a sound

peaceful to those who are near.

 

Because the robin keeps coming back

to sit on my lawn, stares at me and waits

for my greeting before moving on.

 

Because hope is red eyes stinging,

but sight unimpaired,

and the darkening shadows darkening

the day-to-day landscape drift –

sometimes far away.

 

Because there is early morning, peppermint tea,

and love abides in everything living,

I can walk another step, another day,

bury the corpse of a treasured friend,

and place something beautiful

(a stone, a whisper) beside the grave.

 

 

 © 2018 by Allison Grayhurst

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Published in “Synchronized Chaos” September 2018

https://synchchaos.com/poetry-from-allison-grayhurst-7/

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

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Published in “Chicago Record Magazine” August 2018

https://magazine-record.blogspot.com/2018/08/normal-0-false-false-false-en-us-x-none_16.html

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

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Lumin

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Lumin

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One of the greatest souls I ever met

was in the body of a rat.

She was pure and noble, dissolved

in gentle love, a smooth essence, easy

to dive into.

      Her name was Lumin- named by my son

after the Shaolin clan virtue Focus.

In truth, it may sound crazy, something many

would smirk at or mock – but here she was –

holding an infinity of tenderness in her rat eyes,

every day, every night with her rat toes, her Dumbo ears

and her rat tail.

      She had a brain tumour and lived a year with it –

recovering five times from the brink of death, holding space

in the chair, giving up her seat on the throne to stay with us.

Every night for hours we stayed together, often

just looking into each other’s eyes.

      No one could know. I could have never guessed

that I would love a rat this much,

that such an untroubled expansive heart

could dwell in one so small, so shunned and disrespected.

      She loved and was able to receive love

like a child with her mother.

She saved my son during two years of teenage despair.

That was her music. There was nothing hard in her, nothing

that did not soften into joy- even when she was ill.

When she died

 

five minutes she struggled, panicked, lunging for breath.

My hands went on her. I prayed for God

to intervene with mercy.

For five more minutes she stopped lunging, was at ease,

gasping slightly, then stopped gasping

and the light radiated through and around her body,

and her breath and the beating of her chest stopped. Now

she is at rest, delighting fully in the wave.

 

      One of the greatest friends I have ever had was a rat.

And I have and have lost many friends in many body forms –

she was a shrine of layered clarity and kindness. She

was a great being, a resting point in God’s creation.

      One of the greatest souls I have ever met

was in the body of a rat.

 

Please listen. please understand. Holy. Holy. Holy halleluiah.

We are all joined.

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 © 2018 by Allison Grayhurst

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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Published in “Outlaw Poetry” July 2018

https://outlawpoetry.com/2018/lumin-by-allison-grayhurst/

https://outlawpoetry.com/category/allison-grayhurst/

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

 

 

Transfigured

 

Transfigured

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Each day I wear my grief

like metal mesh. I see you

as a spirit burdened to speak.

You try to comfort this field

of wounds. You tend the amputees

and bound the screaming with soft song.

But it is hard for you to stay,

to not let go completely into the light.

I let you go. I make this year my bridge.

Though my heart has ruptured and cannot heal,

and I am forever overcome with this sadness

of our love silenced by brutal, unnamable death,

I will build a new house, dive with both hands

into my yard until the evergreens grow.

I will contain you as more than memory –

in my harvest will bloom many sunflowers

of your great generosity. And your fiery blood

will sprout the roots and flesh of passion fruit.

The maple tree will grow large like you, protecting all

within its strong and tender shadow. And children

will be drawn to this yard, to play there amongst

the tall dramatic grass, and then sit still to watch

with wonder the many shades of sky, reflecting

the warmth of your paternal sun-setting colours.

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Copyright © 2000 by Allison Grayhurst

3005

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First published in “Turk’s Head Review”, July 2014

 

 

Beyond The Grave – Author Allison Grayhurst

Creative Talents Unleashed

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…

View original post 254 more words

Beyond The Grave – 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:

 

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

3011   

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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First published in “Veil – Journal of Darker Musings”

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Ground Bird Flown

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Ground Bird Flown

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Layers of clear

rainbow shine guide

you through the pyramid portal into

open air revelation.

Joy on a stick, in your soft eyes,

closed in death, with permanent grace.

 

For all the gifts your gave,

daily miracles, flutterings,

vocalizations, accumulating in song.

For your fragile vessel, energy octave

higher than us wingless dwellers.

 

Your fearless power streaked

into the lining of your feathered coat,

patterned gold thick veins

washed in sparkling sand.

 

Beautiful Sage of the flowerbed gardens,

the blueberry, the hempseed swallow,

fearless messenger, angelic power

bound in a small body, you were 

loved completely for everything

that you were, gave,

held lifeforce for. You were

soft, demanding and rich

with good humour

 

stretching, expanding

higher, wider, wings aflare, lifting

in pure vibrant dance, puffed and proud,

your freedom actualized, raised

only inches off the ground.

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Copyright © 2017 by Allison Grayhurst

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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To be published in Synchronized Chaos, October 2017

http://synchchaos.com/synchronized-chaos-october-2017/

http://synchchaos.com/13691-2/

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

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Funeral Wake

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Funeral Wake

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Now and again, the parade of kisses

and mourning. Thunder raging at the autumn winds

and at the first sign of human folly.

Winding up like thickened blood and vowels

helplessly hanging without a word.

I may be marble, or made of damp wood.

The shattered hymn swirls around like the cry

for hope, any hope, after death.

I may be without a garden

or a plot of land to call my own,

but I do own the hours I’ve spent

digging beneath the crust,

spying on the soft turf uncovered only in prayers

and in conversations of the crying.

I walk with these doubts as though

stranded on an unpredictable slope,

 coiling and uncoiling

as I speak, and then, I hold my breath.

I heard the lies ricochet up like an island

rising and sinking from

corner to corner. I heard the wish to forget

and the need to widen

the bed of memory, sharp and just as blank

as the eyes of those

in shock or as a heart drained of music,

calmed by nothing, not by bread, not by good fortune:

This season of grief just beginning.

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Copyright © 2008 by Allison Grayhurst

3015

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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Published in “VerseWrights” October 2017

http://www.versewrights.com/aloud-grayhurst-3.html

http://www.versewrights.com/grayhurst-profile.html

http://www.versewrights.com/grayhurst-allison.html

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First published in “194, a literary journal” August 2017

http://1947journal.tumblr.com/post/163350337679/we-hold-these-persons-by-allison-grayhurst

 

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.

Reviews of ‘The Many Lights of Eden’:

“’The Many Lights of Eden’ is a journey: a journey of the heart through youth, anguish, struggle, spiritual awakening, grief, death, love, loss, guilt, struggle, despair, hope, surrender, God, sensuality, imperfection, motherhood, aging, the vanquishing of the devil, indeed, many devils, the inevitable fall from perfection and the casting off of old wineskins for a new one. Perhaps speaking of this book as a chronicle of spiritual maturing would be more accurate, the realization that there is spirituality within imperfection and that handmade temples cannot hope to compete with the spiritual temples within each of us. ‘The Many Lights of Eden’ is a diamond. It is a beautiful collection of insights. Allison Grayhurst’s thoughts and writings are a deep well. Drink from it, for the water is clear and crisp. This collection is a MUST-READ,” Eric M. Vogt, author of Letters to Lara and Paths and Pools to Ponder

“I have been slow at responding to reviews for Allison Grayhurst due to summer’s busy days, however she brings life to each poem, heart to the images and everyone should have a collection of Grayhurst Poetry,” Ann Johnson-Murphree, poet.

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