Thread Count

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Thread Count

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Tumble down

the ocean stairs,

mounting the whales’ trail,

maneuvering depths and distances

unfathomed.

 

Dream in the city at 5 a.m., accustomed

to the speech that comes just before the birds

awake and take away all formation of song.

 

This doorway, like a driving marked nightmare

cursing your already blooming cloud. Tomorrow

is the same leg-chain to drag behind, the same

shrinking dome to be lived under.

 

But tonight, I have you like a burning death,

one spot burning, one place in the house, fast

and immediate, wielding shapes

out of tall-far-away trees, from mind spaces,

fresh as newborn fish navigating

coral reefs and seeing which caves to hide in

or seeing what is hiding in –

patient predators.

 

Tonight, the bath water is ready, rooting

my body to its sensations.

The spell is dissolved, and clarity

becomes gold, a hailstorm of ecstasy, reaping

many more than one plateau, gliding gigantic above

these graves, loud, rudimentary, I have you,

nailing the flame

to both of our sinking thighs.

 

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 © 2018 by Allison Grayhurst

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Published in “Outlaw Poetry” June 2018

https://outlawpoetry.com/2018/thread-count-by-allison-grayhurst/

 

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

 

 

 

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Hawk

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Hawk

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Paradise bound

by doubt’s heavy claw.

 

Our promises were

fracturing. The hour

melted into sleep

then confusion.

 

In the bed where our stones

were gathered like oracles

of deliverance came the touch

of communion, your hands

crossing my boundary flesh.

 

Splitting the atmosphere,

and your eyes, feverish with love’s

great skill.

 

You circled me,

sliding down

through the stronghold space

between, entered

and gave what in tomorrow

I may never find.

 

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Copyright © 1995 by Allison Grayhurst

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Published in “Our Poetry Archive” June 2018

https://ourpoetryarchive.blogspot.com/2018/06/allison-grayhurst.html

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

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Nocturnal Souls

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Nocturnal Souls

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Those pure, breathable love-notes

written on Japanese paper.

Our house, rain-cold

with dawn dying in every corner.

 

When you sleep

I believe I am made of ice. I travel

in my frozen figure, spiralling,

drilling up

into God’s domain. While you, flat

amongst the covers, breathe slow like

roots, touchable, sacred

as the shadows of my mortality are born

then perish in the wind’s mute philosophy.

Loneliness infects us all. You have told me,

there will never be a simpler tomorrow.

 

Cut flowers lean their bloom on pale walls.

I drop my mouth like wine dripped

on your shoulder.

You wake and find me,

hauntingly yours.

 

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Copyright © 1991 by Allison Grayhurst

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Published in “Scryptic Issue 2.1” June 2918

Scryptic Nocturnal Souls

http://scrypticmagazine.wixsite.com/scryptic/current-issue?utm_campaign=53cf10cb66-EMAIL_CAMPAIGN_2018_06_22_12_35&utm_medium=email&utm_source=Scryptic%2BMagazine&utm_term=0_087f17f912-53cf10cb66-55813305

http://scrypticmagazine.wixsite.com/scryptic/editions-of-scryptic?utm_campaign=53cf10cb66-EMAIL_CAMPAIGN_2018_06_22_12_35&utm_medium=email&utm_source=Scryptic%2BMagazine&utm_term=0_087f17f912-53cf10cb66-55813305

http://docs.wixstatic.com/ugd/396b91_12b4c602cd4d418493788ddd9884dd13.pdf

Scryptic

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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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Scryptic

Published in “New Mystics” May 2018

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

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Paper Man

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Paper Man

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Those were the distances,

the attachment of your soul to mine,

where we slept in the windy valley

with that imbecile comedian

who would play the flute

and try to emulate your profound nature.

 

The day you opened the door and I walked in,

stared at your multi-coloured paintings,

grateful to eat your wonderous gifts,

I needed you like a bandage. I needed

my cigarettes, the nights outside in alleyways

fantasying formidable adventures

to express our courage.

 

Thank you for your arms

that veiled me from the eclipse

and the strangers you brought to my side

with God brewing strong in their stomachs

 

I never did get my housecoat

or the dance in the traffic I so wanted.

They tell me you are going far,

to great planets that have no names.

 

On my bare belly,

our hands once joined.

 

You are on stage, singing,

drenched in a beautiful darkness.

 

You were my companion, lover

in the January frost.

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Copyright © 1991 by Allison Grayhurst

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Published in “The Academy of the Heart and Mind” May 2018

https://academyoftheheartandmind.wordpress.com/2018/05/30/paper-man/

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

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The Tongue

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The Tongue

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Through the back door

he took the baseball bat

and hammered the rattlesnake to death.

Feasting on decadence, he escaped the burning sunrise

and ate the last petal of the last rose.

No one could persuade him of unity,

not even her with her undulating promises of love.

He was saddled in the seat of pride,

turning eastward to raise a glass

to Armageddon.

She broke his removed look

with a touch of her tongue to his lips.

She tuned her hair to flames, and called out to follow.

As he lifted his hand to touch her skin,

she took him in a dream to a land where

people wandered intoxicated with sorrow,

on account of their ill-formed hearts,

where children were weary,

baptized by the grotesque art

of selfishness.

He called – adultery.

She called back – It is your accomplishment.

He watched her tongue turn to water then

drip on the grass, tuning the whole scene

into stone.

We must go she said. She said,

there is no belonging,

only intimacy achieved, fought for.

Without protest, he curled into her arms

hiding in peace, safe beneath her golden sails.

 

 

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Copyright © 1991 by Allison Grayhurst

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Published in “Academy of the Heart and Mind” 2018

https://academyoftheheartandmind.wordpress.com/2018/06/01/the-tongue/

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

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Into the Fire

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Into the Fire

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My egg

sticks to my womb

wanting something

like a thunderbolt

 

My love

makes havoc in my breast

like a sinister struggle.

I am expecting him

his lost satisfaction

stretched out to annihilate my own

 

I am expecting him like

a flickering tongue, a goodnight kiss

in the twisted cry of his need,

folding up inside of me

expecting

a terrible after effect

 

My love hovers in a madman’s purgatory,

where eternity gets stuck in a single moment,

no claimed victory, no wingspread

to express his freedom

 

I continue in silence

expecting him…

 

I will never sleep again.

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Copyright © 1989 by Allison Grayhurst

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Before the Dawn was published  in 1989 by The Plowman, written by Allison Grayhurst under the pseudonym of Jocelyn Kain.

Before the Dawnimg159

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Published in “Medusa’s Kitchen” May 2018

http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.ca/2018/05/a-great-wind-came-rushing.html

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First published in “The Plowman: A Journal of International Poetry” 1989

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You can listen to this poem by clicking below:

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Immortal Burn

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Immortal Burn

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The evening falls

I crawl on my belly through sewers

old passions, fatal hopes

bellow, discharge

into my mind

 

Your smile is like a sickness

I can’t shake off

Your body

a beating obsession

infesting my pores

 

The last hour

the last kiss

burns immortal

like thunderstorm

fastened to my existence.

 

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Copyright © 1989 by Allison Grayhurst

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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Joshua’s Shoulder was published  in 1989 by The Plowman, written by Allison Grayhurst under the pseudonym of Jocelyn Kain.

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Published in “The Peregrine Muse” April 2018

https://sites.google.com/site/theperegrinemuseii/home/grayhurst

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First published in “The Plowman: A Journal of International Poetry” 1989

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You can listen to this poem by clicking below:

 

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