….

Piercing, lingering, chiming out a hymn, lullaby on a chain.

Remorse to wade in like a sea-salt bath, absorbing

the past into the present cellular flow.

Mounds of construction sand, building and restoring roots

without life, chopped down at surface level.

Ideologies fuel, then turned to cinder by anger –

justified violence that violates the laws of love.

Skittering up stairs, the last time I held a leaf I held

your focused form, unable to stay the distance,

but stayed nonetheless near rudimentary desires.

I am cut like a lawn, smooth as carpet. See me now,

skateboarding, jettisoning over humps and bridges.

The wind – position me inside your storm. The last time,

strength enlisted an empty street – such vines

and beautiful stones!

Mercy in a crack, a masterpiece of twin creation,

outside art galleries – living wood, sleeping shapes,

inviting holes… holy as sex, sweet hands entwined.

Release into me as I release into you,

in mutual receptivity, clear direction, directing energy.

Dew drops evaporating, shining.

Our masthead – brittle, breaking. Even so,

how we are combined! Such glow.

It is glorious to know you like this

and not be afraid.

Copyright © by Allison Grayhurst 2014

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

.

First published in “The Muse – An International Journal of Poetry” Volume 4, Number 1, June Issue 2014

http://themuse.webs.com/June%202014/muse%20june%2014.pdf

http://themuse.webs.com/latestissues.htm

Published in “Art Villa” December 2015

Read the whole poem here:

Walkways – the poem

.

You can listen to the poem below:

….

Smudges, under siege, patches of calcified tissue

and the swamp I enter in – fuming with failed love –

connections broken under the Buddha fire. Detachment

will not save me – nailed to the pavement stone, looking at birds.

Summer where have you gone? Smells rise to meet me,

and the air is still humid, pressing on my cortex,

corrupting my ability to choose joy.

Grasshoppers hopping. Will my heart be broken?

Again, again, squeezing, squished

fermenting at the sides, foaming and fizzling, burning sage, but

it is not good enough, not enough to teach me the strokes

or how to steady the raging chaos gestating large

in the pocket of my throat. Continents on fire, inside organs necessary

to function – why the children? Why not me?

Livingroom-light-globe like a crystal ball,

opaque but powerful enough to predict possibilities.

I was never here before, never heard the angry rodents

vocalize, never slept with aching joints, dreams

of running low and ferns and moss

covering Zen-garden displays.

What else are we going to do here, but procreate, create,

dissipate and die? Van doors left open.

Lawn chairs on the road for pickup.

The windmill, the tilting tops of trees, heavy

with clusters of fresh pinecones.

I am an orange peel, orange, peeled, drying

next to the sewer grate.

I am limp with the weight, the burden of random happenings. Always

I love you and always, I am breathing.

Take me into the arms of your protection.

I don’t want another day.

Mass of thick porous grey hovering, no space for hope.

Why the children? Couldn’t you spare just them and all

the up-for slaughter animals?

I am done with this place, the tripping curb,

callous indifference – the rippling consequences

of blind destruction.

Copyright © by Allison Grayhurst 2014

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

.

First published in “The Muse – An International Journal of Poetry” Volume 4, Number 1, June Issue 2014

http://themuse.webs.com/June%202014/muse%20june%2014.pdf

http://themuse.webs.com/latestissues.htm

Published in “Art Villa” December 2015

Read the whole poem here:

Walkways – the poem

.

You can listen to the poem below:

Walkways – part 1 of 16

Dual forming on slopes of darker minds. 

Succulent nodes of effervescent whispers,

whispering Oh! Blood clots bending

in unison to sharp solstices.

Dig and reap tomorrow’s regrets,

piled on like love you thought was comfortable. 

Comfort is a guard you let loose,

let down and found judgments –

platters to be served and roasted upon.

Singing for sale. A number left to a key. Fickle

verdicts oscillating between indifference and approval.

Release and acceptance – what else is there?

I am only unhappy when I want what isn’t.

Platypus cans of tonic – drink down, flushing

through organs. I see orange. Orange buses,

orange lines of direction on the road, in homes

where anger is held at stillpoint. One point

on a curve. I have lost my feathers,

all means of flight. There is nothing left

but hunger for the skyspace, outerspace, space

where I once travelled through meteor fields,

ballooning over planets’ edges like a seamstress,

owning it all before I got grounded, committed

to personal love and the necessity of graves.

Why did I come here? To cry for my loved ones,

hold vigil for the slaughtered pigs?

Centuries that just were, lingering, licking

on waves of vastness, licking dark matter like a candy cane.

Not a soul, but the planets vibrating their orchestra – deep,

varying at intervals, then again, and never changing.

God, what am I doing in the sunlight – on the sidewalks,

making room for children on bicycles?

Putting pressure on my shoulders so I cannot sleep,

cannot appease this malcontent.

Why did I leave – to connect with misplaced animals?

Babies only born? Looking for union when before

I thought myself whole?

Material made from the moon. I understand

the beauty of caves, the great sea turtle’s solitary plight…

but more and more – I never wanted more than you

again inside of me – infinity in corporeal form.

God separates to know Itself. God is only what we give,

awakening as we do to warmth and kindness – choices

under the wrap of gravity and yet, somehow,

lifted into altruism.

 .

.

Copyright © by Allison Grayhurst 2014

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

.

First published in “The Muse – An International Journal of Poetry” Volume 4, Number 1, June Issue 2014

http://themuse.webs.com/June%202014/muse%20june%2014.pdf

http://themuse.webs.com/latestissues.htm

Published in “Art Villa” December 2015

Read the whole poem here:

Walkways – the poem

.Published in “Art Villa” December 2015

You can listen to the poem below: