Centre-Faith (while dreams swirl all-around)

Centre-Faith

(while dreams swirl all-around)

 

 

Soothsayers and seers and shamans

have children, have the same

rising and falling stars,

cannot say “This is truth”

“This will happen”

There is only God’s voice in the now,

leading to the next step and only

that step until the voice comes again.

 

Even in times of constant accepted prophecies,

the intelligent threw their crystals,

took notes of the pattern

but balked at the interpreters.

Journeys to the Navel-stone were daily –

whore-kings and crushed-citizens

sacrificed animals and even slaughtered

their own offspring

on the advice they were told.

 

But God is one

and God is permanent

and us,

being tied to time,

are not privy to visions into the future, no vision exact –

we are all equally blind, and that blindness

is a gift that opens the door to faith,

 

free-falling in our days,

fortunes and misfortunes,

arms open to God’s ways and grace,

open like a painter choosing his colours

like a poet, her words.

Open

ecstasy in the listening,

surrender in the execution,

gleaming, gloriously summoned

into immediacy, into an all-demanding

autonomy.

 

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Copyright © 2020 by Allison Grayhurst

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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First published in “Synchronized Chaos” September 2020

http://synchchaos.com/synchronized-chaos-september-2020-mercy-and-fragility/

http://synchchaos.com/poetry-from-allison-grayhurst-11/

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

A Dream Suspended

A Dream Suspended

 

 

Sinking in the void, held by

nylon line and my eye sees nothing

but that void, cannot turn to the

sunny above or straight ahead to

the insect landscape and daffodils.

 

So the void spreads and sprawls, and then

starts to whisper – touching the shadow

to my skin, making promises

that haven’t even begun their manifestation.

 

Visceral futility stronger than fear

as I dangle over that blank-space reality,

and there is pressure like living gravity pulling me,

tensing the hold, wanting me to snap

and plunge into pure nothingness,

become the state of vacancy, have no frame,

no barrier or beating pulse.

 

It is winning, I hear

the creaking

with even further taut suspension and

my weight grows, nearing that midnight twist.

 

A dream suspended that has my whole future in its hold.

So I call out for help like I have many times before.

 

Do I strike a match, pretending it is a star?

Hang like the tarot hangman over that dull and ruthless ache,

swing a little and I might feel the possibility of a breeze?

 

        I dreamed myself untied and running, sometimes

        skipping, brimming with a joyous equilibrium.

 

        I dreamed there was no void, only a place

        of still-time, a purgatorial interlude as I shift

        from this flow into another.

 

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Copyright © 2020 by Allison Grayhurst

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

.

.

First published in “Synchronized Chaos” September 2020

http://synchchaos.com/synchronized-chaos-september-2020-mercy-and-fragility/

http://synchchaos.com/poetry-from-allison-grayhurst-11/

.

.

You can listen to the poem by clicking below: