Excerpts from “Detour”, “Tidalwave Making Moon” and “Fire and more,”




Excerpts from “The means to obliterate”, “Govinda in the mud” and “Lotus”




Excerpts from “Growing the grey”, “Muse,” and “Spread your Fullness”




Excerpts from “plunging into a chilled lake, muscles arrested, infinity found”, “Saltwater Sprint” and “Complete, but”




Excerpts from “Where are you? I’ve been calling”, “Before you” and “With the purity of a single intention”




The Answer


The Answer



We must be a potion

mixed. Alone we have

potency and purpose still,

but combined is the breakthrough

explosion, the cry of light that

will grind heaven into sparkling

dust we can bathe our bodies in.

Let’s bathe, hand in hand, limb over limb,

relax in shimmering warm waters.


The guilt that was yours,

guilt for feeling responsible for choices

that were not yours, exorcise it,

burn that haunted palace down and construct

a new hut where we can live and make

a clean home in, pure from ghosts

and the blood bonds of false ownership.


I see you alive and blazing,

your chained foot unchained

and the sun warming your back.

I see you with two hands working their strength,

kneading this sick world with your voice

so strong it will spawn revelations, shape

spiritual fires, ladders from lightning bolts, splitting

the wheat from the chaff.


Be honoured you were chosen for this task.

How could you record it if you didn’t live it,

if you didn’t suck in the last

of its shame and suffering threshold,

choke on its dry and brittle pieces of bone?

So suck it in, take it into your bleeding esophagus,

then watch it dissolve, its frayed and familiar howling

vanished into a new-found brightness.


We must climb the high wall together.

Us, as one, or not at all.

That is the commitment of our marriage

 – spit and gore, glory and bond –


        Eccentric dancers, fierce creators,

        our shoulders as swords slicing the pie,

        casting off this second mortality,

        together, breaking the wind in two,

        being born in the space between, landed.




© 2018 by Allison Grayhurst




First published in “BlogNostics” February 2019




You can listen to the poem by clicking below:



Not a Dream


Not a Dream



It will seem like a dream,

blanketing your shackles in light

until they vanish like a passing breath of



You will walk

and the iron gate will be unlocked and open.

At the intersection

you will know it is not a dream,

but a beautiful reckoning, a reconciliation

between reality and ideals.


What you value and keep,

and what you hand over

will equal in authority.

You will be escorted onto the path

in spite of practical obstacles.

In spite of the guarded prison cell,

your freedom will arrive,

gloriously and easefully.

You will get dressed and follow.


This is not a dream. There will be no blood spilt

to ensure your release. It will feel like a dream.

What you commit to will be your lead and your tether.

The shadow of tormented suffering will

be waved away by the angel’s magnificent hand.


The way will be cleared

and tomorrow

you will be rejoicing, opened,

remaining open.




© 2018 by Allison Grayhurst




First published in “BlogNostics” February 2019




You can listen to the poem by clicking below: