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:


Never Holy


Never Holy


You asked for a light

at the end of the tunnel

and was told

there is no light at the end

because you are the light

guiding your escape.

You are the living fresh-water fountain

you seek, the high rock in the ocean.


Then you were told there is no tunnel,

no distance between the dark and light.

There is pain and loyalty to that pain

and false hopes that claim us

like a deceitful friend plotting betrayal.

You were told to be glad at daybreak, when the battle

ensues. Against the rain, don’t have any secrets,

even let your own death be revealed.


You were told never stop longing for the clarity

of your spirit, give no one up to the slaughter,

eat only what does not scream or thrash.

If there is a high wall, climb.

If a steep incline, find a rope, tie a rope

and edge your way gently down.


You were told to make bread, give a loaf away

and you might never go hungry.

And even if you do go hungry, then hunger

is the season you are called to endure.


You asked for light at the end of the tunnel

and was told

six more days, then seven – open sail –

eventually the wind will wake, spare you

the cause of your consuming dread.



© 2018 by Allison Grayhurst




First published in “BlogNostics” January 2019




You can listen to the poem by clicking below: