Allison Grayhurst is a member of the League of Canadian Poets. She has over 675 poems published in more than 315 international journals and anthologies. Her book Somewhere Falling was published by Beach Holme Publishers in 1995. Since then she has published eleven other books of poetry and six collections with Edge Unlimited Publishing. Prior to the publication of Somewhere Falling she had a poetry book published, Common Dream, and four chapbooks published by The Plowman. Her poetry chapbook The River is Blind was published by Ottawa publisher above/ground press in December 2012. In 2014 her chapbook Surrogate Dharma was published by Kind of a Hurricane Press, Barometric Pressures Author Series in October 2014. More recently, she has a chapbook Currents pending publication this Fall with Pink.Girl.Ink. Press. She lives in Toronto with her family. She also sculpts, working with clay; www.allisongrayhurst.com
|Star Courtesy of Hubble|
Horseshoe at the bottom
of clear waters. A captain
without courage or altruism -
that is the tale, the slender pickings
The bridge has been crossed, never to be crossed again -
death is verified. Dancing happens, but there is no joy.
Forward, moving, vocal cords crushed. There is nothing
to be done, the dog-star has shifted to another galaxy.
Nature has won and killed
the mighty astrologer. In the end, there is only choice.
There are many skeletons and ingrained unhealthy intents -
much suffering and purging without God,
feigning rapture without God,
pretending that there could ever be ecstasy
The only gift left to give is acceptance.
The woodchips are piling. Walk
a path forged by loss, built on faith.
Walk, and just keep walking.
Impossible, Only Possible
If you can make me better
than this bag of rage.
If you can calm my madness
and raise it ten octaves higher,
massage this grief from my belly, help
me look forward, dig me out of this sand pit, allow
me the strength to be better than who I am - then this death
will be but another movement, this betrayal and shock, only
a further stepping stone to rapture, resurrection.
Forgiveness would be mine, alchemizing my blood.
I could look with love on all this pain and know for certain
that my life is in your hands.
Legends in the snowdrifts
of soulmate saga and the artists’
struggle to stay alive. Gospels in
the house of manna, sleeping,
somewhat blessed, always true.
I put my robin on the line, held it
to the cat’s mouth and waited.
Through the window I saw a prayer
almost answered. Jesus, stay beside me,
hold my hand as we pass one house and
then another. I can feel your breath change the air.
I can trust you, smell your skin and be protected.
Everything depends on you and I
staying close, my back against the mirror - my face
only reflected through your eyes.
I will sing in your ear, be ready for the deep-sea dive.
I will love you first then radiate that love. I lean
on your shoulder, and I will stay this way