Monday, June 5, 2017

How The Sky Came
When I was a grain of sand,
I saw a rainbow robe

the sea - the weather passed

and turned me into


When I was a rock

dust and tears made a bed

inside of me, until

a mountain I rose.

When I was a mountain,

protecting beasts and people

from the city’s pillaged tongue,

giving them sanction

beneath my hard shawl,

a hand swept down

and destroyed my peace,

turning me into sky:

a castle for the stars.

Allison Grayhurst


            Lovers of winter

weep for the strange
constellation that
gave birth to their

            Notes of music rise
like a boy
from the river
giving air to a free

            I remember
how well & true
your lips established mine
with their tenderness

            There beside you,
mute & marvelling, we should have
given less
to the shadows . . .

            for the firedogs have
crept into the rainwater,
and your smile
splits the cloudbanks
no more

Allison Grayhurst

Treading Water

I hear the wild birds

sing beneath my skin.

Too many bitten souls,
walking by, bursting
with anguish.
The moonlight
is an avalanche, pouring
through the darkness: a dry ocean
inside the clouds.
Life is so generous
with its gifts, but these hands
like razors slaughter the sky
with world-worn

Bare feet on grass,
feels only the stones.

Who craves the perished sun? Do I?
Do I love for nothing but death?

To be blinded by ecstasy,
to feel the tears of wonder flow
to hunt for the colossal Self . . .

I walk through the dust-ridden morn.
The wind splits my shell:
It enters. It knows


Allison Grayhurst

Of Things Unseen 

I cannot speak the simple lie
or whitewash the canyon’s depth.

I cannot flow through like

a wave, tender, lucid, despite

the storm.

Suddenly, the butterflies are huge

like intuition, like a birthday cake glowing.

A mutual silence between the stone

& the sand’s finest grain.

The wind is coming from the meadow.

People are talking of things to come

that will enthrall, and maybe

injure. I have loved you with

my eyes closed & ears pressed

to the aging dream. I have loved you

lying alone with a stallion’s

fury and a mare’s soft fight.

I have borne my suffering

as a heart bears what it can,

living only

to praise.

Allison Grayhurst

No Ground
There are no leftovers,
no cylinder funnel to collect
and preserve extravagant prayers.
In this place, I lean but I dare not cry -
a rosebush past its prime, brittle in the sun.
I am collapsing, out loud, 
reforming every cell, painful alterations. My God
of fluid, my God, grand as, and grander than, myth -
I have cut through this horizon. I have cut
through my thick interior, and still, I’m tilting
like an old tree
unable to stand. My God,
breathe into me, make plans for my soul or let me die,
bound in this circle. My God, rain into my reservoir -
it feels so long
since I have been untethered.
There are other worlds. There is Jupiter.
My God, please repair this punctured deck
or throw me overboard.
Fill me, my God, with love,
strong enough to override the weight of this
       hard endurance.

Allison Grayhurst

It is time

to let individuality out,
and not be smothered by the material plain.
It is time to labour on just because
there is a circular motion to all things
and gravity does not have the last say,
because human compassion is limited, but God’s is not.
I saw the key fall into the gutter. I fell
down the top flight of stairs. Mosquitoes blinded
my hunger for the deeper truth. I am ready
to not be ashamed. I am ready
to stand in the centre of my peace, live
as I was meant to, seeing
lack and disappointments as gifts
in spite of it all.

Allison Grayhurst



Helpless I do not know if good intentions prevail among the elected, among the appointed, leaving me apprehensive that the fate ...