Three Poems | by Allison Grayhurst 

In the Gully of Things 

In the throat of things,

monotony pulses in every

strand of seeped-through light,

where crumpled-up paper is all

to ease your fall.
In the orange belly of deliverance,

in the blue fantasies of school kids,

now is not a time to relish in,

is something to be transported from,

and your sandals are torn like

a piece of skin.
In the bedroom against the unwashed wall,

in the other rooms where spirits

pace the hardwood floors,

your eyes are dim with death,

and the answering machine is broken.
In the book you read,

in your tight, unclean jeans,

your faith has failed, and you ask 

for it back, as the cars going by fill your mind 

with a strange, distracting wonder.

Leaning in the Weeds

Drink for the stopping of stormy pride, not

for the one word irreparable

under the sun.

When longing ceases for everything

but the grave and the mind spins in

shock, in rage, then what could

never be, becomes real enough to erase good memory.

Hope and love’s security crash in the cumulative point –

a wound released that will consume more and more.

Hear the mock of watching angels, the friend

beside you, happy for your defeat.

Why does envy ring a lunatic groan,

as if it was pure instinct that cannot be controlled?

Where does the courage hide to face this bitter,

blinding ghost?
Through the night of blasphemous pain,

leaping into the burn of violent betrayal,

no morality can restrain this filthy eye –

defeated, deformed, surrounded on all sides.

The Gentle Seed

The gentle seed

has changed face and made

its being heard.

Thickened veins, oversized

breasts and hands that no longer sing

are reflections of the pulsing heart

of one who has not learned

the ways of the human cry.

No voice but the kick and turn, but

a destiny yet to begin.
The gentle seed 

that has grown within me 

is like candy on the tongue,

like fruit to the green insects and

spring to the marigold, is a no-turning-back

and a waiting-to-behold.
The gentle seed 

that will forever be part of my own, 

has turned death on its side,

showing me peace in the remains 

of my burnt garden.

Allison Grayhurst is a member of the League of Canadian Poets. Three times nominated for Sundress Publications “Best of the Net” 2015, she has over 950 poems published in over 400 international journals. She has sixteen published books of poetry, seven collections and nine chapbooks. She lives in Toronto with her family. She is a vegan. She also sculpts, working with clay;   


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