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 1000 poems published in over 410 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; www.allisongrayhurst.com
Under the Coupling Clouds
Under the coupling clouds
weddings and funerals
reign, faith is crushed like
a blade of grass beneath feet and destinies
capsize. Forging through life's worst mishaps,
enduring hearts still burn great
and potent dreams.
While reeling in the cries
of rat-bitten love,
comes legends of courageous
Under these coupling clouds
people heed morning as an adored
second chance. Habits break
to let begin a blazing birth
This child will come
like the spinning of a maypole -
strong colours entwined
and all her blood in unison
with the sun.
She will be a glorious bird,
sure of her place on this earth,
sure of the love that moves from
each breathing lung to the unseen stars,
tied to it all like water is to the shore,
like a night breeze coming to soothe
the summer day's scorch.
She will be set free by her heart's
irregular beat, unique in her beauty and
in her strength.
This child will come, welcomed
like a prayed-for dream.
We will hold her and know her -
our highest visions united then separated
into an infant being.
Throw in the towel.
Throw in the left side of your brain.
Remember now to speak against
the polliwogs infiltrating your dreams.
A dozen ships have sunk under the banner
of righteous revenge. Still, people
are talking about the end, as if
such a thing was predictable.
The end will come but not with wings of fire
or because of the clocking of the millennium.
Children are new. Antelopes are running
unharvested fields. Death has no beauty, though
some will tell you different, some who have never
touched lips with Death or felt Its cold, eternal hold.
There are patterns in the fallen leaves that none but
the birds can know. Wait now for winter, for something
immaculate to cover up, then to renew, the old.
We Walk Again
We walk again, becoming
the watery breath of lovers
touched by the same vision.
We feed our skins again
on the shifting flame
that burns all natural affliction.
We kiss again on home ground,
and do the things of togetherness,
full of letters and sighs and the bones
of our ancestry.
We stand under the umbrella,
nearing the darkness but staying alive.
We release all secrets
drenched in the soft light
of a fluid and tender joy.
Change of Address
I long for the tree I am missing
by the window on a sunny morning.
Shadows are like an empty vessel
and I count the days like coins,
passing frantic from hour to hour
into this good beginning.
I will settle, discover
my happiness on this side of
I will toss my past into the river
and watch it surrender to the undulating tide.
The walls of my home are vibrant with love.
I will walk to the corner, learn
a new road.