 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 forgiveness. Under these coupling clouds people heed morning as an adored second chance. Habits break to let begin a blazing birth received. before 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. Autumn 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 the threshold. 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.
0 Comments
|
Categories
All
|
RSS Feed
