by Allison Grayhurst
I shed the skin of my appendages,
I call my name a song
and count each familiar note.
I found a friend under a chestnut tree,
needing time before declaring our bond.
I caressed a horse's upper lip
and loved him like my own.
On foot I travelled my life,
listening to secrets from the crows.
And love discovered me in the shape of a man.
In his burning depths he brought me home.
He is the flesh of my hand touching,
my waking eye and the dipping of my roots into
water. Together, we formed a child, blue
like twilight's blue, like the coat of a rippling river.
Together we come alive by her smile.
In a foreign wood the lilies bloom, the snows
of winter thawed, promises are kept and
the broken bones of passion are mended
like a piece of ancient art.
Break The Chain
Sealing in like a roof does
the house of age,
bitterness tells the time of all.
Like a toothy tiger in the greenery
blazing its look
from prey to prey, what the
years have let down flashes into the eyes
where love once reigned.
Throw the rock into the river and be fresh again.
I need to let go of the greed for security,
and trust the path I have chosen.
The caterpillar weaves then flies.
The infant wakes with a startled cry
then smiles when seeing a familiar face.
I will believe again in what voices mock.
Forgiveness renews and no one can
stop the night from ending.
In the centre
there is the blindness of the salamander
born without eyes, there is the knowing of old age
that the end must come soon and when it does, the hope
that it arrives like a gift.
In the centre a frog goes swimming
and people continue with the day.
There is no stopping of time, no one to lift your hurt
and make it one with their own.
In the centre, it is equal on either side
and all the windows are open, inviting -
a space, the place
before a dream comes true.
In the centre where the crisis is over though
the relief is still beyond grasp,
there is this, the surety of only one thing,
in the centre, standing.
the state before the beginning
when the breath is about to be released
and faith is gaining speed.
It is the morning coffee cool enough
for the first sip, and the child's wakeful eyes.
It is the first smell of autumn and the lover's
It is the radio at midnight when the clutching claws
of awful Fate have been unarmed and the star
you wish upon is no longer a dying light.
It is where the enemy is blessed and all unspiritual fears
are let go. It is the shattering of a pattern.
It is the peace that comes when the heart
is softened and the arms are open,
trusting the life to be.
What Is Good
gone to the birds
to feed with the little people
and the Friday harvest.
I know my vision and
know the unaligned vertebrae
and the horror of sinking under
the world's dubious sands.
Give me a gate that blesses my being,
let summer be gone.
bake me in the wonder
of a child's first year, and
a softer way of seeking.
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