I will not be drawn
into you – mute with treacherous emotions,
shadowy at best in this morose of need and trophies.
Love is not a possible banner to bear. Love is not
this city, painted with greed and the ‘doing anything’ for survival.
It is okay to die, but not okay for my mind to be inebriated
with euphemisms, misty without edge or sharp magic.
I will not be drawn into the giving of roses or waiting
for the things within to confirm connection with what is heavy,
tedious and demanding. I will stay in place, committed to my familiar adventure,
block the gold from clawing on my screen. I will just look
and see nothing new, feel like a shoreline on a day of perfect weather.
I will not be drawn. I will myself concealed
in my mad lagoon, immune to any intoxicating distraction or further
It happened when
the air grew thick
as toffee candy
and love slipped into the cupboard
behind a rack full of old clothes.
That is when the lights broke and a new view
came headlong in – one that feels like
holding hands out, spread and still
under placid waters or
a photo charged with self-contained life.
That is when I stopped speaking, even praying about
the same large dream. That was the day I walked up
the stairs and accepted the marks across the wall, the dents
in the doors and my aging fingernails.
It happened then like a quote upon my door, read and
re-read at each failing moment.
It happened and has not stopped –
less words now
less of everything and less of the burden
of its heavy worth.
A few words from Allison Grayhurst: Over the past twenty years my poems have been published in journals throughout the United States, Canada, and in the United Kingdom, including The Antigonish Review, Dalhousie Review, The New Quarterly, Wascana Review, Poetry Nottingham International, The Cape Rock and White Wall Review. My work was also included in the Insomniac Press anthology Written In The Skin. My book Somewhere Falling was published by Beach Holme Publishers, a Porcepic Book, in Vancouver in 1995. Recent places where my work has appeared or will soon be appearing include: Quantum Poetry Magazine, Indigo Rising and Message in a Bottle Poetry Magazine.
Letters in a word,
not all letters,
must first be a consonant,
labeled such by the sound it makes,
like people labeled because of skin color,
because of where it stands in relation to other letters,
whose sound comes forth unobstructed from the mouth,
but not an end in themselves.
Bio: Polk is a writer of poetry from central Nebraska. Feeling persecuted most of his life he has published three books of poetry; In My Defense, The Defense Rests, and On Appeal. He lives with his wife and two boys and two dogs on the plains of Nebraska