365 Pages of 2018 – a poem by Ali Grimshaw

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I wrote across
and down the page
sometimes diagonal doodles
to break through lines
that I refused, not willing
to be penned in.
Editing bled and tore through
to pages underneath.
Grateful for a thick tablet
layers of mistakes on the way to golden
this party called life, waking up
to attend, embrace the tousled mess
tumbles, triumph, trembles of love
that live outside of words.
The minutes are not guaranteed
savor this very one.

© Ali Grimshaw 2018

Each year I celebrate getting to live another year by writing a birthday poem. I hope this inspires you to author your life. What story are you writing this year? These bloggers have inspired my next chapter; Debbie at Forgiving Connects , Colleen at The Chatter Blog, Val at Find Your Middle Ground, Miriam at Out an’ About, and Brad at Writing To Freedom

Here is the link to last year’s birthday poem 365 Pages.

May love touch your day.

Ali

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ON A SPACE CALLED LAND

The voice of a poem can pull your feet from the muck and this one did so for me this morning. Therefore, I am sharing it forward with the hope that it free your feet as well. It comes from  SINGING HEART POEMS, STORIES & MUSINGS BY KAREM BARRATT

ON A SPACE CALLED LAND

And so it happens that we are all walkers:

Runners, joggers, skippers;

Trail blazers, some of us.

Path finders.

And that is the answer of the ages.

Of the “who am I” and “what am I doing here.”

We are machete wielders, creating

The path unique to ourselves,

To our laughter and our tears.

We are charterers of the unknown

Jungles that our lives are, similar

To many, yet different in every sense.

We do not travel the road less travelled:

We create the way.

We build the bridge, draw the maps,

Write the memoirs that the

Next generation will forget or

Misunderstand, because I am not

You, nor you I, and my yellow

Brick road is  blondish, buttery white,

Whilst yours is coppery gold.

And so, like the Spanish poet

Said, dear walker, there is no road.

The road is rendered by your feet when

You start your walk.

And that is life. And who you are.

A walker of dreams on a space called land.

By K. Barratt

Lull – a poem by Ali Grimshaw

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Leaves play tag in the breeze
as cars chase green lights.
I am the only stillness
in the city this hour.

Living without permission
no need to ask, “Am I allowed?”
The leaves don’t ask to dance
down the cracked sidewalk.

I grant myself this moment
this sunlight soak before
winter darkness.

© Ali Grimshaw 2017

If Poets Ruled The World

 

If you brought poetry to your exhale

how would you breathe?

If you brought poetry to your cooking

how would it taste?

If you brought poetry to your singing

how would it sound?

If we brought poetry to the conversation

what would we hear?

Would we notice the moan of wind outside our arguments

that the water from the pipes is at a trickle, our absent neighbors

don’t stand in the front yard anymore, weeds thrive

overtaking the edible garden, while last year’s birdhouse

remains empty? A muffled fear

like cotton balls in our ears.

 

If I lived poetry

could I see the heart

underneath your skin?

 

© Alicia Grimshaw 2018

“Poetry, whether the writing itself is explicitly political or not, always seeks a better way to respond, to think, to live.” – E. Ce Miller, writer, journalist

Sharing this great quote from Moorezart