I am resharing this poem today in honor of National Relaxation Day. One long slow breath. Try it out.
Between each breath
one, maybe two seconds at most,
a tiny space of nothingness.
My passport can’t get me there.
Driving faster, running harder,
multitasking while eating lunch
working later, doing more…
no closer to my destination.
“Where would you like to travel to?” they ask.
someplace between
inhale
and exhale.
© Ali Grimshaw
What is the point of this adrenaline
if not to catch a falling baby,
escape from a lion or revive a drowning man?
Where can all of this feeling go? I want a place for it.
A drawer, a box, a shelf, a treasure chest, the trunk of a car
maybe an large envelope to mail it far away.
Away from me. Where I am not the one.
Draw another name from the hat, surely she is stronger.
How am I to hold this prickling, burning weight,
vibrational surge, flaming fingertips?
Pressure builds until this little teapot
blows her steam.
© Alicia Grimshaw 2017
Never adrift
always within arm’s length
inseparable as far back
as memory will reach,
weathered worn wise
with fantasies of
chain breaking
to float free.
knocked down
like a tree after a storm
my trunk horizontal
broken limbs at odd angles
body left with jagged holes exposed
pieces scattered near and far down the lane
some parts even seem to have disappeared
now I think I understand how humpty dumpty felt
there isn’t a way to put the pieces back together
it is time to start again
look for fertile soil
plant myself where sunlight will reach me.
© Alicia Grimshaw 2017
“In spite of the flames of tragedy, a poem is a glowing ember, making visible the power of hope, and the human spirit. We must not only read and watch, we are called by the poet to bring the flame back to the ember, to do what we can to help people not only to survive, but to thrive.” – Why Poetry Matters from Huffington Post
Something other than sleep
more like jumping into water of coolness.
Not dreamland, but renewal of returning,
more like the thrill of meeting someone new,
in the skin of an old friend.
Diversion from daily tunnels of thought.
When was the last time your bare feet felt
the smooth tile of the lobby?
The feel of breath leaving your body
an elevator going down
a return to the ground floor.
An entrance to rest.
© Alicia Grimshaw 2017
Photo from Pixabay
© Ali Grimshaw 2017
When the last leaf has fallen,
and I am left on my own,
my sorrow will have no company.
You took the colors with you.
You took the colors with you,
my questions left alone in the air.
Bleached silence, no reply.
I gave away too much again,
White walls with no solutions,
an empty palette in my hands.
© Ali Grimshaw
After I posted the above poem printed in red. The Original Phoenix asked me this question, “How do you find the new colors?” What a wonderful question to consider. Today I dedicate this expanded poem to her for inspiring me to dig deeper and bring the rest to life. Although I still didn’t answer her question, I continue to ponder it. Thank you! Check out her blog, CONFESSIONS OF A REBORN GIRL. Never underestimate the power of offering feedback. We all need each other.
Before the first wobbly
arms outstretched,
slightly unbalanced step,
the last step already exists.
Trip, fall, hill sliding imbalance
scarred knees, bandaged palms
concussions to consciousness,
where the living happens
white knuckles clutch to collapse
navigate with your internal compass
peel your fingers from cold metal
stray from the railing.
© Ali Grimshaw
In this coming year, 2017, I plan to be braver, to make my own new path and trust in the journey of contribution to others. I hope this poem inspires you to believe in new possibilities for yourself. I have a ready ear for anyone who wants to share their new path into 2017.
Title inspired by an article posted on bboxproductionsblog – Thank you!
flashlight batteries - Ali Grimshaw 