Painted leaves sing in unison
Unlike music, their song
is soundless harmony.
This orchestra of color
soothes the tempo
an internal pounding
from a day of instruments
that refused to play
the same song.
Fall catches me
with muted volume
a serenade of equilibrium.
© Alicia Grimshaw 2018
It is a continual process to unweave
that which is truth from story. I pull
a thread, remove one line, observe how
the fabric changes, notice the new spaces
breathing between essential threads
that remain, a skeleton of existence
until extracting the unneeded
leaves what is left, sparsely resilient
penetrable light of a future once blocked
by memories tightly woven.
© Alicia Grimshaw 2018
Rain on our lips
down the path we run.
Through puddles
not around.
Mud and moss
wind whipped hair
years of words
between breaths of air.
Over roots, between trees
creek waters roll by, unraveling
questions quenched by the miles.
Thoughts uttered within the flow
of movement, vulnerability
not possible in stillness.
Ali Grimshaw – revision of a poem first shared in 2016
rusted rails, a cage to keep others out
no second chances, a cost too great
alone in the elements, hardened by hurt
not the last turn
just a mistaken dead end sign
wonder yourself free, between the bars
look up, before you lies a light of awe
to melt your heart free.
One step to the right
not a stretch, just a nudge
shift of weight to the side.
One step away
between worry and wonder
landscape of exhaustion
or possibility.
Not a marathon, nothing to train for,
just one
small
step.
Get your shoes on.
wonder is waiting.
© Ali Grimshaw 2018
Photo credit to Pixabay.com
Thinking in reverse
months tip, like dominos
to revisit that summer day.
Longing for this cleansing pool,
offering of chilled calmness
encircled by stone, here I joined
the river of slow movement,
pulling at my rapid pulse.
Plucking the notes ever slower.
Heartbeat dissolving
until I was
just being
water.
© Ali Grimshaw
He made the plain and simple
a view of miraculous. With just
a touch. All became encased overnight
by a spell of magic.
A landscape of tiny glass castles.
Her damp feet, nourished soul
left her with a wondering, as if
it almost never happened.
Had winter sun
melted her glass slippers away?
© Ali Grimshaw 2017
