Buoyancy

once you were sure of steadiness
that capsizing only happened to others

then the tilting began, a slow 
deep lean to the left side of righteous

how easily the water seeped in, coldly 
chilling you from the inside out 

like the world had forgotten that you
had always been the floating kind

once you were rescued for no reason
and you never forgot that any boat can sink

when balance is lost at sea.

© Ali Grimshaw 2020

dVerse Poetry Challenge - Come Sail

Roaring – Poem by Ali Grimshaw

 

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earth cracking realization
shake and bake reformation
voice regained

shift and tumbled truths
revealed by backward binoculars
their sight once trusted for even footing

do not be surprised by my song
or the way I harness cumulonimbus clouds

I am no longer
that girl.

© Ali Grimshaw 2019

dVerse – Quadrille #94

Traveler – Poem by Ali Grimshaw

 

Enlight69

she wished to glue

leaves of color back onto the limbs

unprepared for season’s shift

then her dormant suitcase looked up

with eyes of grace, a reminder

of past orbits around the sun.

 

© Ali Grimshaw 2018

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

Orbiting

Enlight69

she wished to glue

leaves of color back onto the limbs

unprepared for season’s shift

then her dormant suitcase looked up

with eyes of grace, a reminder

of past orbits around the sun.

© Ali Grimshaw 2018

She – a poem by Ali Grimshaw

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She learned to take herself
out of her body, to separate
no longer be encased by flesh.

She learned to go, bundle her spirit
carry it out and away, above the invasion
the uninvited intolerable penetration.

She learned numbness, not to be
within her skin, to pack up her
soul and exit, just until it was over.

She learned how,
survival was her teacher.
It was the only way.

She didn’t know help
with mouth stitched closed
only endurance walked with her.

© Alicia Grimshaw 2018