you beside, never
behind, together we face
forward fearlessly.
© Alicia Grimshaw 2018
Senryu
Uncategorized
Growth Spurt
In the dark kitchen while all lay asleep
I stood shorter than the countertop
determined to throw away my blanket of comfort
self worn to soft holding of me.
The mouth of the garbage can
that lived under the sink
hungry for layers of softness
swallowed them down easily.
My four year old self threw away weakness
like an explorer sailing to uncharted seas
I declared myself ready for the mystery of the grown up.
Without need for a fall back into security
how sure I was of my power to leave the shore
of my dearly loved comfort layer.
Where did the urgency come from
to stop leaning
depending on
go it alone without reliance?
Years later in my cold bed determined and proud
still I wonder why I needed to prove my toughness
hurry away from childhood.
© Alicia Grimshaw 2018
As the clouds roll by…
National Relaxation Day
Comment-a-Haiku Poetry Competition! – Submit Your Poem
What a wonderful activity for Sunday night. I really soaked in these haikus and the community reflecting upon them. With the hope for all living things on our planet being cherished, here is my entry.
a revolving home
with contrast of lives who wake
under the same sky
Thanks Vita Brevis for bringing us together through poetry.
The Answers
My poem, The Answers, is up on The Drabble today. It is a reflection from young adulthood and the power of finding your own answers. I am grateful to have my voice shared on another site. The Drabble is a favorite of my mine.
By Ali Grimshaw
They call me adult.
I have learned to apologize, drive a car
mastered spell check to avoid embarrassment.
Yet my days of fevered creation
and re-imagining myself, remain inadequate.
Knowing I know less with each ring of curiosity around my trunk.
Like paint peeling off an old house I am more than one color.
I live as a revolving door to exit and enter,
each time with a different view.
Growing up I believed adults lived in sureness.
Shocked disappointment crashed down
when the truth broke through
with no answers in its hands for me.
Why didn’t mom tell me?
I used to hold his hand – poem by Ali Grimshaw
Your separation started with a small knot, then the winding began. Strings of storybooks, twined through nights and days of countless fresh starts, repeating circles. The looping of stories wound through our shared days. Up and down on the life school rollercoaster, back when I used to hold your hand. Our faces in the wind a side by side scream of surprise moments you reached out, adding to yourself adding another layer of becoming. While some saw mangled routes and loose ends I envied your brave expanding, overlapping leaps of curiosity to solidify your center. Now you roll down new streets with layers of perseverance over boyish charm a masterpiece touching lives I will never meet. I hope you never stop winding over that small knot, tied while I watched.
© Ali Grimshaw 2021
This poem is dedicated to my two amazing sons. I am grateful to be your mother.
The Field
Grief is unlayering
revisit your core
you are the seeds of hopeResharing this poem as a inspiration to let go for those who are in pain today. Thank you to The Drabble for choosing this poem as one of the Ten Favorite Drabbles of 2016.
By Ali Grimshaw
A crack,
followed by a breaking open.
As the walls fall,
you will no longer be contained,
held separate.
Grieve and they shall crumble,
until the last stone is still
Leaving you in a field of golden openness.
Wide and light,
No need for protection
Bare
In the warm air.
Bio: Ali Grimshaw is a poet and blogger. Her blog called flashlight batteries, https://flashlightbatteries.wordpress.com/, offers hope for those struggling in the darkness and a mirror for tough times in life.
Disgarded
many dismissed, their
misplaced judge undervalues
beauty of the worn
© Alicia Grimshaw 2018
Dandelions
This poem by Sarah Russell spoke to me. She made every word count. I believe you will find it a keeper.
Just like the dandelion, each of us has the power to define who we are regardless of the labels that others may try to stick on us.
“A weed is a flower growing in the wrong place.”
George Washington Carver
Spike-haired, brass-blonde,
they invade the bluegrass suburbs
where blades form a passive sameness
if tended as intended. They strut
across the green of everyday —
strumpets in tattered leafy skirts,
stiletto roots — bestowing downy favors
on the summer breeze.
– Sarah Russell
First published in Your Daily Poem
Photo Source
unpuzzling the enemy
hate screams black in fear, with intent
to turn listener to stone or distraction
what you think is the opposition
dressed in defenses worn comfortably
is only, just another
scared, eyes-wide and searching
no different than the face in
your bathroom mirror each morning
© Alicia Grimshaw 2018
flashlight batteries - Ali Grimshaw 