a gathering of cells multiplying magnificent a seed inside breathing being and no one even knew that you had begun arriving, small magic happening inside the womb she went about her day hanging laundry in her quiet way while the message of you grew © Ali Grimshaw 2021 An early Mother's Day poem. Quadrille Monday on dVerse
up to me fitting in is not required. it’s not even necessary. how could any of us fit a mold that is not ours? who made the mold anyway? why did I never question this generational imperative to be someone or something I was not ever intended to be – or become? I question it now. I release it now – today. I free myself to be… me. all that I am, and all I can be is up to me. By Carrie Cannady April 2021 You can find more of Carrie's poems and reflective wisdom here at Leadourlives.net
I am grateful for Carrie’s permission to share her poem from the writing circle. I continue to meet amazing women across different time zones. Writing together provides a mirror for us to process life in a place where we have all agreed to listen with compassion. Come join us for a writing circle. Tickets are by donation.
Now as I remove it, I lay it down. It leans back on the bed relaxing into a stretch my stiff body is unable to replicate. It has protected me from the virus all day and expects to have some time off. I breathe in, stretch, and begin to wonder how many words it has caught in the past few months? Words I thought to express but didn't. I hesitate often with thought, with care for myself and others. I don't speak as quickly as I used to. It is not for lack of valuing my voice. It is that the past months have shifted me. In the last year I have wondered more than ever how my words will be heard and where they might land. Looking down now. I realize how often I redirected sentences into my mask instead of sending them. I see so many captured. There are layers of phrases. More than yesterday. Some scribbled from speaking to myself, some barely readable as they were spoken in a whisper under my breath. They are massed together. Jumbled softly in the woven fabric, an unusual relic. Is it worth saving? Is it worth deciphering these undelivered words? What could I learn if I used a magnifying glass to dig backward? revisit the past there is wisdom in Spring rain see today's blossoms © Ali Grimshaw 2021 Napowrimo 2021 Join us on dVerse for Haibun Monday
I am honored to have several poems included in the first anthology produced by The Short of It. These pages contain the remarkable work of forty-one unique poets and writers in a variety of forms and styles. They are astute observations about living, emotions, and our world.
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please in consideration of what won't be created, written or healed where we will work, play and give who won't be fed, sheltered, or freed who won't be loved what won't happen if we don't unless we are at least a bit bothered today © Ali Grimshaw 2021 Come share your Quadrille on dVerse - HERE Napowrimo 2021
Poetry has arms to reach beyond borders stretch across isles swim channels of shame while handing our fresh hankies for tears of lost love Poetry has arms to hold, comfort, and allow for all to be felt the sharp, the cut wide open with acceptance Poetry pushes no one away All are welcome through this doorway © Ali Grimshaw 2021 Come write with us. Self-Compassion Through Poetry: Writing Circle Fri, May 7, 2021 10:00 - 11:30 AM PDT Click HERE for more information Let me hold space for your voice. Join a wonderful community of poets for dVerse Open Link Night - HERE
When I grow up I want to be a river a flow of ease clear and welcoming reflecting forest green. I want to feel the slide and shine over pebbles smooth and freely wandering down the mountainside no obstacles only friends. © Ali Grimshaw 2021 Day 12 of Na/GloPoWriMo. I went rouge with my urge for freedom and didn't follow the prompt.
you believe that saying the right thing will dissolve the pain, that you should know how to ascend the sunken afloat in powerlessness without the words to reach the aggrieved restore their hearts to harmony don’t be swallowed by your lacking the right words never have been what the grieving seek sufficient is whole face listening eyes intent to bridge being ears strong enough to hear without changing the subject and you can do that anyone can make that choice First published on VITA BREVIS PRESS 2018 For those are are grieving today. I send this to you with love.
walking through fields of bright questions I pick whys and hows, bloom gold awes for consideration wonderment training © Ali Grimshaw 2021 A shadorma (a six-line, 26-syllable poem or stanza) for National Poetry/Global Poetry Writing Month - Day 7. Visit this site for prompts all month long, napowrimo Join me for my next writing circle. Self-Compassion Through Poetry: Writing Circle Tuesday, April 20, 11:30 AM to 1:00 PM (PDT) Register here Photo taken in Munich, Germany 2019.
these blooms like candy cotton appetizing limbs of pink deliciousness always have been reliable unique for sugar coating the sadness of a regular day living blossoms I reach for true in their offering of layered light for satisfying the crave of weightlessness the yearning for lift Perhaps with forgiveness. Maybe with increased observation their magic will prevail. My scavenger hunt continues. © Ali Grimshaw 2021 Day 5 of National Poetry Click HERE for daily prompts Global Poetry Writing Month Today's challenge - to find a poem, and then write a new poem that has the shape of the original, and in which every line starts with the first letter of the corresponding line in the original poem. I chose Wet Spring as my jumping off place. This was a stretch that led to a wonderful escape. Wet Spring The practical castle is cold. All around it the world is a stream bed. A few well-placed openings under the windows let rain weep back outward. The rain is string for wrapping a package no one knows the inside of, they just keep trying to mail it. Perhaps it is licorice. Perhaps it is kindness. The package so large even wetness becomes an umbrella. by Jane Hirshfield