I stumbled upon this tree and she had much to share "I'm twisted and far from upright but that won't stop me from blue sky mornings, feeling the sun warm each layer of my thick skin muffling me from the critics of all things that don't look quite straight. Let the rain drip down your skin. What? You say you haven't stood naked in the rain? You haven't lived until you've felt singular drops land cool one, then another to awaken aliveness once lost to you. Stick with me kid. There's no reason to return to the city. Let me see your Tree Pose. Beautiful! Welcome to the grove." ©Ali Grimshaw 2022 For day 13 of Na/GloPoWriMo. Everything is going to be amazing. Join us for dVerse Poets' Pub Open LInk Night - HERE Photo taken in the desert outside of Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. What a magical experience to meet this grandmother tree.
soft giggles like crumbs of encouragement warm murmurs like holding a shaking hand pillows of intention there to catch you if, just if. ©Ali Grimshaw 2022 None of us knows what tomorrow will bring. Yet, I do know that I can choose love and I will. dVerse – Open Link Night #311
I built a bridge to you using marshmallows and glue It was worth the sticky effort then it melted in the rain. I threw a magic ruby rope woven with sparkles of hope singing enchantments to call you closer. I dug a river of blue inviting a float on my skin to pull you within but you preferred to fly. I nested a home for myself cocooned through my pain. With a change in the winds on a zephyr you rode in. © Ali Grimshaw 2022 dVerse Open LInk Night #307 - Join in HERE Photo take at the fantastic Chihuly Garden last summer when I was still traveling.
Do birds tweet tips to build the ultimate nest the perfect moss, twigs and feathers, compare upgrades while glancing at neighboring trees? Are their morning songs full of howtos improvements for the hatching experience which worms provide ultimate first year growth? Do they evaluate whose chick flies first beak prodding, edging young to the side of the nest? Do whales train for the record breaking swim gossip about sleek oils to reduce resistance, or share tips for secret feeding grounds? Do they nose their young to be better, faster, more than the last generation in hope of survival? Do they feel the temperature change of homeland waters and wonder? What does it mean to live up to your full potential? Who decides what that looks like while growing inside a cage of culture we have been born into? More is better or not, faster? Further? More fragile? What says the wisdom of each being? When have I last heard my beating heart? © Ali Grimshaw 2021 Join us at dVerse Open LInk Night - HERE
Stages and ages of crimson edges
crisp rounds, centers of golden.
Veins will remain long after the delicate
sections have disassembled themselves
to join the soil for another cycle.
These elders don't fight seasonal changes.
Through the quiet and loud
or bend and wave of storm
they receive while sheltering seedings below
forever willing to show their nakeness
in the darkest of times.
With empty arms
while full of life within.
Their offerings a mosaic
of temorary color.
© Ali Grimshaw 2021
Join us on dVerse Poet's Pub for Open Link Night - HERE
As the virus careens spinning down our long road. The dust has yet to settle from the wheels. Slow motion particles fall as we sift silently through glittered remembering. Was that last month or yesterday? As I am here reaching you are there still only through airwaves and yet I hear your love. © Ali Grimshaw 2021 Join us at dVerse Poets' Pub for Open Link Night HERE
"Remember your dance? The young girl inside me calls out, "Remember?" Dad told me how, as a baby, I sat on the floor rocking side to side, just smiling. Later I was known to start the day with only one shoe my frustrated mother shaking her head while the school bus left me behind again. I was a girl who thrived climbing trees, running through woods I wasn't hyperactive, just a mover. Running brought temporary relief. The only dancing I knew growing up drill teams of painted girls, performance dancers that wasn't me. Finding social dancing in my 20's was like a drug. Swinging partners in dancehalls escaping thoughts I didn't know how to turn off. Anxiety, the never ending loop of ideas. I found myself in the music. I floated free. It is never too late to turn the music on find your sway, sashay surrender to internal movement Your body has not forgotten. Your brain has many incredible ideas but your heart is the one who knows how to dance with the world. Listen inward find the place where your freedom resides. © Ali Grimshaw 2021
“When Gillian was 8 years old, her hyperactivity — which earned her the nickname Wriggle-Bottom — led her mother to take her to a family doctor. While he examined Gillian, the doctor put on some music and asked Mrs. Pyrke to leave the room with him. “Out they went and the minute they had gone I started to dance to the music, even going up on his desk,” Ms. Lynne wrote in her autobiography, “A Dancer in Wartime” (2012). “What I hadn’t noticed was that his door was one of those beautiful old glass ones with etched designs through which the doctor and my mother were watching.” As they observed Gillian dancing with abandon, she recalled, the doctor said: “There is no trouble with this child, Mrs. Pyrke. She is a natural dancer — you must take her to dance class.” – Gillian Lynne, Choreographer of ‘Cats,’ Is Dead at 92 from The New York Times
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at either end of night there is an opening to light between, "Good Morning" and the next curtaining of eyes there is an opening between what remains on the list the permanently written yet unresolved and the one who holds the pen there is an opening without a defined doorway that resides within all light a heartspace without walls it lies in the pause before the next twilight of the in between rubythroat mellowing to nectarine ©Ali Grimshaw 2021 Join us on dVerse for Open Link Night HERE
Your error is forgetting that you also began as a seed. The starfish that loses an arm still thrives brightly seaward. The coyote howls, then listens through darkness to return to his pack. The angel oak's reach is far and long regardless of scarred branches. Can you see the lacework between the living? Each reaching out tied in small knots is also a receiving. © Ali Grimshaw 2021 Join a welcoming community of poets for OPEN LINK NIGHT at dVerse Poets Pub HERE
Thinly sliced sections of her heart carefully laid bare an inner dissection to find the magnificence of awe that is her heartwisdom. Following faded peak moments mindfully mapped on her skin. Elevations reached, views of reckoning and contours fallen from while yearning led to an evolution of her topography. She continues to traverse past valleys while climbing toward her next becoming still a proposed expedition. © Alicia Grimshaw Rewrite from 2019 dVerse Open Link Night - Join the fun HERE Join me for a writing circle Let me hold space for your voice to appear on the page. Self-Compassion Through Poetry: Writing Circle, Friday, June 25, 10:00 – 11:30 am PDT Register here