Behind, underneath yet also intertwined
with softly sounded movement of bees
yet not quite a song, of all that generates
thrives for growth beyond survival music.
These background singers of inspired hum
as I branch out toward new sky, consider
a transplant beyond my container
soil in colors my roots have never reached.
© Ali Grimshaw 2019
Photo taken Kauai, Hawaii 2018
a time to keep silence near
exhale’s companion
a sound of not needing
to hold on,
open palm invitation
to allow the next
while nestled in cocooned cotton
like snowflakes in your hair
layers of white quiet, an offering
you didn’t have to earn
© Ali Grimshaw 2019
Quadrille for d’Verse – Turn, Turn, Turn
Never had you loved anyone more
than the one in the bright red raincoat
so visible on the beach of haze.
Like a masterful painting
he drew your eyes in
a beacon of clarity
when the tide of life
got too high.
© Ali Grimshaw 2019
among fallen plaster of
disrepair, wrinkles of error
some think irredeemable
your locked layers of reasons
defenses built room by room
the unkissable past revealed
you wait for the wrecking ball
Yet I hear a heartbeat not broken
beyond salvage
your pulse sings strong.
© Ali Grimshaw (rewrite) 2019
Photo taken in Venice, Italy
Beside me, your mummers begin
repetition of words to form
a solid, something to hold on to.
As you hammer a picture in sound,
letters arrange in audible order
to hear who you are.
To speak building blocks, stack phrases
scaffold words of steel
structures to withstand tomorrow.
I am silent witness
to the rebuilding of yourself.
© Alicia Grimshaw 2019
“The most visible creators are those artists whose medium is life itself. The ones who express the inexpressible ~ without brush, hammer, clay, or guitar. They neither paint nor sculpt. Their medium is simply being. Whatever their presence touches has increased life. They see, but don’t have to draw… Because they are the artists of being alive… – Donna J. Stone
Knee deep in, “I can’t believe I said that.”
Toes numbed by the cold reality
while echoed words play inside your head.
Let the current caress errors of grime
wash away the mistaken mud of this day
to return to the raw, tender tingle.
Step out onto the bank of clean sheets
let new beginnings drip from your feet.
© Ali Grimshaw 2019
Now I sit inside heated regret
what I wish I would have said
rapid words that flew off my tongue
like butterflies leaving my mouth
beautiful at first sight, fluttering
toward you. With closer inspection
upon landing, were really illegal
firecrackers of burnt red destruction
flames that left you singed speechless
while I coughed on my smoking impulsivity.
© Ali Grimshaw 2018
Rewrite of a poem from 2017
