knocked down
like a tree after a storm
my trunk horizontal
broken limbs at odd angles
body left with jagged holes exposed
pieces scattered near and far down the lane
some parts even seem to have disappeared
now I think I understand how humpty dumpty felt
there isn’t a way to put the pieces back together
it is time to start again
look for fertile soil
plant myself where sunlight will reach me.
In the unfinished
before the credits scroll past
can you choose acceptance
without an end,
before the conclusion
without approval from the crowd?
Between the ribs, within
deeply, a voice
the one you used to hear
before you thought the others
were the ones that mattered.
Knew better and overruled your soul.
Before you decided
who you weren’t going to be.
There is no hourglass
of time
in love.
It matters not,
if months or years pass,
love is beyond physical bodies
beyond boundaries.
Like a favorite song
heard from the middle of the tune.
There is no less joy to listen.
Locked away, rust resistant
“Love has no expiration date.”
© Alicia Grimshaw 2017
Photo taken in 2016 while hiking on the Cinque Terre in Italy.
© Alicia Grimshaw 2017
Wrap yourself in the miracle of this sunrise.
Open eyes
Open ears
Open heart
Cry for even one life that is not yet free
unable to see the sun.
A stranger arrives at the bus stop.
“How’s your morning going?”
Look into his eyes, instead of away
as he answers.
Ask him if he saw the sunrise.
© Alicia Grimshaw 2017
© Alicia Grimshaw 2017
“In spite of the flames of tragedy, a poem is a glowing ember, making visible the power of hope, and the human spirit. We must not only read and watch, we are called by the poet to bring the flame back to the ember, to do what we can to help people not only to survive, but to thrive.” – Why Poetry Matters from Huffington Post
© Alicia Grimshaw 2017
Hold in place. Unwavering as the hurricane blows. Stand still when faced with a slap. Unbreakably bolted down. Absolute. Never cringe away. Stay. Forward one small step, your time. Crawl if you must. Claim your life. Take the hand that is offered then rise again. Unwilling to be swallowed, drug into the past. Drowned. Face toward what your heart holds true. Like a mountain through the seasons, remain.
Living refusal
thoughts chosen to unify
imprisoned by none
My first attempt to write a Haibun (俳文, literally, haikai writings) a prosimetric literary form originating in Japan, combining prose and haiku. For those of you who are know this craft well, please understand this is a humble beginning.
flashlight batteries - Ali Grimshaw 