within a velvet-soft interior
with a rocking chair enhancement
humming songs of ease
murmurs of a river echoing back
pine-warmth abundance of fresh
beginnings welcoming endings
encircled by a clear frozen glaze
of quiet just rightness
overflowing contentedness
safety of the heart
© Ali Grimshaw 2025
Join a welcoming group of poets
at dVerse Poets’ Pub
for Quadrille #238- HERE
Hibernaculum – a noun for a winter shelter or place of hibernation
How lucky am I to wake this bright morning?
Safely carried through night's passage.
Like steadfast mountains often forgotten.
While dreams retreat, my feet find the floor.
Safely carried through night's passage.
Joining the color stream of these hours.
While dreams retreat, my feet find the floor.
River stones are worn smooth with time.
Joining the color stream of these hours.
Letting love's current ease my way.
River stones are worn smooth with time.
Hand in hand is our way forward.
Letting love's current ease my way.
Like steadfast mountains often forgotten.
Hand in hand is our way forward.
How lucky am I to wake this bright morning?
© Ali Grimshaw 2025
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at dVerse Poets’ Pub for Open Link Night. HERE
Photo taken during a stunning mountain hike in Montana.
2025
This calm is only an illusion
a photographic alteration
of a moment, where
leaves confetti-whirl, flutter fly, fancifully
surfing wild winds with surrender.
Smiling, I accept their invitation to frolic
following one golden riffle
then a tangerine-red
in beautiful celebration
of all things temporary.
© Ali Grimshaw 2025
Join a welcoming group of poets at dVerse Poets’ Pub.
Quadrille Monday. HERE
Photo taken on one of my many walks through Amsterdam in 2019.
“We have an inner window through which we can see the world, and though it gets cloudy in life, it’s our job to wipe it clean and see things as they really are.” – Sebastian Koch
It is the season of contemplation
a time of wanting to flee while knowing stillness is the way forward.
I am seeking windows of all sizes
expansive with weatherproof panes, outlooks rippled with time.
Views to heal my confusion between rain and questions.
A skylight to observe the assurance of passing moon.
As the headlines continue to scream, I find another window holding
steadiness of trunks wide and wise from centuries, leaves of rainshine.
Curtains of my imagination sway with a peaceful breeze.
There is another way, another view, a possibility of love yet found.
I unshutter pain to let the air in.
© Ali Grimshaw 2025
The seed of this poem came from a prompt on dVerse Poets Pub and this inspiring view from a cabin in Oregon. Every time I return to this photo it settles me.
Come join a welcoming group of poets for Open Link Night - HERE. Link a poem of your choosing.
Within the pages she is flying to another world.
Between the pages he is trying on a new character.
They are finding a way forward through angst, despair
wanting to belong.
He is reconsidering his past through their eyes.
She is listening to his reasons for forgiveness.
Living in another time and place
trying on the suits, gear or gowns.
Gently turning or furiously flipping to find the next
wonder or conclusion.
Is there a safer way to explore than within a story
laid out for your eyes to absorb
a world
that you have never seen?
To try on the life of another?
© Ali Grimshaw 2025
“I merely wish to point out that in the face of such a world you have only yourselves to rely on. You have only the decision you must make, each of you, alone. And will you contribute to the indifferent forces that ceaselessly conspire toward injustice? Or will you stand up against this endless tide and in the face of it be truly human?”
― David Guterson, Snow Falling on Cedars
This poem was inspired by a prompt from dVerse Poets Pub, and this quote from a book I loved. Come join a welcoming group of poets for Open Link Night.
This is just one of many books on the list of Most Commonly Challenged Books In the U.S. Although I read Snow Falling on Cedars many years ago, I can still remember how it touched my heart and made me think deeply.
This is a photo of a bookstore from one of my trips. Can’t remember where.
I float with the current, closing my eyes with trust
in September sky and the horizon of letting go.
While the river laps a rhythmic lullaby for my breath
to rest upon. I join this waterway that knows how
to reach the sea without a plan.
Here, birdcalls settle in my ears warmly.
Here on the water, a quieting motion
outside of what humans have named.
© Ali Grimshaw 2025
Join a welcoming group of poets at dVerse Poets’ Pub HERE.
Photo of me afloat on the Tualatin River in Oregon.
outside my window some leaves still shine deep green while others
yellow to crisp edges
like differing rooms living through seasons of this house
holding a room of restful freshness
and outdated rooms yet to be revisited with today's view
a room of gatherings present and past
decades of dents and scratches, musicians and boardgames
voices absorbed by the grain of the enduring oak table
stairs where I have fallen with my hands full
and stairs where we held hands to steady the climb upward
there is a room where floating memories lighten as dust sparkles
another where music lives among the dancing shadows
today wet paint will secret away stories of the many inhabitants
while I alone remember the layers underneath
a treasured gratitude for a life within safe walls
when the golden leaves fall this September
who might enter through my blue sky doorway?
© Ali Grimshaw 2025
Join a welcoming group of poets at dVerse Poets’ Pub HERE. This prompt was inspired by Albert Garcia’s poem “August Morning,”
This is not my house, but a blue door I photographed in France in 2019.
My house does have a blue door.
She arrived alone.
An ocean away from her homeland
heart strong, with eagerness of empty hands.
Her name was Gunda
from the land of the Vikings
after legendary women of indomitable spirit.
What ways of living did she hold close
while settling in season after season
birthing babies her mother would never meet?
Did she ever regret leaving the nest
for this new unknown tree, after
she arrived alone?
© Ali Grimshaw 2025
This poem is in honor of my great-grandmother who came, by herself, to the U.S. from Norway when she was 18 years old. I don't know much about her but writing this made me curious and now I have fallen down a rabbit hole of websites to learn more.
The photo is a mural from Hillsboro, Oregon.
Join us at dVerse Poets' Pub
write a cherita, HERE.
and if
and if she had not become
quite so tame
what trees might she be at the top of now?
how many times has her heartvoice been drowned out
by training wheels and forced rewrites of others?
it is never too late to nourish, curve toward the sun
she is a flower like all flowers
her wildness knows how to bloom
without advice
© Ali Grimshaw 2025
Sitting with a bowl of fresh picked blueberries, I pop a handful in my mouth. Holding their sweetness, closing my eyes to absorb the flavor. I have waited months for this taste and will not take it for granted. This small celebratory act seems like the perfect way to honor Andrea Gibson whose words always reminded me to be present to the gifts of being alive. Tears fall for the loss of this poet today; mine, and many, many others. Andrea is someone I have never met and someone who changed me. How beautifully unimaginable to have lost someone so dear after only knowing them from their poems that offered a rope of connection, courage to live heart wide open, inspiration to keep going. I will cherish my small bowl of blue magic in honor of all the words Andrea put into the world.
soar on dear poet
I will keep adding stretch marks to my heart
fly free
© Ali Grimshaw 2025
Read A List of Things I Love by Andrea Gibson
flashlight batteries - Ali Grimshaw 