poem

I used to hold his hand – Poem by Ali Grimshaw

~ Ali Grimshaw ~ 42 Comments 
Your separation started with a small knot, 
then the winding began.

Strings of storybooks, twined through nights
and days of countless fresh starts, repeating circles.

The looping of stories wound through our shared days. Up and down 
on the life school rollercoaster, back when I used to hold your hand.

Our faces in the wind a side by side scream of surprise
moments you reached out, adding to yourself
adding another layer of becoming.

While some saw mangled routes and loose ends 
I envied your brave expanding, overlapping leaps 
of curiosity to solidify your center.

Now you roll down new streets
with layers of perseverance over boyish charm
a masterpiece touching lives I will never meet.

I hope you never stop winding over that small knot,
tied while I watched.

© Ali Grimshaw 2021

This poem is dedicated to my two amazing sons. I am grateful to be your mother.

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Poems from the Circle

~ Ali Grimshaw ~ 17 Comments 
Where to Write From

You might think that
to be a poet
you must have a 
way with words
You can keep thinking that
more room for me
You might think you 
must reach way down 
in the weeds
pulling out muddy roots
from your sodden brain
or recall in detail
places of distinction
You might think you 
must go heart searching
to find phenomenal
fodder for verse
or have personal connections
with the waves, the sun, 
the moon and the stars
There are those 
who have done that
But really you might be
content to write frilly froth
of fabled fellows
Or maybe, just maybe 
you’ll surprise yourself, 
crawl down deep like an 
a spelunking explorer
to places in yourself
you haven’t been
or yet even noticed 

By Lilli Ann Carey

I am grateful for Lilli Ann's permission to share her poem 
from a recent writing circle. Writing together provides a 
mirror for us to process life in a safe place. Each of us has
words that matter. Within the writing circle we nourish them.
Curious? Email met at coaching@aligrimshaw.com

Handwritten on March 7 -Poem By Ali Grimshaw

~ Ali Grimshaw ~ 34 Comments 
What if I wrote what could not be spoken of
words of depth, concise sentences of discomfort
and truth, looped them together with my hand
a signatured message unique, like my voice.
Left on your desk, enclosed by the folded paper,
to find tomorrow or in a haste of reorganizing,
leaving you to wonder when it arrived. 
Would you recognize the writing or disregard 
then discard it as scrap, all while maintaining
focus on achievements of a workplace that doesn't 
have time for cursive communication?

©Ali Grimshaw 2021

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Purgation – Poem By Ali Grimshaw

~ Ali Grimshaw ~ 33 Comments

“Poetry offers the world something that’s small enough to carry close to your heart, and big enough to carry all of the ordinary things that can be encompassed in any one day.” — Pádraig Ó Tuama

Purgation

shame sweeping
disinfecting disappointment
vacuuming deeply the corners
of deliberately lost memories

I open one eye, hesitant
to take a look 
then squint until
rooted in my intention

It's possible there is
no monster of madness
in the closed cupboard of the past
just dust bunnies multiplying

and the purgation continues.

©Ali Grimshaw 2021

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Appearances – Poem by Ali Grimshaw

~ Ali Grimshaw ~ 50 Comments 
I was that edge, frame frayed
threads separated whillynilly 
curving off in various directions 
nibbed and frazzle fuzzed
leading to unraveled times

with scissors, I cut loose ends
to regain control or
at least create an appearance 
of smooth evenness
but it was not an honest look

just a pretending of edged calm

© Ali Grimshaw 2021

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Check the correct box – Poem by Ali Grimshaw

~ Ali Grimshaw ~ 29 Comments 
How we name ourselves keeps us 
separate, collected or behind fences.

What if we lost all labels to the wind?
Started over with a single hello. 

Here is a new and rare being
a species my brain cannot categorize

outside of any box, never encountered 
right before my own human eyes.

How wonder would fill me
with the awe of you.

© Ali Grimshaw 2021

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Photo of mural taken in Auray, France. 2019

Sifting – Poem By Ali Grimshaw

~ Ali Grimshaw ~ 18 Comments 
Palms upward as hands face sky 
open spaces between fingers relaxing
into what has been a time of gentle 
and harsh scrubbing of the heart. 
Every inch of skin Brillo pad raw. 
An exfoliation of what has been. 
My fists, no longer clenched 
in tight survival, trust in slow unfurling.
Pain tingling as blood returns to fingertips.
Learning feet reground my trunk 
to an upright position, toes rooted 
past sand into bedrock. Freeing now
agile hands to sift through the helpful lessons 
caught in my soft palms as promises
while unneeded thoughts fall through finger spaces
to join other decomposing conversations 
of days when I didn't know listening.
Composting the no longer serviceable
into nutrients for the new words to come.

© Ali Grimshaw 2021

Rooted – Poem by Ali Grimshaw

~ Ali Grimshaw ~ 54 Comments

“Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet / confinement of your aloneness / to learn / anything or anyone / that does not bring you alive / is too small for you.” – David Whyte

tug and pull, I must

still it doesn’t fit anymore

not after this year

hundreds of breaths have past

in between arrivals and goodbyes

and I am changed

now I have new thoughts

I pull on like the wool sweater

you used to wear on your

most difficult of days.

Thoughts that have rooted

myself to you

intertwined with the me

I have yet to meet.

© Ali Grimshaw 2021

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Happy New Year!

Wishing you deep full breaths of peace.

Blindsighted – Poem by Ali Grimshaw

~ Ali Grimshaw ~ 28 Comments 
As we stand together
the ocean’s roar a comfort
lullaby of constant.

You squeeze 
my hand. I echo
the motion in return.

Reliable rolling waves,
we count on
when the world is crashing.

© Ali Grimshaw 2017