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
I wrote across
and down the page
sometimes diagonal doodles
to break through lines
that I refused, not willing
to be penned in.
Editing bled and tore through
to pages underneath.
Grateful for a thick tablet
layers of mistakes on the way to golden
this party called life, waking up
to attend, embrace the tousled mess
tumbles, triumph, trembles of love
that live outside of words.
The minutes are not guaranteed
savor this very one.
© Ali Grimshaw 2018
Each year I celebrate getting to live another year by writing a birthday poem. I hope this inspires you to author your life. What story are you writing this year? These bloggers have inspired my next chapter; Debbie at Forgiving Connects , Colleen at The Chatter Blog, Val at Find Your Middle Ground, Miriam at Out an’ About, and Brad at Writing To Freedom
Here is the link to last year’s birthday poem 365 Pages.
May love touch your day.
Ali
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
The voice of a poem can pull your feet from the muck and this one did so for me this morning. Therefore, I am sharing it forward with the hope that it free your feet as well. It comes from SINGING HEART POEMS, STORIES & MUSINGS BY KAREM BARRATT
ON A SPACE CALLED LAND
And so it happens that we are all walkers:
Runners, joggers, skippers;
Trail blazers, some of us.
Path finders.
And that is the answer of the ages.
Of the “who am I” and “what am I doing here.”
We are machete wielders, creating
The path unique to ourselves,
To our laughter and our tears.
We are charterers of the unknown
Jungles that our lives are, similar
To many, yet different in every sense.
We do not travel the road less travelled:
We create the way.
We build the bridge, draw the maps,
Write the memoirs that the
Next generation will forget or
Misunderstand, because I am not
You, nor you I, and my yellow
Brick road is blondish, buttery white,
Whilst yours is coppery gold.
And so, like the Spanish poet
Said, dear walker, there is no road.
The road is rendered by your feet when
You start your walk.
And that is life. And who you are.
A walker of dreams on a space called land.
By K. Barratt
she wished to glue
leaves of color back onto the limbs
unprepared for season’s shift
then her dormant suitcase looked up
with eyes of grace, a reminder
of past orbits around the sun.
© Ali Grimshaw 2018
if I could hand out
flying with clouds, beyond pain,
relief your eyes seek
© Alicia Grimshaw 2018
In the dark kitchen while all lay asleep
I stood shorter than the countertop
determined to throw away my blanket of comfort
self worn to soft holding of me.
The mouth of the garbage can
that lived under the sink
hungry for layers of softness
swallowed them down easily.
My four year old self threw away weakness
like an explorer sailing to uncharted seas
I declared myself ready for the mystery of the grown up.
Without need for a fall back into security
how sure I was of my power to leave the shore
of my dearly loved comfort layer.
Where did the urgency come from
to stop leaning
depending on
go it alone without reliance?
Years later in my cold bed determined and proud
still I wonder why I needed to prove my toughness
hurry away from childhood.
© Alicia Grimshaw 2018
hate screams black in fear, with intent
to turn listener to stone or distraction
what you think is the opposition
dressed in defenses worn comfortably
is only, just another
scared, eyes-wide and searching
no different than the face in
your bathroom mirror each morning
© Alicia Grimshaw 2018
I will sing you comfort when your voice forgets the notes.
I will sing you a clearing to feel the warmth on your back.
I will sing you courage for days when you need to hear the music again.
I will sit in silence listening to your song
when you have forgotten it exists.
© Alicia Grimshaw 2018
It went around her neck, a symbol smooth of warmth
concise clarity, just enough weight to feel the ground
hold onto when her confidence didn’t show up for work.
It replaced her doubts packaged with strings of anxiety
long ago shipped on away. Her essential purpose
written to last, needed all of the available room.
The chain lay lightly on her chest, polished by her daily reaching.
She was never without it, the promise made for small faces
their eyes questions from a future she would never see.
© Alicia Grimshaw 2018
flashlight batteries - Ali Grimshaw 