Snapshot

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You look but don’t see

me. Within your view

invisible to your eyes.

 

Discomfort or unconscious

choice. I cannot be a character

in the story of your world.

 

Revisit the snapshot

years later, silhouetted,

my image lives.

 

© Alicia Grimshaw 2017

Photo taken in Lucca, Italy 2016.

Photo challenge Transient

 

 

 

Dialogue

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Random thoughts collect in her hair.

Ideas shed by passers by

printed in fonts, large and small

nestled in her curls.

Within the crowd ideas conflict

like a crash of cymbals.

She swallows them all

continues to shift the molecules

search for a new formula

that makes sense.

© Alicia Grimshaw 2017

 

Windstorm

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.

© Alicia Grimshaw 2017

 

 

 

My light is shining. Thanks VerseWrights.

I am grateful to VerseWrights for sharing two more of my poems today. Follow the link to find them.  VerseWrights is a wonderful online poetry journal.  I especially enjoy listening to the PoetryAloud section. There are so many poems to listen to and it gives me a sense of comfort to connect with another’s words.

We all have gifts to share. Please keep shining your unique and essential light in the world.

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Something you can count on.

The sky

it is never not there

will not leave a note goodbye

to disappear in the night.

Serenely blue, growl of gray

watercolored clouds a tumble

dependably ever-changing, yet

never forsaking.

When the curtain goes up at sunrise

a steadfast performance

worthy of an audience.

Don’t miss the show.

No tickets necessary.

© Ali Grimshaw 2017

#Loveuary  Challenge – Celebrating today with a love poem for the sky.

You took the colors with you.

When the last leaf has fallen,

and I am left on my own,

my sorrow will have no company.

You took the colors with you.

 

You took the colors with you,

my questions left alone in the air.

Bleached silence, no reply.

 

I gave away too much again, 

White walls with no solutions,

an empty palette in my hands. 

© Ali Grimshaw

After I posted the above poem printed in red. The Original Phoenix asked me this question, “How do you find the new colors?”  What a wonderful question to consider. Today I dedicate this expanded poem to her for inspiring me to dig deeper and bring the rest to life. Although I still didn’t answer her question, I continue to ponder it. Thank you! Check out her blog, CONFESSIONS OF A REBORN GIRL.  Never underestimate the power of offering feedback.  We all need each other.

 

 

 

365 pages

Out of an infinite number of stories ending this year

how lucky am I to continue mine.

To understand, as I didn’t before

how to see the next blank page

author what is left.

To smear the words by numbing

or battle to awaken the next chapter,

an internal fight rekindled by rewrites.

Still awed by the power of dusk to soften the view

I choose to attend this party called life.

Many minutes are not guaranteed.

I savor this very one.

© Ali Grimshaw 2017

Each year I celebrate the gift of getting to live another year by writing a birthday  poem. This is my poem for 2016. I don’t have the words to clearly express the layers of learning, global connection and inspiration I found by jumping into the world of blogging this year. Thank you to WordPress for making it possible and to the many, many kind bloggers who offered support. I am honored to have a poem chosen by the Drabble as one of the top ten editor’s picks for the year. Ten of our favorite Drabbles of 2016.  I hope this inspires you to share your voice in 2017.

Discover Challenge – Retrospective

 

Bouncing Bullets

Slanderous words,

sharp and sticky abound.

Potentially murderous voices shoot out

yet ricochet off the innocent assemblage

surrounded by love, like bubble wrap.

A deadly collection of letters,

bouncing back to their owners.

While the souls remain

cloaked in truth,

“Those words aren’t us.”

No need for bulletproof vests to repel them.

Let them decay on the street

the street cleaner will dispose of them

before morning light.

© Ali Grimshaw