One step to the right
not a stretch, just a nudge
shift of weight to the side.
One step away, between
worry and what if?
Landscape of exhaustion
or a horizon of possibility.
Not a marathon, nothing to train for,
just one
small
step.
Get your shoes on.
wonder is waiting.
© Ali Grimshaw 2018
Resharing one the most liked posts from this year.
Sending the light of hope your way.
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
Thank you to Vita Brevis Poetry Magazine for publishing my poem,
What the Grieving Seek, this month. It is an honor to have my words shared on this poetry journal. Vita Brevis (life is short) aims to publish work that shows a keen awareness of not only art’s beauty and longevity but life’s toils and finiteness.
Please click on the above link to give my poem a visit.
May poetry touch your day.
Ali
They called her crazy
an attempt to freeze her with jeers
never understanding
that she chose
to avoid too much comfort.
Empathy would always
be her closest friend
arm in arm, they would
walk in sandals through
November frost.
Warmed by desire
for connection.
A step toward those
who had no shoes.
© Ali Grimshaw 2018
© Ali Grimshaw 2018
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Through the fearful thoughts, clashed conflict
of what might be, we always have a choice
to speak love, listen behind and underneath
the words of others for the common thread
that we hold. A line of connection
alive with the many lives that have held it.
Feel the yank of one who is pulled away
the space empty, thread loosely lost to hang
without warm hands to hold it.
Hands that may be the only ones
to keep us unraveling.
© Ali Grimshaw 2018
If it wasn’t for blogging I know I wouldn’t stop to write poems and writing them gives me the life I want to live. So, thank you fellow bloggers for the opportunity to reflect and connect across the oceans and to speak for peace today. We can change the world one conversation at a time. The world needs each one of us. Please keep your light on.
Join in at Blog4peace.com
You always asked me why,
how did leaves change color
giggling from the red wagon
I pulled around the block.
As the leaves parade, an early flaming row
burned into memory, your voice
is missing in the trees.
Wishing it returned
with the falling.
© Ali Grimshaw 2018
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
Spills splattered the walls.
Counters filled with clutter,
multiple piles creating a new geography in the room.
There is a relief to cleaning it all away.
Everything in order. Repair and replace.
The seduction of a new cycle, sparkling clean.
Free from marks of history.
What if we could sit with Chaos
for just a little minute?
Feel the wind in our ears.
Hearing her secrets of cleverness.
To soak in the learning of this undone space.
Before an opportunity is erased.
A past disinfected before she can author her story
from which the plot differs from
perpetual duplicating.
First published on Vita Brevis
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
flashlight batteries - Ali Grimshaw 