Somewhere near the produce between the oranges and tumbling peppers a song, Ed Sheeran is singing and the tears arrive, as I listen. (I don't usually cry in public but the emotion is undeniable.)
I am still as a river rock, while the shoppers flow around, struck by hearing the words I couldn't hear before. I let their message in feeling what you were trying to say. What I was unable to receive before.
I don't care that I am crying next to the bananas.
Sometimes
the light turns red before we have left the intersection
leaving our tail end vulnerable
sometimes
our brakes don’t work, spinning on black ice with
blurred windows of reaction
sometimes
we must go slowly, inching through the fog in faith
blinded by dense thoughts
sometimes
breakdowns leave us on the rainy roadside
unpacking resourcefulness
sometimes
forgiveness shows up like an invitation
an off-ramp never seen before
sometimes
we just need to stay on the road
grip and steer
This was written in 2019 and still resonates with me today. This driving metaphor definitely places me in a car-centered culture. Each of us is navigating our way through the day. Be kind and assume the best intentions of others.
Join a welcoming group of poets for Open Link Night -dVerse Poets’ Pub HERE.
I took this photo in Lisbon, Spain. Such a fun curve in the street.
She led me to the library, fed stories to my ears taught me how to keep the family blood circulating to pull my shoulders back, stand proud
she showed me laughter around the table camping in cold rain, beauty beyond lipstick the effective use of stubborn determination
she made a million meals without consideration flowered apron ready dinners with a smile Did she even enjoy cooking? I don't remember anyone asking her.
She washed clothes, replacing them in drawers a revolving door of dirty to clean just another behind the scenes devotion.
How much did we notice the way she kept the boat afloat watching for leaks while we slept.
I first learned about a dazzle of zebras on a trip to Kenya in 2023. What a great word. This poem led me down a rabbit hole to learn more about the history of collective nouns. Here is a fun article if you are curious, A Shrewdness of Apes? Collective Nouns Are a 500-Year-Old Language Fad
Join a welcoming community of poets at dVerse Poets' Pub, HERE. Tonight's challenge - write a quadrille using the word blaze.
Photo taken in Portland, Oregon on my hike of "appreciating the flowering trees" this past weekend. They remind me to love big. I hope they inspire you to reach out to someone you have been missing.
A big thank you to editor Barbara Leonhard for publishing my poem, Words For Sale. This poem considers the value of poetry and the possibilities that a poem can offer. I invite you to visit MasticadoresUsa to read the poem, enjoy the poetry of others, and share your thoughts.
Thank you to all the readers that help keep poetry alive.
Within my rooted being lies a box of green when the world becomes too loud for living I retreat to this sanctuary of survival lined with dewy moss to quench and revive.
Within my rooted being lies a box of yellow when heart is crushed by grief, weary from war I find my way to this room of sunshine warm with light to feel my pain, begin again.
Within my rooted being lies a box of clarity when my feet have forgotten the feel of freedom when my head spins in dismay I hold my heart in both hands, ask for help believing love is on the way.
flashlight batteries - Ali Grimshaw 