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.
In the unfinished
before the credits scroll past
can you choose acceptance
without an end,
before the conclusion
without approval from the crowd?
Between the ribs, within
deeply, a voice
the one you used to hear
before you thought the others
were the ones that mattered.
Knew better and overruled your soul.
Before you decided
who you weren’t going to be.
There is no hourglass
of time
in love.
It matters not,
if months or years pass,
love is beyond physical bodies
beyond boundaries.
Like a favorite song
heard from the middle of the tune.
There is no less joy to listen.
Locked away, rust resistant
“Love has no expiration date.”
© Alicia Grimshaw 2017
Photo taken in 2016 while hiking on the Cinque Terre in Italy.
© Alicia Grimshaw 2017
When you visit the land of your own thinking.
Shocked by what you see
tip toe between the lines of your history
so as not to waken them
these tales from the past
will inquire of your intentions.
Take a flashlight
when you visit your thoughts.
It can be eerily dark inside,
a tangle of paths to lose your way.
No one to question doubts
remind you of the courageous act
of responsibility taken just last week.
Step with care, lightly
as you lift, poke and dig.
Leave some music playing in the room
to find your way out.
© Alicia Grimshaw 2017
Wrap yourself in the miracle of this sunrise.
Open eyes
Open ears
Open heart
Cry for even one life that is not yet free
unable to see the sun.
A stranger arrives at the bus stop.
“How’s your morning going?”
Look into his eyes, instead of away
as he answers.
Ask him if he saw the sunrise.
© Alicia Grimshaw 2017
© Alicia Grimshaw 2017
“In spite of the flames of tragedy, a poem is a glowing ember, making visible the power of hope, and the human spirit. We must not only read and watch, we are called by the poet to bring the flame back to the ember, to do what we can to help people not only to survive, but to thrive.” – Why Poetry Matters from Huffington Post
Under the tree, sitting
knee to knee while
randomly, snow petals
drift down between us.
‘How can we begin again?
After all, I don’t trust.
I have forgotten how, or…
maybe I never knew.’
While branches above blossom yearly
growth regardless of weather.
‘I guess the question is,
how badly do I
want to blossom?’
© Alicia Grimshaw 2017
“Poetry is the journal of the sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air. Poetry is a search for syllables to shoot at the barriers of the unknown and the unknowable. Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away.” — Carl Sandburg, from The Atlantic, March 1923.
flashlight batteries - Ali Grimshaw 