Sunlight’s Condolences

Sometimes sunlight falls on your window.

beams of warmth flood in even if undeserving.

The only needed action, opening the curtains.

My window doesn’t offer me any favors this morning.

It is my neighbor’s turn to be touched by light,

her sobs echoing through the wall, my

contentment in the weather offering up support

I don’t know how to give.

No one should be alone in grief

without warmth from another.

© Ali Grimshaw

This poem was inspired by the Pic And A Word Challenge – Windows #64

The Pic and a Word Challenge is a weekly creativity prompt offered on Sunday mornings.

 

My Leaf Man

He brings me leaves

one each day

a contrast in shape

varied vibrancy, coral to ripe peach

left on the kitchen counter

until evening arrives at our window.

Held in his palm

this single donation

color story of today

our eyes meet

the wrinkles, textured hues, imperfect edges.

Our hands hold a temporary prize between us

cherishing.

Trees give without expecting

something in return. Thankfully,

so does he.

© Ali Grimshaw 2016

May you find someone to share the beauty of nature with today. Happy Thanksgiving.

Axis Tilt

Could this be the final day

of an autumn that I thought would last?

A mellowing of red between us

once crackling emotions now dust bits

collected in a whirling dervish

carried away in the wind.

Now I am an empty street waiting

for the street light to click on.

Predictable and ever awed

by the chance

to begin again.

© Ali Grimshaw

 

 

 

 

 

Ripples

 

You have landed

in your own pond

sending out rings

your circles overlapping those of

other rocks who have taken the plunge.

I cannot see the ripples

you will make in others’ lives.

Yet, I know they exist. As I have

felt your wholeness in our embrace.

I see you time and again, resurfacing.

The shine in your eyes,

never to be the same

only brighter.

© Ali Grimshaw

Shine – Photo Challenge

 

 

 

 

 

Monster Bash – Leave Your Fear Here

 

I have many fears.  They have pushed me to the edge and stretched me beyond where I thought I would break. But I am still here and have developed a fascination with what I can learn from them. Fear can be like a monster inside of you, holding you hostage. Sharing your fear with another can take the power away from this monster. I have found that when I bring my monster into the light it is often hairy but not so scary.  This is a place for you to break free from that monster by describing your fear and leaving it behind on this page. You will never find out what this is like if you don’t take action. Start with one of your smaller monsters and leave it here.

This is also an experiment in learning from each other. What do we fear? Will our fears be similar or very different?  I am interested to see what we all have in common. Get curious about your fear and leave it behind.  A couple of sentences or a picture will do.

Please don’t comment on another’s monster. This might force them to jump from the page.

I will start the sharing with one of my fear monsters. The fear of suffocating. This monster can take my confidence away when I am occupying a small, enclosed space. Sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe. I panic. I have learned to talk myself through this and it is slowly getting easier over time.

What a perfect time of year to give your monster a place to hang out with others.  It can make friends and may end up so happy that it doesn’t come back to you and even if it does, it might not look the same to you as it did before.

Thanks for sharing. Let the Monster Bash begin.

Ali

Traversing Together

Head down, back bent,

climbing back into yourself

fear perspiring on your forehead.

Looks like you could use a lift.

Travel forward with me

I will steer for awhile.

You can coast.

I will pedal out the questions.

You can consider answers.

Life can be different

on a bicycle built for two.

© Ali Grimshaw

 

 

Below 32 Degrees

The quiet between us

like floating icebergs

tongues frostbit into stillness

is it that we have forgotten what to say

misplaced our formula to speak,

a habitual slow retreat to safety?

“What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing.”

I am uncertain how to start the

defrost cycle.

© Ali Grimshaw