At the station, the train of life only pauses
our illusion of control blankets nature’s causes.
Nights to days shift, and the engineer steers
rhythm of the planet moves through the years.
Cycle of no endings, wheels freely spin
untouchable by human error, solstice arrives again.
© Alicia Grimshaw 2018
© Alicia Grimshaw 2017
Your bones scream to rest
an anvil on your chest
no dawn comes lightly.
Invite the monster to sit with you
it gains ugliness with denial
put your arm around that which
you don’t want to hold.
© Alicia Grimshaw 2018
“When you come out of the grips of a depression there is an incredible relief, but not one you feel allowed to celebrate. Instead, the feeling of victory is replaced with anxiety that it will happen again, and with shame and vulnerability when you see how your illness affected your family, your work, everything left untouched while you struggled to survive. We come back to life thinner, paler, weaker … but as survivors. Survivors who don’t get pats on the back from coworkers who congratulate them on making it.” – Jenny Lawson’s book Furiously Happy
They stepped onto the train that day
unaware of the choice the ride included.
When the voice of hate screamed
the two stood as stone, unwilling to look away.
Unified strangers woven into a safety net
flung over the young ones
a protective cover given without request
those two hearts knew what freedom
to live without fear was worth.
The cost of standing up, as the train moved into tomorrow
was life itself.
In this morning’s memory mirror
I wonder if I would be brave enough
to ride as they did.
© Alicia Grimshaw 2018
Dedicated to the men who died a year ago in Portland, Oregon as they stood to defend two young women. My heart breaks for the loved ones of Ricky Best, father of four and US Army veteran, and Taliesan Namkai-Meche a recent college graduate. In honor of these two and the countless others who have stood up against hate please join me in acts of kindness wherever you live. Love is the only answer.
For more information read this Washington Post article, ‘Final act of bravery’: Men who were fatally stabbed trying to stop anti-Muslim rants identified
We are held
by unseen hands
family that came before
to hack through the wild
make a trail.
We are held
by their stories, mistakes
and courage. Rightness,
who is to blame
the tinted glasses we wear.
We are held
within their intentions
by the invisible imagination
of their hearts.
© Ali Grimshaw 2018
Inspired by this quote from Moorezart “We all carry, inside us, people who came before us.” ― David Mitchell, The Cloud Atlas
Photo from Pixabay
A love note to my mother. The one who lead me to the forest.
© Ali Grimshaw
“If you expect me to answer my own question, I confess that I do not know.”
They call me an adult. Yes, I have learned to make spaghetti sauce, to drive a car. I have mastered some dance steps and can write a concise email response (using spell check to avoid the embarrassments of the past.)
But what have I really learned in my days of clouds passing, night thundershake and the revisiting of another spring? Days of scarlet fever, owning mistakes and reimagining?
With another ring around my trunk, adding layers of curious, I know that I know less with passing time. Like paint peeling off an old house I am more than one color. I live as a revolving door to exit and enter, each time with a different view.
Growing up I thought adults had all the answers, lived in comfortable sureness. Shocked disappointment crashed down when the truth broke through with no answers in its hands.
Why didn’t mom tell me adulthood didn’t come with all the answers.
“She had only one explanation for this fact: things have to be transmitted this way because they were made up from the pure life, and this kind of life cannot be captured in pictures or words.”
1. Illusions by Richard Bach
2. The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho
Written for the dVerse challenge, Bridging the Gap: Select two quotes from two different books. You decide whether you want them recklessly random or slightly/significantly more intentional. Then, construct a poem using one quote as the opening line and the other as the closing line. The blood, sweat, and tears will come while filling in the space between. You may modify the quotes to fit your poem’s rhythm or rhyme scheme, but just be sure to provide the original quotes, authors, and works in a postscript.
According to her internal judge
she was never up to par,
even when crossing the finish line first
accomplishment slid off her skin. Always
gripping, holding on for acceptance.
Yet perplexed separation pained her days.
She wanted belonging
and never wanted to fit in
knew it would change her.
A part broken off to float away irretrievable.
No one else stayed after class to console the bullied teacher.
It never occurred to her not to.
She saw those faces on the fringe,
secretly knowing she was an outlier as well.
She let go of the kinship rope
not to lose herself.
© Alicia Grimshaw 2017
© Ali Grimshaw
Portugal 2017
flashlight batteries - Ali Grimshaw 