Tag Archives: flashlight batteries

Every Drop Counts

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In my studio, I’m immersed in the writer’s circle I discovered during the initial COVID lockdown. This group emerged as a beacon in the solitude, connecting me to a world beyond the confines where my husband, C.C., along with Beaumont the Sheepadoodle, and I huddled for safety against an unseen virus stalking the globe.

Three years on, the lockdowns have faded, but our circle endures. Despite occasional absences, like one poet last night, our bond remains unbroken. This circle is a treasure, a sacred time for writing. Sparked by the poems our circle priestess, Ali Grimshaw, of Flashlight Batteries shares, I welcome its invitation to simply let the words flow, effortlessly, without judgement or caveats or hesitation.

Last night, Ali introduced a poem by Kim Stafford, former Oregon state Poet Laureate. I’ve long admired Stafford’s profound and mystic style, reminiscent of the mystery of the cypress forests and exquisite beauty of his native Pacific Northwest. His words, both lyrical and relatable, woven with natural imagery and rich with personal and communal narratives, offer solace and a reminder of our interconnectedness.

The poem, “Advice from a Raindrop,” struck a chord. In it, Stafford writes:

Think you’re doomed to disappear,
just one small voice among millions?
That’s no weakness, trust me. That’s
your wild card, your trick, your
implement. They won’t see you coming

These lines fueled my free-fall writing, igniting thoughts about being more than just a drop in the ocean.

Every Drop Counts
by Louise Gallagher

Do you think
there are so many drops
in the ocean
swelling
into a wave
pummelling against the shore
that your drop will not be missed?

Think again my friend.

Your drop is felt
in the difference your bring to life
when you stop falling
into the belief
your drop doesn’t count.

No one can count the drops
of water in the ocean,
but every drop counts
to make the tide 

Ebb and flow. Ebb and flow.

My friend.
You are the drop. You
are the wave
of the ocean
swelling
and pummelling
against the shore.

Ebb and flow, Ebb and flow

My friend.
Every drop matters
your drop no more
no less.

May you know today, and everyday, the uniqueness of the difference you make in this world is needed, wanted and very precious. As are you. ❤

From The Poetry Circle

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We gathered, four of the six women who form the nucleus of this circle, a sacred bond birthed in the tentative days of lockdown. Ali Grimshaw, the poetic voice behind the blog, Flashlight Batteries, has been our unwavering compass, mentor, muse, and cherished confidante throughout these three transformative years of gathering, listening, writing, and sharing.

We hail from across North America. Me, the lone Canadian, in Alberta, the others scattered between Washington State and Alabama. In the quiet moments when one or two are absent, their absence echoes within the circle, a subtle but palpable void. Yet, even in our incompleteness, the muse unfailingly graces us with her nimble wordplay.

Last night, I reveled in the company of my fellow poetry voyagers, letting the words flow like a river unburdened by dams. Together, we wove the tapestry of our verses, sharing the stories that had been etched onto our pages.

Hand in motion, ink streaming, the pen glided across the page as if orchestrated by an invisible poetic symphony, a melody only discernible to my subconscious.

It was an experience, divinely restorative, freeing the spirit from its earthly confines, and fulfilling the soul’s deepest longing.

To those who feel the call of these poetic moments, if your heart yearns to connect its lyrical embrace with other poetic souls dancing, the invitation is open, it’s as delicate as the whisper of a muse’s sigh inviting you to release the words and let the words flow: If the call of poetry beckons to your soul, send me an email, and together, we shall weave verse into the tapestry of our lives.

The List That Will Never Be Written
by Louise Gallagher

There will never be a complete list
of all the moments and places
that have consumed my breath
with awe
just as there will never be
an ending
to love
or the illusion of the moon 
rising 
at dusk
or the life-giving cry
a newborn makes
upon leaving
the safety of the womb.

Why should there be?

In the capturing of every tiny moment
Awe escapes
leaving behind only the cold hard facts
of a life lived
without witness to 
the beauty
of a sunrise stealing
its breath away.

There will never be a complete list
of all the moments and places
that have consumed my breath
as long as I take notice
of the awe
that steals my breath away.

The Writing Circle

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For a long while, every third Thursday evening when the poetry circle I belonged to met, I couldn’t make it. I had a board meeting that interferred with the circle’s timing.

Last night, for the first time in months, I made it.

There is something magical when a group of six women meet, even in a virtual room, to share — stories of life, their joys and struggles, their thoughts and feelings, their words and heart.

The creator of this circle is a gentle-hearted woman named Ali of the Flashlight Batteries blog. I met her online during the beginning days of COVID when she was first beginning to convene her writing circles. Her welcoming spirit and intuitive ways created a warm and inviting space to come, sit awhile, listen, write, share if desired, and to be present to the wonder of the muse expressing herself through each of her acolyte’s tender, and sometimes tentative, words.

I could only stay for the first hour of the circle last night. That hour fuelled my courage and energy repositories leading me to write a poem as a companion piece to one of the poems we read last night.

For those who would like to explore their creative expressions through poetry, or to simply gather in a warm and welcoming space where the invitation to create is so wide open you cannot but enter its field of possibility, do check out Ali’s online writing circles — or just her blog. She is always full of wisdom, delight and inspiration.

My two poems from last night – the first one is written to the prompt of Mary Oliver’s poem, Don’t Hesitate – the last line of which is “Joy is not made to be a crumb.”

The prompt for the second poem I’m sharing was the poem, A Note ~ by Wislawa Szymborska

The Many Ways to Walk Amongst the Trees
©2023 Louise Gallagher

Life has a way
of filling my thoughts
with the certaintude that there is
only one way
to walk amongst the trees
shadowed by their canopy
of leaves hiding the sky
with its infinite possibilities
to explore
the many ways to walk
forest trails,
forward
backward
slowly
fast
eyes open
eyes shut
skipping over pebbles
strewn like thoughts scattered
by life’s unexpected happenings
that arrive,
unbidden, 
unwelcome
in my calendar of days
full of all the things I have captured,
on the page made of trees
squandered to my need
to make order of my life
in the only way I know how
to ensure I take it
one step at a time.

Angel In A Canary Yellow Coat

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Some mornings, when Beaumont the Sheepadoodle and I head out for our first saunter, we cross paths with the woman in the bright yellow coat.

It is fluffy. Like a polar bear. Cuddly. Like Beaumont’s fur.

When our paths intersect, she always stops to say hello, though she never speaks those words.

The moment she is close enough to be heard, she blurts out some arcane fact of which I have little desire to know if it is true or not. I just like the fact she blurts out facts in the morning.

Did you know, she begins, before going on to tell me some novel thing about the moon, Tom Brady, the height of the Eiffel Tower, the flow of water in the river.

This morning, when we meet, she turns her face upwards as if to catch the tiny flakes of snow drifting down.

She puts one hand out, palm up to receive nature’s benediction and says, while staring pointedly at Beaumont, “These flakes are dog toys falling from heaven.”

Later, after we’ve parted, she to walk up the hill, me to turn into the lane leading to our house, I wonder if I heard her correctly. Did she say ‘dog’ or ‘God’?

It doesn’t matter, forwards or backwards, it is a delightful fact to savour.

I think it’s true.

Snowflakes are dog toys falling from heaven.

Like angels. Always present. Always fluttering their wings to create tiny miracles of joy in every day encounters where strangers come bearing enchanting gifts when their paths cross on snowy mornings.

And facts don’t need checking when they come wrapped up in the wonder of nature. They only need to be heard and honoured with a joyful smile of gratitude for the morning delight.

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I wrote this piece in the writer’s circle I participate in every Wednesday night. Created by the remarkable Ali Grimshaw of Flashlight Batteries, the circle is a safe and courageous place to explore word-craft, your poetic nature and our shared human condition.

Ali leads Writing Circles throughout the week. They are a wonderful oasis of beautiful souls gathering around the well of creative expression.

If you are looking for a ‘home’ to find your poetic voice, or just a place to come and rest awhile from the weary humdrum of life’s cachophony, connect with Ali and in that connection you will find yourself immersed in the wonder and awe she creates every week in her circles.

You can find out more about Ali’s online writing circles, click HERE.

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and… this is the part I forgot to include!

This post about snow is also in response to the writing prompt today ‘WINTER’ on Eugi’s Causerie –

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Your Weekly Prompt – Winter – February 4, 2021.

moonlit frosty nights

a whoosh of winter beckons

the awe of wonder

Go where the prompt leads you and publish a post on your own blog that responds to the prompt. It can be any variation of the prompt and/or image. Please keep it family friendly. Prompts close 7 days from the close of my post.

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And don’t forget…. it’s an invitation for anyone and everyone to join in — even if all you do is go and check out the links to other stories, it will be a delightful journey I’m sure!

The Poetry Hour

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Every Wednesday evening, for the past five weeks, I have gathered on Zoom with four other women and with our guide, Ali Grimshaw, poet, coach and facilitator and curator of the Flashlight Batteries blog, we have written poetry together.

I have attended many workshops and retreats and have always felt inspired by the community that is created when a group of people with a shared creative passion come together in support of one another and their craft. No matter how long the workshop, by the end I always feel like I have just participated in something rare and precious. It’s as though, in coming together, we wove the threads of our collective consciousness into a song of our human magnificence playing in harmony with life.

I always thought it was the physical space that facilitated those experiences. After five weeks in Ali’s virtual space writing with a group of women, all of whom met as strangers, I’m not so sure it has anything to do with the physicality. I think it has everything to do with the people.

We span several decades. Come from across North America (as the lone Canadian, I am the only ‘foreigner’). Have varied backgrounds and occupations, and still, in the collective space of the Zoom time we share, deep bonds of affection and admiration have been formed.

Last night, as we spent our last hour and a half together in this five week section, I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stay in that divinely special space and just breathe in the magic and wonder of the faces in front of me.

Thank you Ali for being you. Thank you for creating a safe, courageous space to write and share and be inspired. And thank you to Kelley, Chere, LilliAnn and Kayleigh for sharing your words, heart and light with such gracious care.

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I wrote both poems above during last night’s session. I created the painting with Slow Down during an online workshop I’d taken several years ago on the Divine Feminine. It was my first watercolour and collage. As I was getting to post this morning, that painting came into mind to go along with the poem. It was very serendipitous but I love how they walk hand in hand.

I took the photo accompanying My Heart Grew Weary outside our old home many years ago. I remember it was spring. The snow was melting and I had gone out in the morning with Ellie, the Wunder Pooch and saw the drops of melting snow on the fir tree’s needles. I had to capture it for beauty’s sake. I also remember being pleasantly surprised by my phone’s ability to take such a photo!