Poetic Medicine - the healing art of poem making (based on a book by John Fox)

[Frank]

A lot of healing happens when the personal sense of meaning is recovered,

Our deepest meanings are held in the unconscious mind, in the language of dreams,
symbols and archetypes.

Poetry speaks this language and through poetry, we can learn the Meaning of
our hurts, illnesses, and other events of our lives which we do not understand.

When we write, read and share our poetry - a magic is created. We are not alone anymore.
Yes, there is someone else who feels what we feel, there is a bond between us.
On the deepest levels of our beings, we all share the same truths.

We can heal ourselves and others - through writing poetry.
Take off your masks - you know the ones we wear to prevent us from being hurt - the ones we wear to win approval - they are not needed here.

Here we will write poetry from the heart and soul.
There is no right way to write poetry here. Just use your 'self'

I ask those who wish to comment on the poems written here to
use this template:

Say - I love your poem. It makes me feel . . ..

Do not say - your poem is beautiful - use I statements instead "I think your poem is beautiful.
Although, it might seem that this is a trivial difference - it is not.
I statements say how you feel
"your poem is beautiful" implies a judgement - these poems are not to be judged !
They are personal statements expressing thoughts and feelings of the author.

I will delete judgement statements in order to keep this discussion safe.

I will post an exercise weekly from the Poetic Medicine book.

Love to all,
Frank

[Frank]

a warm-up exercise;

write a poem about your sacred writing space(s)

or write a poem about poetry being your spirit guide (muse or companion)

[Frank]

This is my first attempt at the sacred space exercise.

My Sacred Space and My Child

It is the cave of my inner being
so it is not cold and damp there,
there is not a creepy feel to this place,
it is just dark and empty.

There is a law in this universe,
that says there must be a place,
a space for something new to come to,
in order to be born here.

So it is that my sacred space, the
cave of my inner being is nearly
perpetually empty - it must be this
way for me to create.

When I do make something happen
here, like some idea getting words
formed around it (a poem perhaps ?),
I become its mother - I am its parent.

As a parent, I know this idea is not
me or an extention of me but a being
in its own right, living in this world,
making its own way -

it is something that has used me,
my sacred space, my willingness
to manifest it, my belief in it,
to come alive. It is my child and I am proud of it.

[Ang Monsoon]

I particularly liked the last sentence: "It is my child and I am proud of it." I felt "touched" by that. I get what you're saying. In the dark cave you have shined a torch which has enlightened me about the "spirituality" and the "truth" of the poems that come to us. I see what you mean about how fundamental our faith in this process must be ("my belief in it"). I feel "released" by your comments about judgement. CCS was already leading me in this direction. This is the only poem I'm interested in writing, if they come, they're a gift. I don't think of myself as a "poet", just someone whose lucky enough to experience the writing of a poem occasionally.

[Barbara Ann Storrier]

I sometimes see a prompt on CCS that just gets me typing and before I know it, a poem comes out! I've written stories during school ... and I've always loved song lyrics, but writing poetry didn't ever grab me until I joined CCS! I enjoy reading it much more now, too.

[Ang Monsoon]

It must be great to be able to write song lyrics, unfortunately I can't even sing in tune!

[Ang Monsoon]

I think this is a great suggestion Frank. I haven't, at present, got a sacred writing space or feel able to write the second poem....I'll give it some thought over the coming weeks....and respond once ready...

[Ang Monsoon]

I take back what I said, why wait weeks when you've inspired me now!

GIFTS (POEM/SPIRIT GUIDE)

For me a poem is a silhouette of an owl in a tree.
A dream defined.
For me a poem is a hand-rope in the darkness.
Hope made manifest.
For me a poem is turning a corner and finding a lake.
A revelation.
For me a poem is like tapping into a rubber tree.
I'm a conduit.
Poems are stones given up by the sea.


MY SACRED WRITING PLACE

My sacred writing place hasn't changed over the years.
It's still a saturday afternoon.
I hide away and can hear traffic far off and dogs barking occasionally.
Noone can disturb me, time has stopped.

But, at the moment, I have a sacred writing chair.
It's a red leather chair.
It used to be Graham's chair, and it used to be on a pedestal.

Graham gave it to Ian.
When I met Ian, Michelle spun me around on it, saying:
"You do love him, dontcha? dontcha?"

Then the kids came along, and they spun the red chair too.
The chair came off the pedestal.
Eventually, we had a new sofa and chairs,
So the red chair got stuck in a corner.

I thought it should go in a skip, but I could see that Ian didn't want that to happen.
Then my daughter said she wanted it,
So the red chair became her reading chair, crammed with cushions and teddy bears.

Then she went off pink and we painted the walls primary colours,
and the (maroon) red chair got shoved in my bedroom.
I was back to the skip solution, 'cos we never did get it fixed.

As I said, my sacred writing place isn't one particular place,
it's a saturday afternoon, with traffic and dogs barking far off.
But, at the moment, pending a decision, it happens to be a red chair,
A broken red chair.

[Frank]

Angie - reading your poems has inspired me.

They resonated within me - I feel a love of poetry from your first poem.
I feel a sense of sitting in an old familiar place, a place of warm memories from the second poem. I like your description of your writing space (chair).


Poet Tree

Sitting, I should be sitting
but it is May and the ground is
wet with yesterday's weather
and to tell the honest truth
I like leaning against this old
grandfather tree - it feels warm
and gentle and though my back
is what is doing the leaning -
I feel an embrace precious few
humans can give. I lean there for
long minutes, nothing disturbs us.
I wonder about life, about all the
damage done to the environment,
I wonder what can be done to save
the nature of this world. I hear a
voice in my head - 'don't worry
about it. Everything that happens
is meant to happen. This is the
lesson of this age. You need to
speak your voice, use the words
that come to you - someone needs
them, someone can use them. This
is your lesson for now, this age."
I know these words are from my
friend the grandfather tree. He
spoke in poetry, my language but
I felt his wisdom just the same.
I feel the world and I use my voice
making poems.

[Ang Monsoon]

I feel the courage of your conviction, that: "..someone needs them, someone can use them". That's my hope/faith too. I love your last lines: "I feel the world and I use my voice making poems." Its authentically your voice, like the last lines of a previous poem :"they're my babies and I'm proud of them".

[Barbara Ann Storrier]

Ditto :)
I'm enjoying reading the poetry you two are bouncing back and forth.
I need these words :)

[Ang Monsoon]

I'll write you a nice poem one day!! Your comments are so full of colour, you could write a book, I'd buy it...

[Frank]

Poetry gives you permission to feel. - James Autry

Poetry is a natural medicine. It is derived from the stuff of life itself- your experience.
Poems distill experience into essentials, our commonality of spirit and human experience.

Poems speak to us when nothing else will. Through poetry we feel rather than be numb.
Writing poetry can surprise us, revealing layers of depth we had forgotten.
You make a poem with words - but you also build a bridge with those words to a place
inside of you where your intuitive voice lives.

Poetry can be a companion in dark times, a friend who is there at just the right time.
Your poetry expresses what you yearn for - letting out the words you want to say.

from chapter one Heart, who will you cry out to ? Poetic Medicine by John Fox


Writing exercise - if poetry is a medicine describe it and how it works for you in a poem