Writing Wings For You

Marie Lukasik Wallace ~ # I LIVE Poetry – I'm passionate about life and writing and all things creative and poetic!

Category Archives: Writing


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We Wrote Another Poem! Paint Me As I Am

In Poetry Therapy, we use poetry as a way to heal.  It’s a back door way to heal.  Actually, in my opinion, all writing is healing.  I took some sample poetry from an amazing compilation of teen poems by Writer’s Corps called “Paint Me Like I Am,” and asked my dad how he would want the world to know him. At first, this was too right brained for him. Usually he operates more left brained. So, I read him some more samples and then I used adjectives he had used previously to describe himself and asked him to delineate more on that.

Below is what Ernest, my dad, wrote, with little assistance from me. (He has arthritis and Alzheimer’s, so I’m his hand and placeholder.) What is amazing to me is that my dad was invested and even got excited to do it. He has started to call me now and has more days he talks about his life than not. He has written something our family can treasure, and I’m so proud!
PLEASE LET US KNOW IF YOU LIKE IT! HE GETS EXCITED ABOUT
PEOPLE READING HIS PAGE :0)

PAINT ME AS I AM by Ernest

Paint me working and doing my best
For I liked to make things better
Taking things that work that didn’t work before
Engines, motors, broken chairs and making them new again.

Paint me determined.
I made up my mind not to have any booze at all…
Or anything that would come near it…
I didn’t want any part of what I did before…

Paint me as keeping my thoughts and good emotions toward others
Requesting forgiveness for my stupidty…

Paint me as always looking for making a difference in life.
As time goes by, I make sure each day of my life that whatever I do and say is better…
Never wanting to give or get trouble…

Paint me independent wanting the peaceful life,
less noise and misery from people or cars and traffic and busses and sirens…
It gripes me a lot…I had enough of all that…
I have to get away from the racket.

Paint me as one whose mind holds onto better days
(don’t really care about money)
Whose richness is in the simple life,
The more simple the better
Let me just work on my cars and trucks and lawn mowers.

Paint me as determined to keep life in balance
And I’m skiing away from life itself
(the house, the dogs and the cats, and even plants.
Leave me with my critters.

Paint me without hateful words
Or holding onto hatefulness
For it puts me out of balance…

Paint me happy and content with my life.

***It might need some editing, but it’s great for a first draft. :0)


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There are Gems in Them There Hills!

bluebonnetsWe have finished day 8 of the vaulted man being sealed up tight.  The words are locked up fiercely between the Spring clogging up dad’s mind and seizing his senses and the Alzheimer’s playing tricks on him. It’s been a tough week for both of us.  For my dad, the fears are getting more real.  People went from stealing from him to attacking him and trying to kill him.  Once a strong virile man, mentally and physically, now reduced to constant fear of his life.

Last week had been so promising.  We wrote a poem!  We began another. I thought I had found a way to communicate with my dad, a tool to unlock those precious memories and stories we kids so strongly crave to hear.  But today, as I used the anaphora of “I know this…,” a tool that has worked so well in writing with others, did  not work well with him. He was shut pretty tight.  He started with a trite saying, “You get what you pay for,” and as I encouraged him, he continued with strings of sayings.

From past experience, I have learned that it’s okay to start like this; because as the conversation continues, the locks come off, and we can access a distance memory or two. These experiences are delightful to watch as he climbs into his little boy character and he is wild and free, even if only for a little while..  But today, as I said, the locks were on tight.  He didn’t go on an adventure, and he was done before we barely got started.

When dad’s head get’s what he calls “fuzzy,” (full of snot and a lot of fear of releasing emotion), he has to go with a promise to call back….and the call never comes.

But this time, when our call was done, and I read back my notes, I realized some gems. These sayings of my dad can be used throughout my book where I want to make sure the character is coming through. And I also realized something else.  WE were talking about HIM, not the weather, not fishing…HIM…and for my dad, less than a year ago, these things would not have been said. The process has been slow, and it’s hard for me to imagine how I will get the much needed information to write his story, but it’s been a story getting the story.  AND, I am on a journey WITH my dad.  And that is enough.

Things don’t always look or sound the way we would like.  There definitely deserves to be an attitude of gratitude.  And the silver lining is that there is hope for day 8…today could be the day…

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Not Just a Barren Waterhole

A WORD WARRIOR TALE –
Thought to be just a dusty, barren waterhole to some as it lies in the furthest corner of a rancher’s neglected property, but its loveliness is endeared by me. It’s sprinkled with bluebonnets, and there is a strong old mesquite tree whose branches are heavily laden with my tears and my dreams, for it would embrace me when no one would. This place was my sanctuary, my dreamkeeper…

As dusk settled around my dungeon at home, and all were sleeping, it was time for my vigil to start and let the healing begin. With paper in hand, I would escape through a window, climb the prickly barbed fence past the “no trespassing” sign to the freedom and harmony of my secret place of refuge. As I sat in reverence of the solitude, I could hear the calming stillness of the night, scattered with cricket chirps and cicada songs. Lightning bugs visited often. I watched the brilliance of the moon as it graced the water so elegantly, weaving me into a trance.

The trance allowed my feelings to flow freely and words came alive as the events of my life ran through my mind. Through writing, I discovered the innermost parts of me, both the warrior and the princess. I engaged in battle when the ugly heads of fear, loneliness, and teenage turmoil pierced the surface of my serene world. The mighty sword of my word warrior would come crashing down on them, leaving the misery, but taking the life’s lesson with me. On other occasions when I was blessed with the beauty and power of nature surrounding me, the princess in me would gracefully dance in celebration of friendship, love, and life. I became strong, almost invincible, through my characters and imagination in this enchanted kingdom.

Even now, I can close my eyes, breathe in the mesquite, taste the rain, see the moon over the water, and feel its magi envelop me and remind me of all that took place there. And, the peace washes over me again.

Just a barren waterhole to some, but it was a site of hope and renewed life to me. No greater place have I known.