Writing Wings For You

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


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Hearts in Chains be Free

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Sweet spirit
Hearts in chains
How I wish I had
the keys to your locks
Set you free
Alas, you are
the only one with
secret key
to FREE YOURSELF

Image taken from Google free images: this was
for a song by Roseanne Cash


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The Mirror Decides to Speak

Many years ago, while going assisting a friend of getting out of a toxic relationship, I was inspired to write a poem.  You see, when a woman is abused, physically, sexually or emotionally, there are scars that won’t heal, like the ones that tell you that you are less than worthy, and no matter who else talks to her of her beauty, even people who know her inside and out, she won’t believe it.  She believes she has brought this disgrace and shame upon herself and that she deserves the treatment. Someday, I want to be that mirror that reminds those women of their beauty and reflect true images.  Upon reading this to a friend, he remind me that this could hold true for anyone. *

 

Woman in the Mirror

Brushing her grizzled hair

She gapes emotionless in the mirror

Battered, bruised

Tattered, confused

*

A spy could not detect

What she witnesses…

The shattering On the inside

 

The image looks fuzzy

So she asks him

What do you see?

 

His reply:

“A dandelion

Lawn cluttering pest

grass choker

worthless”

 

Inside she crumbles

believes he is right

puts her brush away

and cries her self to sleep.

_ _ _ _ _

“But please, please Ask me,”

the mirror begs.

“But don’t just ask me…

Believe me…”

 

For I have known you best

I have appraised

your heart  and soul

since you were a little girl

 

I have no intentions

Nor desire

to distort you Or lie to you

Only to reflect what I see.

 

You…you my dearest…  

 

You are a lily, A day lily

With its radiant face to the sun

You, who blossom With the slightest ray

You who invite with Arms flung open wide

 

To allow the drink of your nectar

You, who provide the Bees

with the sweetest Of nutrients

for their honey

 

Look… look closely

Your lines are not Prickly needles

Look even closer,

The lines, Your lines

Softly curve and flow

 

Welcoming.

 

Look again

You are unwrapped

You invite

You inspire a second look

 

In this breathless moment…

You are cherished

You are valued

You are amazingly beautiful. 

 

  lily

  Day Lily with arms flung wide open.


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The Messenger

red tulips

For all you out there who are God’s messengers.  Keep fighting the good fight.

 

The Messenger

Look out across

the massive field of

red bulbous tulips,

the same two foot tall structures

row after row.

 

And you,

lone tulip,

head held

one blossom

higher than

the others.

 

You,

face tilted

heavenward,

soaking in

God’s secret messages,

and piping them

to the earth.

 

You,

His messenger,

Remember this

When the sun

beats upon

your tiny shoulders

and you grow

weary of

it’s weight,

may you

find

the strength

to last

a little longer,

for the world needs your healing power.

@writingwingsforyou


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Writing as Healing part 2

Writing and poetry have continued to heal my family.  Since I was a teen, writing has been a powerful healing force in my life.

As my family went through some tragic, tough times, writing was my outlet.  I would get up really early in the mornings to feel that calm quiet of the morning before the crazy chaos and noise of a family of 8 arrived.   At 4:00 a.m. in the morning, I would diligently write by our fish tank, just enough light to see what I was writing, but not too much so as to wake me from my dream state.   I know that this hour when my most clear, heartfelt thoughts come. In this clarity, I have found my truth. My only wish is that I would have remembered it during the toughest times of my life!

Now, as I am writing my dad’s story, the vaulted man, with Alzheimer’s, is opening up through poetry. Dad has always always loved words and was a crossword wizard and the master of the dictionary. I remember when I was a little girl how we could pick a word, any word, from the dictionary and my dad would know it. We tried hard as we may to find the most difficult word we could to stump him. We never could. Impressive. I can’t wait to share how this great love of words got started! But alas, it will have to wait for another place and time.

Recently, I have decided to take formulaic poems and ask my dad to describe himself or his memories through these poetic forms. Because my dad loves words, it’s fun for him to look for the perfect adjective or verb to use in the poem. What’s even more fun is that each adjective comes with a thought or memory. And before I know it, this man who used to only talk of the weather is opening up and sharing beautiful stories of himself. Sometimes they are the same story, but really, it’s okay. And sometimes it’s only one or two adjectives a day, which is hard to be patient when you want to complete a poem. But again, we are communicating, and I’m enjoying the journey. My dad has purpose, and for a moment or several moments, my dad is holding on to something treasured and positive and he’s leaving his legacy in his own words.

Happy creativity to you! May you and your loved ones heal from writing too.

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Writing as a Healer

I’ve been working on writing my dad’s biography for a few months.  What started out as asking him basic questions like lineage and favorite holidays, and birthdays, has turned into a healing journey both for my dad and our relationships with our family and a story of man’s triumph over the darkest evils.  I want to record this journey because it’s been amazing, and because if it can work with a man who has been vaulted for most of his life, then it can work for anyone.

Today, I used poetry.  I took the simplest of forms of poetry and used it as a springboard to have a conversation. I would ask him for adjectives that described him as a boy.  Each adjective led me to a story of his boyhood.  And then I’d ask him some verbs that describe him, and those words would lead me on another journey of my father.  What I loved was that I could hear his giggly, adventurous tone come through his stories

What a great tool it was to have to learn more about my dad. I am looking forward to doing this more with other poetry tools to see where this journey takes me. I’m so excited!

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p.s. There are more great tools to come!