Writing Wings For You

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

Tag Archives: writing


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I Ate Blessed

The other day I was sending a post to a friend of mine with my phone and it auto corrected.  Instead of saying “you are blessed,” it said, “you ate blessed.”  I happened to be in a high state of awareness and felt quite playful, so I wrote about how it would feel to “eat blessed.”  What a great tool it turned out to be to stimulate my writing.  I didn’t have my computer, so I don’t have that writing, but it’s always good to revisit something.  So here is my opening for today. Enjoy!

 

                                                    I Ate Blessings Today

I gorged on blessings today.  I took the time to really be grateful for what I have in my life. I didn’t just count it.  I took a bite of it, and I chewed it slowly, savouring each morsel of that blessing and giving it permission to fill my body.  Blessings deserve to nourish you and touch your every cell with energy and vitality.  Then you radiate blessings and your blessings sustain you on those dark dreary days when it’s a challenge to get up.

Ahh, I get it now.  I imagine that is how meditation works. And when I see those people who radiate a countenance that is so lovely that you feel revitalized just in their presence, then you know they ate their blessings for that day. 

My mantra today is that “I SHALL BE RADIANCE FOR TODAY FOR I HAVE EATEN MY DAILY DOSE OF BLESSINGS.”

~Nemaste friends – may you eat blessings and multiply,

Marie signature 2-for resizing final    *** This was reposted from another blog I used to write.  I enjoyed the writing so much.


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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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Poetry Through a Young Poet’s Eyes

 

Rain

By a first grader (no editing) 

Come on rain

It’s getting hot here

in the sun

Rain rain

Come on

I want to play

with you in the clouds

You make puddles

For me to play in

You make it quiet

You make it calm

Rain

 

I love how we hadn’t even talked about personification, and he was already inviting rain, like a friend to come out and play.  By the way, this poem is on the second day of poetry and done by a boy.   He did such a brilliant job, the other boys followed suit.  However, one must note we enjoy several poems a week all year long.

 

Raindrops

By Rylee Ford

 

Rain tickles your feet.

You’re splashing in puddles.

Kids beg their mommas

 To get their swimming suits on

 And go play.

It tickles your forehead.

Kids splash and play in the rain.

It goes down your back.

It tickles your back.

You giggle, you laugh, you splash.

 

Again, it showcases such freedom to interact with words.  This was also done on the second day of poetry and has a musicality to it. 

I wanted to showcase how easy it is for a six year old to write poetry.  How do we lose this sense of noticing and awe and wonder?  Of all the genres I teach, this is the genre that’s usually the easiest for the kids because they LIVE poetry.  Almost everything a first grader says is poetry.  I try to capture snippets of what they say because it is not only precious but sometimes quite genius! 

This exercise was done after doing some artwork that we wanted parents to see and I thought it would be cool to have some poetry with it.  As a teacher, I’ve learned to watch my world a little slower…a little easier…and try to see it through first grade eyes.

WHAT CAN YOU LEARN FROM A SIX YEAR OLD?


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I got brave today and read my dad, Ernest, two chapters of his biography.  You say, “How is that brave?”

And I would say, “Have you ever tried to measure up to your parents?” Not to mention measuring up OUT LOUD to the world?   It’s scary!  It’s not so much about the writing as to making sure I’m telling HIS story, encompassing details and events, with limited knowledge (because he just started telling me about his life), and weaving in interpreted feelings that he rarely talks about….so it’s not easy.   Ernest is a “vaulted” man, who is becoming a little less vaulted, but I think sometimes emotion is still a trigger that scares him…

I took a deep breath and read it through out loud with voice and how I heard that voice in my had through my telephone conversations with him. 

My own mind tortured me as I was reading. What do you think you’re doing? With your limited writing skills, what qualifies you to write a book, let alone your dad’s life’s book? What if you don’t capture what he’s truly feeling? What if you get the facts wrong or say something that’s not true.”

And then, I thought back to my call to my beautiful writing friend who knows how fragile this journey is for me…She assured me that what I was doing was healing for both my dad and me. And as I talked to her I realized that the writing wasn’t as important as this beautiful journey of discovery that I was on with my dad. Slow down Marie, and enjoy the journey.

I finished reading the last of the chapter and held my breath. I desperately wanted him to like it…no, love it.

There was a pause and then he said, “Well, I don’t know how you did it, but you captured exactly what I was feeling.” I let my breath out and sighed a sigh of pure relief. And then, I felt a smile slip across my face. He assured me that he would assist me with parts that may not be accurate as far as information. He was grateful for the work I did. He didn’t say he was proud, but I knew he was happy. And that, my friends, was enough for me.

Ernest and I…Me and my daddy..are speaking a new language. We are learning new things about each other, finding common ground. Oh daddy, I do love you so, dark skeletons and all. Thank YOU for being brave. Because you were brave, then I could be brave.


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Creating a New Blogging World – Finding the Gold in YOU

Ahhh…I remember the old days of blogging when I did Creativespiritfaery.  My life was busy with family and teaching and I needed a creative outlet.  I tried on art.  I was okay at art.  I was better at blogging.  I created a whole world of new friends, a place to escape and learn and grow.  What was the coolest about that blogging experience was the fact that I had friends from all around the world, all ages, all ethnicities, all religions, and they were never barriers.  It was never brought up.  What was brought up were our common “human experiences,”  our love of life, our dis.appointments, our hopes and dreams.  I reveled in this world.  The characters were real and supportive and encouraging and got me through some dark spots.  I learned to be a better person and a better mom, and I learned to be enough.

I miss this world.  I know that I will have it again as I slowly begin to rebuild my new writing community.  For my friends, we have more in common than we don’t have in common, and I love learning all about you.      I’m on a quest for gold, and the gold is in you…each and every one of you.  I can’t wait to discover it!  Won’t you send me a treasure map to find you?


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When you get STUCK!!! – a Writer’s Tools

Ever had those days when you get stuck?  I don’t mean a little stuck.  I mean SHUT DOWN everything kind of stuck.  Well it happened to me.  No matter what I tried, a paragraph, an article,  rewriting already written pieces!  Nothing would help.  I decided to take out one of my Poetry tools, and just play.  My work, teaching, sometimes keeps me in left brain so much, I forget to jump to the right brain and just play,                               And who doesn’t love to play?

Since I’ve been writing my dad’s story, I decided to at least try a tool that might assist me toward this goal.  So, I made Alzheimer’s a character.  Weird, right?  It was glorious!   I used a poetry technique called Personification.   What would Alzheimer’s house look like?  What kind of car would it drive?  What would it’s clothes and shoes be like?   That’s only the start and pretty easy to fill out a list type of thing.  Lists become handy when you’re stuck, but this made me a more targeted list.

But where things get really juicy is going deeper.   How do I get to the heart and soul of Alzheimer’s and showcase the role it plays in people’s lives, both bad and good?   I begin to write down Alzheimer’s “friends” and “enemies.”    Once I know who Alzheimer’s friends are, I am naming out loud what parts hurt and what role they play in my life-word thief,  relationship thief, sadness, depression, scatterbrained and scarcity, locked vault.  Then, as I name Alzheimer’s enemies, I get to name what parts I am missing in my life, so I can name my loss and again renew the process of healing-  happiness, peace of mind, abundance, HOPE.

And even deeper – EVERY CHARACTER HAS A REDEEMING QUALITY –

Just like anything in life, there are two sides to every story, even Alzheimer’s.  Though it’s a terribly rotten disease that robs loved ones of many precious events, it still offers gifts.  So what is Alzheimer’s redeeming quality?  CHERISH –  It reminds me that every day is precious and to hold on and linger with every moment I have with my dad.  I MAKE MY CONVERSATIONS WITH MY DAD COUNT!  I record each conversation, even the little ones.  I want to remember my dad saying I love you.  I want to remember the silly sayings and funny voices he uses to greet me each day.  I want to remember that this vaulted man took a chance on ME.  He is trusting me with his precious life books.  He is trusting me to hold on to those stories that in sometimes day to day life are elusive to him.  He, like all of us, wants to be understood before it’s too late.  If I didn’t cherish the time I had with my dad, I might have lost out on learning who he really is.  Without this time, I might not have really honored and treasured that precious laugh and sense of humor.   I am blessed in this moment.


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Good Morning Daddy

It was a beautiful day yesterday.  I found my daddy.  I got to play on the phone with him for a whole hour, and it was breathtakingly beautiful.  I revel in these moments because sometimes they are few and far between.   He played in his childhood and I got to watch in my mind’s eye a glimpse of his happiness after eight days of darkness. He told me of his journey in finding and loving words (another wonderful story for a future post.)   I marvel at how dad’s love of words and learning was passed down to each of us kids.  He wrote poetry and did crosswords and memorized most every word in the dictionary. As he talked of his journey, I heard his voice dance.  His love of words as he spoke so remarkably evident.  Now, I know where my love for words sprouted because the seed was planted.

We did not linger here.  Our journey took us many places.  That’s the beauty and the tragedy of Alzheimer’s.  You never know where it will take you.  Sometimes you wait with baited breath for stories to go deeper and sometimes you wait for fearful stories to end.  But each path is honored and each journey a memory to be treasured.  Because remember, once this was a vaulted man who talked only of the weather.  And now…now in this moment he was telling me what mattered to him in life and he didn’t rush to get off the phone.  Good morning daddy and thanks for beginning the day with me.  It was a most wonder-mous day to begin with you.

 

Many people criticize for showing this journey publicly….but if for one minute I can give hope to others who are on this same difficult journey, then I will take all the criticism given.  Because when things get really really tough, and it seems like there’s no light in the darkness, then sometimes…sometimes…there’s a flood of light that allows you to see more than you ever saw before.  I hope to not only shed some light, but maybe some pathways to find the light.  For there is beauty in Alzheimer’s as there is in every tragic event that shapes our lives.  For all it’s ugliness, it teaches us to appreciate that loved one and hold on fastly to those moments we have with them.

We are human, and in this humanness there is two sides.  Sometimes we only see and feel one side.  It’s nice sometimes to see and feel what it’s like on the other side.  Good morning daddy and thanks for allowing me to share you with the world.


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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.


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Writing Can tame the Alzheimer’s Beast

Alzheimer’s is a nasty beast. It seizes your loved one’s brain and steals not only their memories, but it steals their reasoning, their dignity, their strength…it makes your loved one tired and hopeless.  You watch as they struggle between reality and their alter world.  The world that they never feel safe.  They worry about someone taking things from them, and they worry about someone trying to kill them.  This sense of safety is so vital to our well being.  It’s painful to watch.  But it’s also painful because it robs us of treasured moments with our loved ones.

But, If you’re patient enough, there are good days too and the jewels come.  Fortunately for us humans that we are emotional beings.  If  events in our lives are laced with an emotional tie, we usually get lucky enough to hold onto that memory.   That is the sweet spot where I can collect my dad’s memories.  That is the sweet spot that I’ve been able to go back to his love of writing and poetry and tap into the man himself.  And my friends, it is beautiful.  Sometimes it’s just a handful of words…but to hear a man who has been emotionally vaulted most of his life, the sound of emotion, any emotion, but especially joy, is like music lilting in the air and carried on the wind.

It’s cliché to say without the rain, you don’t appreciate the sunshine, but it is the analogy that fits this scenario best.   If I hadn’t of gotten frustrated trying to collect dad’s memories, I wouldn’t have found alternate ways to reach him.  And without these alternate ways, I imagine my stories of him would be devoid of any emotion or feeling and might be a little bland.  I’ve been able to feel closer to my dad in this last year than in my entire life.  I’ve been able to get past certain memories  that are recycled and repeated to get to new stories no one has even heard.  And, as I am entrusted with these stories and I manage them with care and respect, my dad, this often closed man, begins to look forward to talking to me.  And for the little girl in me who always yearned to be close to her dad, it is pure joy.

The last time I visited my dad, sadly almost a year ago, he  let me take silly pictures with him.  Just before we went to the airport, I got this notion to take pictures because I wanted to savor the moments I was having with him, and I wanted to be “part” of the experience, not just a witness.  I pretended we were in one of those photo booths and preplanned some pictures to take.  Okay dad, “It’s time for me to go to the airport.  Let’s take a few pictures together!   We will take a serious one of course, but wouldn’t it be fun for the grandkids to see us let go and do some silly faces and fun faces and scary faces and just enjoy?”   My dad replied, “sure!”  (There was even a little enthusiasm there.)  And, we did.   And then this year when my sister, the photographer, visited him, she got dad to do the same thing with her.  And the smile on her face was absolutely beautiful.  

I am healing, and my family is healing…and it’s all through the power of words which were brave enough to hold a story, a living, breathing man’s story…I love you words.