POETRY, FOR FEELING AND HEALING
by Marta Felber
“I can’t write poetry,” I always said. True. I never tried. I remember the little boy who refused the piece of chocolate cake. “I don’t like chocolate cake. I’ve never tried it, but I don’t like it.”
Poetry is condensed story, a shortcut to expression of imagery, feeling and thought. It can take many forms, as it flows directly from the heart and hand of the writer. Reading a poem by another person may touch us deeply and prompt us to put together some words of our own. I look forward to making poetry writing part of my self expression.
In the beginning I promise myself not to get too hung up on form, punctuation, and all that other stuff. I will read more poems by poets whose poetry I enjoy. I will study my carefully chosen book on writing poetry, one that seems to fit my learning journey. Below are my beginning poems I choose to share with you. New ones will be added from time to time. You are invited to write your own. Some of you have already written poetry. Write from wherever you are, in grief, in joy, in times of indecision, in appreciation of life and the world. The photos are offered for your writing inspiration. Write, even a few lines. Then add more. Come back again, to see what poems I have written, while you were writing yours.
NEW POEMS:
May 2008!
Last Night (Haiku)
Snow crept in last night
And tucked a blanket of white
Around everything.
A Future Scene? (Haiku)
Under a brown rock
I hide in fear, knowing
There is no more green.
The Secret
“Your skin is beautiful,”
I love to hear.
It is not for me;
It is for my mother.
What was her secret?
they want to know.
Water, just plain water.
No soap?
“No soap,” she said.
No cream?
“No cream,” she said.
“Just plain water.”
So every night
I cleanse
I cream.
But every morning
I splash on water,
Just plain water,
Just in case.
Before Dawn Rhyme
I am awake before the day.
Sleep slipped out, and closed the door.
Even my dreams refuse to stay
To entertain me, as before.
The clock says, from its alarm,
“It is not time, not yet.”
Relax in bed, what’s the harm?
I will meditate, not fret.
Oh no, here comes the cat!
Well, that takes care of that.
Dear Joe, you died too soon.
Did I say “Thank you” when…
You cleaned the pigeon poop off my face and did not laugh?
Did I say “Thank you” for your first tiny gift,
purchased from a street vendor?
Did I say “Thank you” for the time you pretended we were married
before we really were?
Did I say “Thank you” for holding me
when the bad news came from my family?
Did I say “Thank you” for serenading me in the shower-
the only place you ever sang?
Did I say “Thank you” for the last card you wrote,
when I didn’t know it was the last?
If not, bend down, from wherever you are, and listen.
“I thank you now.”
Marta
First Abstract
Swirling, caught in wings of time,
tail joins circle,
ball repeats.
Sun reflects and slips behind.
Beauty and cat join as one.
Round, defined by blue
and edged with white.
Who?
First home.
First room.
First look at the world
Through the skylight above my bed.
Secure.
I can be me.
But who am I?
Why am I me, and not someone else?
Who selected me to be me?
Who made the plan?
I am me.
Will I know what to do with me?
Will I know where to go?
Not sure.
I look above me.
I see a star.
Who planned for the star to be?
Who put the star so high in the sky?
Who told it where to go?
Who told it what to do?
Please, dear Who,
Guide me too.
Tears on Fur
Can’t let him go.
hold him
alone,
my cat and I.
Tears drip on fur,
wetness as I stroke.
“I love you.”
He replies, “I know.”
His heart will stop.
No pain for him.
The pain is now
all mine.
Losing My Mind
Losing my mind!
I know I baked a cake for company.
I baked it yesterday. Put it away for safe keeping,
Somewhere too safe, it seems.
What is happening to me?
My thoughts slip away,
Too far for my arms to bring them back.
They remain out of reach.
I panic!
Is this what growing old is like?
I want to go back,
Back to my ready words,
Even when my words got me into trouble.
I want to go back.
Not too far, just far enough
To know what I can expect from me.
Back to the time when I would have remembered
That I put the cake in the dryer,
Where the grandkids would not find.
Questions That Knife
Why don’t you say something? Don’t just look at me with those cow eyes. I’ve just told you I am cheating on you. I’ve just told you I have a lover. She is tall, and thin, and young. Did you hear me? Are you any of those things? Why don’t you cry? Why don’t you beat on me? Spit on me? I deserve it. God knows. How could I get myself in this mess? I loved you once. Don’t shake your head. I did! You loved me. Can you deny it? You still do. I see it in your eyes. Eyes that should hold hate, where I only see tenderness. Stop looking at me that way! I’m leaving you. Don’t you hear? Leaving you for another woman…Give me the silent treatment. See if I care. I’m out of here!
I am numb. I am not a person. I am a discarded puppet wife. Wooden. No blood in my veins. No marrow in my bones. No past to carry to the future. The clock in the hallway strikes midnight. I sit. I wait. For what? I do not know. One o’clock…Two o’clock…Three o’clock…Just as the clock strikes four, I hear the birds sing. Did you know? The birds always sing in the morning, at four.
For You to Do:
Find a poem you like. Perhaps memorize it, or copy and post it nearby.
Write a few lines, using only nouns and verbs. Imagine the feelings that go with what you have written.
Take a walk, with small notebook in hand, make notes, and write a poem using the notes, when you return.
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