poetry therapy

i just came across the web site for the national association of poetry therapy. this is what they say about it:

Poetry therapy is the intentional use of the written and spoken word for healing and personal growth. Poetry, literature, journals and song lyrics help individuals see themselves fully, and in time they come to experience the hidden facets of them

well.

perhaps there could have been a more poetic way of expressing this – but hey, the idea is right on. poetry has certainly helped me figure out a lot of problems in my life.

in their newsletters, they suggest poetry prompts. i followed the one that had something to do with grandparents. i’ll give you the poem first and tomorrow i’ll tell you more about the prompt and what i thought of/felt about the process.


no eggshell was to leave the house
on the garbage truck, no dishwater
was to go down the drain – all, all must
make the pilgrimage to the compost heap.
over in the northwest corner
of the garden, precisely there,
not a little to the left or
a little further in, and
precisely there the eggshells and
the water and all the peels and
seeds and rinds must go. in that corner,
bordering the wheat field, the one
i tried to walk across barefoot
once after it was mown, the one
with cornflowers and shock-red
poppies.

i could see the
compost heap from my room up in
the attic, sitting on the old
dark green velvet couch, the room
beside my grandfather’s study
where i’d hear him type, type, type
his sermons before and after
tending to the compost heap.

my grandfather, the only person
who could get me to enjoy
playing the violin, even
though he made me cry, too,
my grandfather, who’d let me read
late into the night against his
better judgment, and who took us
on hikes through dark, soft woods by
medieval castles, made us pick
berries in the dry heat of summer,
who couldn’t stand people listening
to music in the background –
“listen to it, listen!“

my grandfather, a passionate kaleidoscope of earthiness and curiosity and faithfulness and tolerance, an old-time patriarch, a quiet man in his study, loudly typing out his heart.



... more tomorrow ...

isabella
moritherapy
counselling in vancouver
www.moritherapy.com