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Finding Your Song Poetic Medicine

Butterflies in the Mud

I carry a sprig of insanity

Deep in my bouquet of life

As I walk down the aisle

The world claims me as its wife

But tonight my headache’s lifted

As I settle into sleep

I free the butterflies from the mud

And one is mine to keep.

—LIA JOY RUNDLE, POET, ARTIST

Soul Song: An African Tradition

In some African tribes, when a woman becomes pregnant she goes out into the wilderness with some other women. Together they meditate and pray until they all hear the song that belongs to that new child. They know that every soul has its own sound and vibration. This song helps everyone know this child and his or her purpose in life.

“A poet friend of mine told me that his poems know far more than he does, and if he listens to them, they teach him.”

—FROM A RING OF ENDLESS LIGHT BY MADELEINE L’ENGLE, AUTHOR OF YOUNG ADULT FICTION

The women then return to the tribe and teach this child’s song to everyone. No child’s song is like any other.

When the child is born, everyone gathers and sings the song. Then when the child begins to go to school, the village gathers again and chants the child’s song. They sing it again together when each child passes into the initiation of adulthood, and when he or she marries.

Finally, when the soul is passing from this world to the next, the family and friends gather around and sing that person’s unique song, as they did at birth, singing the soul into the next life.

In these African tribes there is one other occasion when all the people will gather and sing someone their song—if this person has committed any crime or harmful social act. The individual is asked to stand in the middle of the circle and the entire village chants the song.

This is done because when one recognizes one’s own true song, a person has no desire or need to do anything that would hurt others. The song brings the offenders back to themselves, to their community and the love that connects them all.

You may not have grown up in an African tribe that chants your soul’s song to you. But there is a song for you nevertheless. You may have heard your song in your dreams; you may have sung it yourself, or heard it moving through the air when you were outside in natural surroundings… .

Every soul has a song.

“Poetry gives you permission to feel.”

—JAMES AUTRY, POET, AUTHOR

The Soul Knowss

I am a singer. I have always been a singer. My soul speaks to me through song. I feel connected to Spirit while using my voice. My first performance was at our family church.

At age twelve, I was practicing a hymn with one of the pastors. While going through the hymn, I felt and heard an embellishment and used my voice to share this idea. Pastor R. stopped me. He said “Oh, no. You can’t do that. You can’t sing like that. That’s not how the song goes. You have to stay on one note and not move your voice around.” When I asked why, his reply was “Because Jesus is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow.” This was his reason? I was confused. I felt like I did something wrong. So, I sang it the way he told me was right.

But the soul knows. The soul knows no rules. This man could not stifle my song. Luckily, I listened to Spirit. Today, I sing what I feel. My songs are full of soul.

—SHAWNI MARKS, YOUNG ADULT SINGER-SONGWRITER

Shawni wrote the following lyrics after the suicide of her father. You can hear this song by going to my Web site: julietallardjohnson.com.

REMNANTS OF CRAZY

Remnants of crazy only remain

You left me here

While you left insane

What feels like pity

Is anger the same

It’s hard to pick up the pieces

Without placing the blame

You gotta gotta

Keep movin’ Keep movin’

You gotta gotta

Keep movin’ Keep movin’

And then I will heal

There are no rules

In this game of grief

Can’t borrow no money

To buy some relief

Searching for mercy

Asking for grace

Why didn’t you answer?

Before the mistake?

You gotta gotta

Keep movin’ keep movin’

You gotta gotta

Keep movin’ keep movin’

And then I will heal.

You gotta keep movin’

Moving through

Moving on

Moving up

Sometimes you don’t win

Sometimes you just finish

And that is enough

Keep moving

Keep going

Keep driving

To keep thriving

Keep moving

Keep running

Keep giving

To stay living

Gotta gotta keep movin’ …

”We write to be able to transcend our life, to reach beyond it … to teach ourselves to speak with others, to record the journey into the labyrinth.”

—FROM THE DIARY OF ANAÏS NIN VOL. 2

“In its origin a poem is something completely unequivocal. It is a discharge, a call, a cry, a sigh, a gesture, a reaction by which the living soul seeks to defend itself from or to become aware of an emotion, an experience. In this first spontaneous most important function no poem can be judged. It speaks first of all simply to the poet himself, it is his cry, his scream, his dream, his smile, his whirling fists.”

—HERMANN HESSE, GERMAN NOVELIST

• Everyone has a song; write yours.
• Who tried to stifle your voice?
• Write about a time someone made you feel that you’d done something wrong, but you knew you hadn’t.
• Work with “Remnants of Crazy” to change the words around and write your own poem.

Off the Page

Set one of your poems to music.

Poetic Medicine

If you can just get the pen to paper, you might not hurt so much. You might get all the pain—or enough of it, anyway—on paper and feel better, freer. Writing poetry is good medicine. By the age of sixteen, Lia had developed the destructive habit of cutting herself when she was sad or upset. That year she decided to write instead of continuing to cut herself. She put together a powerful collection of poems that she published in a chapbook, Butterflies in the Mud.^a Here is what she says about her poem, which appears below: “This is a very private poem, and one I hesitate to include in this compilation. I know some of you will understand this immediately and know why it makes me feel so exposed. This is another poem referring to the self-injury—deep emotions played out in shallow wounds… . My comfort ‘lies’ in every meaning of the words, beneath my sweater.”

Instead of harming herself, Lia wrote in her journal and filled pages with her poetry.

BENEATH MY SWEATER

Beneath my sweater

my theme song’s playing

Beneath my sweater

I feel the burn

Beneath my sweater

I didn’t even cry

Beneath my sweater

I finish what I’ve started

Beneath my sweater

I crucify my savior/myself

Beneath my sweater

my left hand’s stronger than my right

Beneath my sweater

I’m the only one who knows

Beneath my sweater

my scars shine through

Beneath my sweater

my death is revived

Beneath my sweater

my comfort lies

Beneath my sweater

I fall into myself

Beneath my sweater

I call it me

Beneath my sweater … “

“To write poetry is to be alive.”

—RAINER MARIA RILKE, CZECH POET, AUTHOR

“You’re a writer and that’s something better than being a millionaire—because it’s something holy.”

—HARLAN ELLISON, AMERICAN AUTHOR

“This is the field where the battle did not happen, where the Unknown Soldier did not die.

This is the field where grass joined hands, where no monument stands, and the only heroic thing is the sky.

Birds fly here without any sound, unfolding their wings across the open.

No people killed—or were killed—on this ground

hallowed by neglect and an air to tame

that people celebrate it by forgetting its name.”

—WILLIAM STAFFORD, AMERICAN POET, CONSCIENTIOUS OBJECTOR

• Using a repeating phrase (as Lia did in “Beneath My Sweater”) write a poem. Here are some possible phrases you can repeat:

She always told me …

Away from here …

If they only knew …

Each day the sun calls …

• Write a poem about what hurts.
• Write a poem using the following words:

runaway

trapped inside

a sacred place

a double rainbow

another sin

somehow released

• Every poem has a story. Next to any poem you have written, write the story behind it, its meaning, as Lia did above.

Poetic Vision

We tend to write about and acknowledge what we know, and ignore what we don’t notice or what we forget. Research shows that we tend to order the same food at our favorite restaurant; we tend to always notice the same objects in a room that we frequent—we tend to choose the familiar over the new, and most people are afraid of change. But with the heart and eyes of a poet, even our favorite food tastes different; every room can be new; and change is just another source of poetry.

Poetry can be our guide, our lamp through difficult times, but it can also allow us to see beyond the ordinary and beyond our habitual way of seeing and experiencing the world. In trying to write a poem for my daughter’s second grade teacher, I find myself looking into the classroom for prompts, for ideas. Because of this I see more—and I find what I want to write about. When I look with the eyes of a poet I always discover something I would have otherwise missed.

• Write about what you don’t remember. Repeat the phrase, I don’t remember instead of stopping your hand. Try to fill up a page.

I don’t remember the name of my third grade teacher; I don’t remember what I wanted to be when I grew up; I don’t remember my first kiss; I don’t remember my father ever reading to me; I don’t remember anything before the age of eight; I don’t remember …”

Write more on any of these.

• Now write a poem using all or some of the above.
• Sit outside for fifteen minutes and listen to the sounds of nature. Write about the sounds you hear. Just listen and write. After this, write about what you don’t remember … using the sounds you just recorded, as Marybeth did in the poem below.

It was the momentum of a time capsule life,

closed and sleeping,

my ears were plugged,

my eyes were covered,and

my Soul was contained.

I don’t remember hearing

the meadow larks,

the mourning doves, or

the silent growing of grass.

That was then,

This is now.

I have time to listen to the larks,

the doves,

and if I really listen,

I can hear the grass grow.

—MARYBETH BERG, WRITER, POET, ARTIST, PRIESTESS

“Writing is an arm, a hand to touch reality. It was like trying to scratch an itch I couldn’t reach. But it wasn’t an itch, it was a whole world. The writing helped me to be in that place. It was where my experience was alive.”

—GLO LAMSON, PHOTOGRAPHER

• Take a fresh look at a family member and write about him or her from a poet’s perspective. Find at least five characteristics or features you have overlooked in this person.
• Write a poem about your bedroom, looking for images you are so used to that you normally overlook them.

Off the Page

Order something new from a restaurant menu and write about it.

“Creativity is, foremost, being in the world soulfully, for the only thing we truly make, whether in the arts, in culture, or at home, is soul.”

—THOMAS MOORE, AMERICAN WRITER, PSYCHOTHERAPIST

Poetic Questions

Oftentimes your poems can come from questions you hold inside. Why did this happen to me? When will I feel better? How can I be so lucky? Who are my true friends? What happens next? What is all this about? Who is he to me anyway? How do I feel around this person? Why do I want to be her friend? Our questions, both the small and the big ones, are quite poetic. When we become aware of the questions we carry in our hearts, we become more aware of why we are feeling the way we do, and what we can do about it.

Most of us spend too much time trying to answer the question rather than listening to the question. When we get good at listening to the question we find the answers come naturally. Often, the answer is in the question itself.

Poetry helps us listen to the questions.

• Write a list of questions (big and small). Make a poem from these. Add other sentences, if you want. Christine Lee, age 17, chose these questions:

Why does he call me bitch?

Where are we going after this?

Why did my parents name me Christine Lee?

Who left me that note on my locker?

Who are my real friends?

Where are we going from here?

What am I going to do with my summer?

Here’s Christine’s poem:

He calls me bitch

and purses his lips.

where are we going after this

where are we going after this?

My parents name me Christine Lee

without ever meeting me

where are we going from here

where are we going from here?

Anonymous love notes

just who are my friends?

where are we going from here

where are we going from here?

The last summer approaches

like last night’s dream I forgot to record.

where are we going from here?

where are we going from here?

“Poetry can be a safe guide, a wise presence, so you don’t feel alone while moving through the inevitable dark places in life. Poems become material for healing work in writing circles, to explore with your therapist, to share with a trusted friend or to reflect upon within your own heart.”

—JOHN FOX, AUTHOR OF POETIC MEDICINE: THE HEALING ART OF POEM-MAKING

“A perfect poem is impossible. Once it had been written, the world would end.”

—ROBERT GRAVES, BRITISH POET AND SATIRIST

After writing this poem Christine noticed how worried she had been feeling about her future.

Knowing how worried I was helped me calm down some. I realize that my life has a way of working out—and stressing out isn’t helping me. Where am I going from here? I am going to hang out this summer and work at a local restaurant for some cash. And I am pretty sure where I am going after high school.

Meet Raven Hail

Firelight

Is the flame of the Fire eternal—

or does it burn just for tonight?

One way or another

the heart of the matter

is spirit and Shadow and Light!

—RAVEN HAIL, CHEROKEE ELDER, WRITER, POET

Today, I woke up to a pile of cow dung sitting in the middle of my path! Now, I wasn’t happy about this. Of course, my mind began searching for the reasons for this—why do I feel this way, and who is responsible for this pile of dung on my path? Fortunately I remembered to consult the I Ching and it offered (as usual) great advice. So I went downstairs to write (this book that you hold in your hands).

I needed a lead poem or story for a chapter. As I pulled out one book after another, one fell out: Ravensong: Cherokee Indian Poetry by Raven Hail. So I began to read it, and the poems leapt off the page and filled my heart and mind with good things. The pile of cow dung evaporated. I looked to the front of the book where I found the author’s name, address, and phone number. Normally I would jot it down with the intention of writing her for permission to use some of her poems. Instead, some still voice inside of me told me to dial her number. So I did. After a few short rings, she answered the phone. Raven Hail was kind and generous enough to give me an hour of her time. More words of hers filled my mind and heart with good things. Sadly, she died just months after we spoke.

“We must learn to see the world anew.”

—ALBERT EINSTEIN, THEORETICAL PHYSICIST

As a Cherokee she had been collecting stories, songs, poetry, wisdom, history, and relics of the Cherokee nation all her adult life, so that after she died, her people’s history could live. When I read her poems I knew—this was a person who had lived through the dark night and seen the rising sun, many times. This was someone whose poems tell you secrets only your heart can understand. This was someone who used her poetry to heal and grow. Here is my favorite.

Ghigua’s Song (Gaia, The Goddess)

I sang in the morning

In the rising sun,

In the rippling rhythm

Where the waters run

To the redbird promise

of eternal spring

In love and life and everything.

Sing! Sing! The circle goes around;

The fire in the center is My sacred mound.

The Smoke is a covenant between you and Me;

For I am The Singer of The Song, said She.

I sang in the middle

Of the blazing noon

With the sweat and the tears

Of a lonesome tune

Through the long hard struggle

When hope was gone;

But I am The Song and The Song lives on!

I danced in the evening

When the moon was thin

To the drumming rhythm

of the Thunder Men.

I danced in the lightning

And touched the earth,

A spark of light that brought rebirth.

“The aim of life is to live, and to live means to be aware, joyously, drunkenly, serenely, divinely aware.”

—HENRY MILLER, AMERICAN NOVELIST

Dance! Dance! The circle goes around;

The Fire in the center is My sacred mound.

The Smoke is a covenant between you and Me;

For I am The Lady of The Dance, said She.

I danced in the middle

Of the darkest night

In the blackness covering

Wrong from right.

They buried My name

and thought I was gone;

But I am the Dance and The Dance Lives on!

• What would you like to begin collecting, so that it can live on?
• Read Raven’s poem again. Can you borrow from her flow and emotion and write one like it, as I did below?

I shouted at the sky

In the star lit night,

the fiery darkness

Where the body hides

its secret stories

of the winged ones

In faith and hope and ceremony.

Off the Page

What poetry books are falling off your shelf? Go read some and be inspired.

Write, e-mail, or make a phone call to a favorite poet, if he or she is alive. You can find out more about Raven Hail by Googling her name or by visiting my Web site: julietallardjohnson.com

Symbolic Sight: The Power of Metaphors

Shout!

Whisper …

Beat the drum!

Make the mountains

sing!

—RAVEN HAIL

Metaphor is the language of the soul—it is how the soul perceives the world. Metaphor connects two unlike things to create an image that is both surprising and instantly understood. Literally speaking, we know someone doesn’t have a frog in his or her throat, yet we understand that language at a level that is beyond words. Searching for metaphor is using your symbolic sight and helps you open up to a more soulful perception of the world.

“Hey, look. There is God’s nose!”

—AUTHOR’S 8-YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER, LYDIA ISHMAEL, POINTING TO A HILL

”Perceiving similarity of shape in dissimilar things is certainly not logical, but it strikes us as ingenious—and that is the power of metaphor: to surprise us, makes us catch our breath, illumine an aspect of the world that is totally at odds with the conventional way of seeing it.”

—GABRIELE LUSSER RICO, WRITING THE NATURAL WAY

Metaphor anchors us to all that is around us and all that is within us. Metaphors require that we open our minds to imagine a similarity in dissimilar objects. This open-mindedness helps us in our desire to become more independent while remaining anchored to all that we value in our life. We are always changing; we are becoming independent yet increasingly aware of how we are kindred with all living things. The spiritual journey of independence is a living metaphor—we experience our inner independence as we increase our connection to all of life.

“You can’t depend on your eyes when your imagination is out of focus.”

—MARK TWAIN, PEN NAME OF AMERICAN WRITER AND NEWSPAPER MAN, SAMUEL CLEMENS

When we have the ability to perceive the similar in what is dissimilar we can see with the eyes of the soul.

What are the stars? The table scraps of the ancestors.

What is your nose? A landing strip for a bug.

What is the moon? It’s a portal.

• Answer these questions with a metaphoric response… . Let your mind and soul play (there are no rules):

What was my latest phone conversation?

What is the moon?

What is the first evening star?

What are the contents of your refrigerator?

What is your craving for potato chips?

What is today?

Today is a hand Print in moving water.

—TAMARA, AGE 17

• Now, write a poem using your metaphors.
• Describe yourself through qualities you have in common with nature or animals:

My skin is a painted horse.

My hair is …

My legs are …

My elbows are …

My chest is …

My thighs are…

My eyebrows are …

Choose any part or all of your body for this exercise.

• Using metaphors, describe an experience you are having right now in your life.

Similes also bring different and unlike things together using the words “like” or “as.” In simile, one thing is compared to another while in metaphor one thing is said to be the other. For me, a simile helps me see beyond the obvious, where nothing is just as it appears. What I see becomes more than it actually is—a phone call from a friend is like a soft rain on rock. The evening sunset is like a report card from God. You get the idea.

“Listening to a liar is like drinking warm water.”

—NATIVE AMERICAN WISDOM

So, when you need some surprises in your life, create a simile. Creating a simile is like crossing a bridge between a “yes” and a “no.”

• Complete these sentences using similes:

The girl’s hair was as snarled as …

The girl’s hair was as snarled as a kite caught in the apple tree.

His voice cracked like …

His voice cracked like warm water hitting an ice cube.

Her blue jeans hung on her like …

The night-light was like …

Hearing gospel music is like …

My poetry is as …

• What are some similes you might use in describing your parents, for example?

My mom is as (cheerful, tough, light) as …

My dad is as (nervous, goofy, thick) as …

• Take five things from your immediate environment and create similes with them.
• Bored in class? Keep a notebook handy and think up new metaphors and similes. See the world symbolically.

“All that we behold is full of blessings.”

—WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, 19TH-CENTURY ENGLISH POET LAUREATE

Meet Issa

Issa is the pen name for the Japanese haiku poet Issa Kobayashi. He was born in 1763 and died in 1827. At the age of three he lost his mother and was later mistreated by his stepmother. He once wrote that he never went to bed without crying in his younger years. He lived a very impoverished life, absent of peace and family love. Later in his life, he lost his wife in childbirth and four of his children died in infancy. Marriage to his second wife was unhappy. Yet, he was known for his kind and simple nature. He loved animals and often spoke up for those in need.

How is it he triumphed over these horrific losses? Where did he get this reserve of compassion and strength? Is it possible that seeing the world through a poet’s eyes helped him? Did his ability to see all the metaphors alive around him make him strong?

During his lifetime Issa wrote over twenty thousand haiku poems. He also kept journals. A very popular one was his poetic diary entitled Oraga ga Haru (The Year of My Life), published in 1819. In it he records his life and his spiritual path, memories, and the cycles of nature. “But this poor tree has neither the strength to put forth fruits and flowers, nor the good fortune quite to die. Existence is a continuous struggle to simply put one foot high.” Here are a few of his haiku poems:

Come with me and play

Parentless sparrow.

The snow is melting

and the village is flooded

with children.

All the time I pray to Buddha

I keep on

Killing mosquitoes.

Quiet

in the depths of the lake

A peak of cloud.

Haiku poetry is intentionally simple, traditionally a three-line poem with lines consisting of five, seven, and five syllables. Words are plain but the haiku uses symbolism and metaphor to bring you into the moment the poet is writing about. Haiku is like a photograph that captures the essence of what the poet is experiencing. The power of haiku comes from the way it describes natural situations in the fewest possible words, using images of nature.

writing this verse now

as the spring storm stirs outside

head full of thunder.

—JULIE TALLARD JOHNSON

• Write a haiku poem.
• Write about someone’s life you admire.
• Write about true courage.
• Look around you right now; write a haiku poem about where you are, using an image from nature as a way to describe your experience.

“All writing is dreaming.”

—JORGE LUIS BORGES, ARGENTINE WRITER

Off the Page

Share your poetry on my blog at julietallardjohnson.com.