poetry as medicine
Wounds
When my pulse begins to rise
And my breath begins to vibrate
And the tenor of my speech gets hot
Making me feel wound up tighter than a top
I marvel at Grace as it once again steps in
And with a fingertip gently unwinds my hurting heart.
I love how you use both pronunciations and meanings of wound in this poem - I can feel the energy of winding up and then easing.
Was going to say the same thing about the two uses of wound. It catches in just the perfect way.
The last words of each line—rise, vibrate, hot, top, in, heart—feel like bass notes.
Ooo love the imagery of Grace stepping in to unwind. Mm!
wound
come in close, listen
even in the deepest hurt
stardust hums in your bones
this wound is not
the end, you have imagined
yourself into being
countless times before
this wound is a portal :
imaginal
cells waking
transformation is
never easy, even
when you want it.
before this ache there was
a spark. bring it all
with you: the despair
the howling joy
weave a cord
of stardust and soil
feel the hum and roots
imagine, imagine
what love may grow
I love, the idea of the wound as a portal. Beautiful imagery woven throughout this poem.
Thank you, Nancy ❤️
Really love the sound and feeling of: "before this ache there was a spark."
Yes - the wound is a portal - humming with stardust. Grateful to stand here at this portal with you all.
"Stardust hums in your bones" -- beautiful!
if only
I had just one
so many things
have wounded me
over the years
the trauma of
all the abuse
and poverty
traveling this journey
through
exile and wilderness
heart and mind
body and soul
battered and broken
****
sigh
though the
lifetime of wounds
still heal
I am most blessed
that God
has healed the wound
in my sight
not only
the way
I see myself
but
I see others
inhale
exhale
I see the wounds
that mask themselves
as coping mechanisms
covering deeper pain
I wasn't ready to face
the trauma and abusers
got me to
blame myself for
I see more clearly
the wounds
of others people
not to judge them
or try to do
their healing for them
but so I can
accompany them
on their healing journey
telling their story
and naming their wounds
I can also
be a vessel of
God's grace
on those days
when they are
out of sorts
whatever that looks like
for all of my wounds
I can see
especially ones
that are healing
I give thanks
each wound
comes from experience
gives perspective
and
when healing
offers wisdom
love your words and the power in your wounds
The way you showed breath... Love.
Stunning. Thank you for sharing.
moving from sigh to inhale and exhale. and then again. I love the rhythm of this. Breathing in such different ways.
Thank you for sharing what seems so deeply personal. Blessings to you.
Welcome
Opening to
Unity with human and earthy
Nature, all my efforting
Dissolves
"efforting" I love that!
Efforting is something I do far too much of! Pain is an equalizer sometimes.
The Wounds I Carry
I’m a long-distance trucker,
I’ve got to keep moving,
There’s a cargo of wounds
In the trailer, frozen and secure.
Down the road they will be unloaded.
But not now. I’ve got to just keep moving…
Do you see me passing by?
Oh what an amazing metaphor. I've never thought of it that way!
"There's a cargo of wounds/in the trailer" is a beautiful image. Thank you!
I seem them defrosting as you pass by and keep moving!
Who hasn’t been wounded
by the arrows of love?
by the grief of loss?
Wounds to the body,
the soul,
the flesh,
the bone?
Wounds to the skin,
the viscera,
the brain?
Dig deep enough and
you will find beauty
amongst the rubble.
Keep searching and
you will find
peace for your soul.
After all,
wounds do heal
and joy remains
like a tiny seedling,
waiting to bloom again.
I love those last lines! Such a bright ending that feels like a beginning ❤️
Thank you, Katie!
Joy remains like a tiny seedling waiting to bloom again
Thank you!
The seeds planted in the wounds!
I love that thought, yes! Thank you, Margaret.
Wound
The greatest wound is believing we are separate from
one another
The land
The sky
The sea
Ourself
Believing we own
One another
Pointing at the evil outside
Ignoring what inside us
Allows us to know what we are
Pointing at.
A hierarchical system of goodness
We are fighting one another
to move up the line
Blindly striving for a gold medal
That does not exist.
Addressing the wound
Is simple
Get out of line
Run our hands across the long grass
Ground ourself in relationship with
Reciprocity to
the land
Ourself.
one, long slice
from heart to gut
through layers of cloaks
I had pulled around me
to cover my core.
safety built in skins
hardened and calloused
tender and bruised
pink and pulsing.
_
Now butterfly-cut from top to tail
a ribcage cracked like a thoracotomy
open to the air for the first time
there she is
revealed
alive.
I love this imagery so much. Especially this: "Now butterfly-cut from top to tail a ribcage cracked like a thoracotomy open to the air for the first time there she is revealed alive."
Truly relatable.
To make a slash in the the skin of their soul, a casual wound , caused without much thought.
Receive your own wounds, to your heart, to your confidence.
We walk through life bearers of these many scars searching for healing
Mindfulness opens the heart to stop the knife of our tongue and blows we cause without much thought
And thus begins the healing of a community
I like how you took the personal hurt and healing and lifted it out to community.
yes, and the reminder of how causally they can be inflicted
Marred by life’s sharper moments
We see and recoil
We experience and cower
We wince and withdraw.
We are pierced, yet we endure
Looking through the raw lens
We marvel intervals of renewal
The slow magic of our body’s wisdom
Witness to the wonder of our wounds
The bright veins of verbose pain
Chart the path and tell the story
Of what was weathered and what remains.
These marks carry history of despair
The messy quest of restoration
And evidence of repair.
Healing lives inside the wound.
Witness to the wonder of our wounds!
Are your wounds mine?
I hold your hand in the triage queue
Weep and rage, my darling
I’m here
You bleed
Barbed wire caught your hips, elbows, ankles
Your brave bid to feel free
I soak up blood with tissues from my purse
(Clean, I promise, clean enough)
I hold your hand
Never mind the way the hot and slick becomes my own crust
I am fine
Are they your wounds or mine?
Thank you for taking me into that triage queue. Wow. Nevermind the way the hot and slick becomes my own crust. Sitting with this!
Oh... wow!
Carbon
our breath exchanged
until it turned to carbon —
a copy of me sunk into the soles
of you
tripping over an old wound
festered and fervent, in singularity and solitude
scar tissue molds a spirit
into something
familiar and cruel
two tongues, abandoned
learning the language of punishment
stinging nettles and ivy
vined into one
We
Owe
U
Nuthin’
Dear
is that what a wound is?
to be forsaken?
forgotten?
-
in Chinese medicine
there are times
we create a wound on purpose,
just a small one,
like whispering instructions into the third ear:
now. do it. go. —
heal.
I was trying so hard,
How did I hurt you so?
With time,
I hope this wound will heal,
Until then,
I let go.
Wound - a haiku
Scars are what remains
When the wound finally heals
Just a memory.
Today's topic is "wound"....I quickly return to "medicine"
I never got to it yesterday. "wound" has pushed me,
turned me around. I pick up concoctions: tanager,
grosbeak, painted bunting, wet lichen, and sunlight.
I decorate my medicine oak where I rest and open,
grateful my little herd will sleep stretched out in the sun today,
absorbing fire and air and earth. I just remembered
I spent 40 minutes this morning treating fly bites
on Cinderella, my donkey. I dab healing clay on her wounds,
then use a plastic grocery bag to cover her muddy hoof,
so I can slip the silver-infused ant-microbial socks onto to her legs.
Not easy, I'm too old for this. Another fly boot Velcroes over the socks;
this stays on til tomorrow night when the socks get washed
and the wounds air out. The precious rains always bring biting flies.
Wounds
When my pulse begins to rise
And my breath begins to vibrate
And the tenor of my speech gets hot
Making me feel wound up tighter than a top
I marvel at Grace as it once again steps in
And with a fingertip gently unwinds my hurting heart.
I love how you use both pronunciations and meanings of wound in this poem - I can feel the energy of winding up and then easing.
Was going to say the same thing about the two uses of wound. It catches in just the perfect way.
The last words of each line—rise, vibrate, hot, top, in, heart—feel like bass notes.
Ooo love the imagery of Grace stepping in to unwind. Mm!
wound
come in close, listen
even in the deepest hurt
stardust hums in your bones
this wound is not
the end, you have imagined
yourself into being
countless times before
this wound is a portal :
imaginal
cells waking
transformation is
never easy, even
when you want it.
before this ache there was
a spark. bring it all
with you: the despair
the howling joy
weave a cord
of stardust and soil
feel the hum and roots
imagine, imagine
what love may grow
I love, the idea of the wound as a portal. Beautiful imagery woven throughout this poem.
Thank you, Nancy ❤️
Really love the sound and feeling of: "before this ache there was a spark."
Yes - the wound is a portal - humming with stardust. Grateful to stand here at this portal with you all.
"Stardust hums in your bones" -- beautiful!
wound
if only
I had just one
so many things
have wounded me
over the years
the trauma of
all the abuse
and poverty
traveling this journey
through
exile and wilderness
heart and mind
body and soul
battered and broken
****
sigh
****
though the
lifetime of wounds
still heal
I am most blessed
that God
has healed the wound
in my sight
not only
the way
I see myself
but
the way
I see others
****
inhale
****
exhale
****
I see the wounds
that mask themselves
as coping mechanisms
covering deeper pain
I wasn't ready to face
I see the wounds
the trauma and abusers
got me to
blame myself for
****
sigh
****
I see more clearly
the wounds
of others people
not to judge them
or try to do
their healing for them
but so I can
accompany them
on their healing journey
telling their story
and naming their wounds
I can also
be a vessel of
God's grace
on those days
when they are
out of sorts
whatever that looks like
****
inhale
****
exhale
****
for all of my wounds
I can see
especially ones
that are healing
I give thanks
each wound
comes from experience
gives perspective
and
when healing
offers wisdom
love your words and the power in your wounds
The way you showed breath... Love.
Stunning. Thank you for sharing.
moving from sigh to inhale and exhale. and then again. I love the rhythm of this. Breathing in such different ways.
Thank you for sharing what seems so deeply personal. Blessings to you.
Welcome
Opening to
Unity with human and earthy
Nature, all my efforting
Dissolves
"efforting" I love that!
Efforting is something I do far too much of! Pain is an equalizer sometimes.
The Wounds I Carry
I’m a long-distance trucker,
I’ve got to keep moving,
There’s a cargo of wounds
In the trailer, frozen and secure.
Down the road they will be unloaded.
But not now. I’ve got to just keep moving…
Do you see me passing by?
Oh what an amazing metaphor. I've never thought of it that way!
"There's a cargo of wounds/in the trailer" is a beautiful image. Thank you!
I seem them defrosting as you pass by and keep moving!
Who hasn’t been wounded
by the arrows of love?
Who hasn’t been wounded
by the grief of loss?
Wounds to the body,
the soul,
the flesh,
the bone?
Wounds to the skin,
the viscera,
the brain?
Dig deep enough and
you will find beauty
amongst the rubble.
Keep searching and
you will find
peace for your soul.
After all,
wounds do heal
and joy remains
like a tiny seedling,
waiting to bloom again.
I love those last lines! Such a bright ending that feels like a beginning ❤️
Thank you, Katie!
Joy remains like a tiny seedling waiting to bloom again
Thank you!
The seeds planted in the wounds!
I love that thought, yes! Thank you, Margaret.
Wound
The greatest wound is believing we are separate from
one another
The land
The sky
The sea
Ourself
Believing we own
One another
The land
The sky
The sea
Ourself
Pointing at the evil outside
Ignoring what inside us
Allows us to know what we are
Pointing at.
A hierarchical system of goodness
We are fighting one another
to move up the line
Blindly striving for a gold medal
That does not exist.
Addressing the wound
Is simple
Get out of line
Run our hands across the long grass
Ground ourself in relationship with
Reciprocity to
One another
the land
The sky
The sea
Ourself.
one, long slice
from heart to gut
through layers of cloaks
I had pulled around me
to cover my core.
safety built in skins
hardened and calloused
tender and bruised
pink and pulsing.
_
Now butterfly-cut from top to tail
a ribcage cracked like a thoracotomy
open to the air for the first time
there she is
revealed
alive.
I love this imagery so much. Especially this: "Now butterfly-cut from top to tail a ribcage cracked like a thoracotomy open to the air for the first time there she is revealed alive."
Truly relatable.
To make a slash in the the skin of their soul, a casual wound , caused without much thought.
Receive your own wounds, to your heart, to your confidence.
We walk through life bearers of these many scars searching for healing
Mindfulness opens the heart to stop the knife of our tongue and blows we cause without much thought
And thus begins the healing of a community
I like how you took the personal hurt and healing and lifted it out to community.
yes, and the reminder of how causally they can be inflicted
Marred by life’s sharper moments
We see and recoil
We experience and cower
We wince and withdraw.
We are pierced, yet we endure
Looking through the raw lens
We marvel intervals of renewal
The slow magic of our body’s wisdom
Witness to the wonder of our wounds
The bright veins of verbose pain
Chart the path and tell the story
Of what was weathered and what remains.
These marks carry history of despair
The messy quest of restoration
And evidence of repair.
Healing lives inside the wound.
Witness to the wonder of our wounds!
Are your wounds mine?
I hold your hand in the triage queue
Weep and rage, my darling
I’m here
You bleed
Barbed wire caught your hips, elbows, ankles
Your brave bid to feel free
I soak up blood with tissues from my purse
(Clean, I promise, clean enough)
I hold your hand
Never mind the way the hot and slick becomes my own crust
I am fine
I am fine
Are they your wounds or mine?
Thank you for taking me into that triage queue. Wow. Nevermind the way the hot and slick becomes my own crust. Sitting with this!
Oh... wow!
Carbon
our breath exchanged
until it turned to carbon —
a copy of me sunk into the soles
of you
tripping over an old wound
festered and fervent, in singularity and solitude
scar tissue molds a spirit
into something
familiar and cruel
two tongues, abandoned
learning the language of punishment
stinging nettles and ivy
vined into one
Wound
We
Owe
U
Nuthin’
Dear
is that what a wound is?
to be forsaken?
forgotten?
-
in Chinese medicine
there are times
we create a wound on purpose,
just a small one,
like whispering instructions into the third ear:
now. do it. go. —
heal.
Wound
I was trying so hard,
How did I hurt you so?
With time,
I hope this wound will heal,
Until then,
I let go.
Wound - a haiku
Scars are what remains
When the wound finally heals
Just a memory.
Today's topic is "wound"....I quickly return to "medicine"
I never got to it yesterday. "wound" has pushed me,
turned me around. I pick up concoctions: tanager,
grosbeak, painted bunting, wet lichen, and sunlight.
I decorate my medicine oak where I rest and open,
grateful my little herd will sleep stretched out in the sun today,
absorbing fire and air and earth. I just remembered
I spent 40 minutes this morning treating fly bites
on Cinderella, my donkey. I dab healing clay on her wounds,
then use a plastic grocery bag to cover her muddy hoof,
so I can slip the silver-infused ant-microbial socks onto to her legs.
Not easy, I'm too old for this. Another fly boot Velcroes over the socks;
this stays on til tomorrow night when the socks get washed
and the wounds air out. The precious rains always bring biting flies.