Help
You Are Not Broken
by Becky Birtha
You are not broken, beautiful child.
Nothing about you is wrong.
Other people have made their mistakes
on you.
But you survived.
You are whole.
You will heal, you will be
all you ever wanted.
You no longer remain
the victim of those years
Your body is yours.
You can fill it with joy.
Your thoughts are in your control.
You feelings are as free as
the sound of chiming bells.
You are loved.
You are lovable
beautiful child.
You always were.
You are forgiven.
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Healing Poetry share poetry that has helped you heal
#32 Guest_katehealer_*
Posted 27 February 2004 - 10:06 PM
Pierced Ears
by Cheryl Marie Wade
My left ear I pierced
to say no
because I had not the strength
to form the word.
Through the hole in my left ear
I placed a gold band
of my father's betrayal.
My right ear I pierced
to say I am a woman;
I belong to all piercings of all
women of all ages
I pierced my right ear
to link my arms
with the first dark woman
who shoved a sliver of bone through her nose
to claim to reclaim
In my right ear
I wear the silver loop
of my survival.
by Cheryl Marie Wade
My left ear I pierced
to say no
because I had not the strength
to form the word.
Through the hole in my left ear
I placed a gold band
of my father's betrayal.
My right ear I pierced
to say I am a woman;
I belong to all piercings of all
women of all ages
I pierced my right ear
to link my arms
with the first dark woman
who shoved a sliver of bone through her nose
to claim to reclaim
In my right ear
I wear the silver loop
of my survival.
#33 Guest_katehealer_*
Posted 27 February 2004 - 10:12 PM
An Act of Faith
by Barbara Jordan
In the water I see stars, among the reeds
the mountain of my face,
and across a distance two geese
in the twilight of the lake, like stilletos.
So many touchstones. I lean toward life,
I unbuckle the flowers' roots,
hold birds
and know the privilege, know the trees
as vessels of shadow.
And if the sky is gray and anguished gray
above a field
before a storm--
and the leaves shake, shake, shake
with a spiritual palsy--
I look over my shoulder unsure; am I observed
or do I observe?
Let show all things splendid,
in their darker nature
splendid also. Lord, you know the mask
of my face, how I peer at the world
from under a leaf, from under the squint
of my intelligence.
I can't comprehend or find contradiction
in evidence of past milleniums, the broken,
ancient skulls,
galaxies behind the sun. Certainly all creatures
pause and gaze benignly
into the air, into the light where birds fly
and are gone:
this is the light I lean toward.
by Barbara Jordan
In the water I see stars, among the reeds
the mountain of my face,
and across a distance two geese
in the twilight of the lake, like stilletos.
So many touchstones. I lean toward life,
I unbuckle the flowers' roots,
hold birds
and know the privilege, know the trees
as vessels of shadow.
And if the sky is gray and anguished gray
above a field
before a storm--
and the leaves shake, shake, shake
with a spiritual palsy--
I look over my shoulder unsure; am I observed
or do I observe?
Let show all things splendid,
in their darker nature
splendid also. Lord, you know the mask
of my face, how I peer at the world
from under a leaf, from under the squint
of my intelligence.
I can't comprehend or find contradiction
in evidence of past milleniums, the broken,
ancient skulls,
galaxies behind the sun. Certainly all creatures
pause and gaze benignly
into the air, into the light where birds fly
and are gone:
this is the light I lean toward.
#34 Guest_katehealer_*
Posted 27 February 2004 - 10:14 PM
turning
by Lucille Clifton
turning into my own
turning on in
to my own self
at last
turning out of the
white cage, turning out of the
lady cage
turning at last
on a stem like a black fruit
in my own season
at last
by Lucille Clifton
turning into my own
turning on in
to my own self
at last
turning out of the
white cage, turning out of the
lady cage
turning at last
on a stem like a black fruit
in my own season
at last
#35 Guest_katehealer_*
Posted 27 February 2004 - 10:17 PM
The Healing Time
by Pesha Gertler
Finally on my way to yes
I bump into
all the places
where I said no
to my life
all the untended wounds
the red and purple wounds
those heiroglyphs of pain
carved into my skin, my bones,
those coded messages
that send me down
the wrong street
again and again
where I find them
the old wounds
the old misdirections
and I lift them
one by one
close to my heart
and I say holy
holy.
by Pesha Gertler
Finally on my way to yes
I bump into
all the places
where I said no
to my life
all the untended wounds
the red and purple wounds
those heiroglyphs of pain
carved into my skin, my bones,
those coded messages
that send me down
the wrong street
again and again
where I find them
the old wounds
the old misdirections
and I lift them
one by one
close to my heart
and I say holy
holy.
#36 Guest_katehealer_*
Posted 27 February 2004 - 10:23 PM
Healing: A New Moon Planting
by Kate
i plant a seed
i am the seed
the dark moon
hangs low
in the sky
the dark goddess
speaks to the seed
i am the seed
i am the goddess
i change
am i still myself
i ask
as i break through
my husk
i reach toward the sky
the earth enfolds me
and supports me
i am the earth
am i still me?
I ask the earth
who nourishes and
embraces me
with love
yes she says
you are still you
and are becoming
more and more
your true self
she pushes me upwards
through the dark soil
her embrace reassures me
of my own inner truth
as I rise
as I break the surface
and breathe the
sweet fresh air
rising towards
the moon
the dark goddess
bend to plant a kiss
the moon
by Kate
i plant a seed
i am the seed
the dark moon
hangs low
in the sky
the dark goddess
speaks to the seed
i am the seed
i am the goddess
i change
am i still myself
i ask
as i break through
my husk
i reach toward the sky
the earth enfolds me
and supports me
i am the earth
am i still me?
I ask the earth
who nourishes and
embraces me
with love
yes she says
you are still you
and are becoming
more and more
your true self
she pushes me upwards
through the dark soil
her embrace reassures me
of my own inner truth
as I rise
as I break the surface
and breathe the
sweet fresh air
rising towards
the moon
the dark goddess
bend to plant a kiss
the moon
#37 Guest_katehealer_*
Posted 27 February 2004 - 10:25 PM
Sacred Circle
by Kate
heart
womb
eggs
soul
woman
sacred
circles
traveling
on a
journey
seeking
other
sacred circles
beginnings
and endings
continuing
creating
more
sacred
circles
only to
emerge
again
sacred
circle
self
by Kate
heart
womb
eggs
soul
woman
sacred
circles
traveling
on a
journey
seeking
other
sacred circles
beginnings
and endings
continuing
creating
more
sacred
circles
only to
emerge
again
sacred
circle
self
#38 Guest_katehealer_*
Posted 27 February 2004 - 10:27 PM
Woman
by Kate
I am
woman
I rise
and fall
with the tide
the moon's
phases
become written
upon my
face
each month
I swell
and bleed
answering
a wild call
from within
and without
I bleed
I bleed
and I revel in
my rebirth
by Kate
I am
woman
I rise
and fall
with the tide
the moon's
phases
become written
upon my
face
each month
I swell
and bleed
answering
a wild call
from within
and without
I bleed
I bleed
and I revel in
my rebirth
#39 Guest_Afflicted_with_Fire_*
Posted 13 February 2005 - 07:08 AM
i am accused of tending to the past
by Lucille Clifton
i am accused of tending to the past
as if i made it,
as if i sculpted it
with my own hands. i did not.
this past was waiting for me
when i came,
a monstrous unnamed baby,
and i with my mother's itch
took it to breast
and named it
History.
she is more human now,
learning languages everyday,
remembering faces, names and dates.
when she is strong enough to travel
on her own, beware, she will
All of her poetry to me is wonderful, although this is my favorite, especially the last two lines
Robin
by Lucille Clifton
i am accused of tending to the past
as if i made it,
as if i sculpted it
with my own hands. i did not.
this past was waiting for me
when i came,
a monstrous unnamed baby,
and i with my mother's itch
took it to breast
and named it
History.
she is more human now,
learning languages everyday,
remembering faces, names and dates.
when she is strong enough to travel
on her own, beware, she will
All of her poetry to me is wonderful, although this is my favorite, especially the last two lines
Robin
#40
Posted 19 November 2005 - 02:21 PM
Comes the dawn
After a while you learn the subtle difference
between holding a hand and chaining a soul
and you learn that love doesn't mean leaning
and company doesn't always mean security
and you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts
and presents aren't promises
and you begin to accept your defeats
with your head up and your eyes ahead with the grace
of a woman not the grief of a child
and you learn to build all your roads on today
because tomorrow 's ground is too uncertain for plans
and futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.
After a while you learn that even sunshine burns
if you get too much so you plant your garden
and decorate your own soul instead of waiting
for someone to bring you flowers.
And you learn that you really can endure
that you really are strong
and you really have worth
and you learn and you learn
with every goodbye you learn.
Written by Veronica A.Shoffstall
I apologise if this has already been posted, i did look through and couldn't see it xx
After a while you learn the subtle difference
between holding a hand and chaining a soul
and you learn that love doesn't mean leaning
and company doesn't always mean security
and you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts
and presents aren't promises
and you begin to accept your defeats
with your head up and your eyes ahead with the grace
of a woman not the grief of a child
and you learn to build all your roads on today
because tomorrow 's ground is too uncertain for plans
and futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.
After a while you learn that even sunshine burns
if you get too much so you plant your garden
and decorate your own soul instead of waiting
for someone to bring you flowers.
And you learn that you really can endure
that you really are strong
and you really have worth
and you learn and you learn
with every goodbye you learn.
Written by Veronica A.Shoffstall
I apologise if this has already been posted, i did look through and couldn't see it xx
This post has been edited by Broken_wings: 19 November 2005 - 03:26 PM
#41
Posted 19 November 2005 - 03:17 PM
Wouldn't this old world be better
If the folks we meet would say,
"I know something good about you!"
And then treat us just that way?
Wouldn't it be fine and dandy
If each handclasp warm and true
Carried with it this assurance,
"I know something good about you!"
Wouldn't life be lots more happy,
If the good that's in us all
Were the only thing about us
That folks bothered to recall?
Wouldn't life be lots more happy,
If we praised the good we see? -
For there's such a lot of goodness
In the worst of you and me.
Wouldn't it be nice to practice
That fine way of thinking, too?-
You know something good about me!
I know something good about you!
~Author Unknown~
If the folks we meet would say,
"I know something good about you!"
And then treat us just that way?
Wouldn't it be fine and dandy
If each handclasp warm and true
Carried with it this assurance,
"I know something good about you!"
Wouldn't life be lots more happy,
If the good that's in us all
Were the only thing about us
That folks bothered to recall?
Wouldn't life be lots more happy,
If we praised the good we see? -
For there's such a lot of goodness
In the worst of you and me.
Wouldn't it be nice to practice
That fine way of thinking, too?-
You know something good about me!
I know something good about you!
~Author Unknown~
#42
Posted 26 November 2005 - 08:08 PM
A weary wanderer laid down her head
And wept of the earth
And found comfort in the warm, soothing, breathing pulses
of her.
Andie
And wept of the earth
And found comfort in the warm, soothing, breathing pulses
of her.
Andie
This post has been edited by Andie: 19 December 2005 - 03:40 AM
#43
Posted 10 November 2007 - 06:11 PM
:tear:/> Thank you so much for posting this Em.
Em, on Oct 12 2002, 10:35 AM, said:
For Children Who Were Broken
it is very hard to mend......
Our pain was rarely spoken
and we hid the truth from friends.<p>Our parents said they loved us,
but they didn't act that way.
They broke our hearts
and stole our worth,
with the things that they would say.<p>We wanted them to love us.
We didn't know what we did
to make them yell at us and hit us,
and wish we weren't their kid.<p>They'd beat us up and scream at us
and blame us for their lives.
Then they'd hold us close inside their arms
and tell us confusing lies
of how they really loved us --
even though we were BAD,
and how it was OUR fault they hit us,
OUR fault that they were mad.<p>When days were just beginning
we sometimes prayed for them to end,
and when the pain kept coming,
we learned to just pretend
that we were good
and so were they
and this was just
on of those days ...
tomorrow we'd be friends.<p>We had to believe it so.
We had nowhere else to go.<p>Each day that we pretended,
we replaced reality
with lies, or dreams,or angry schemes,
in search of dignity ....
until our lies
got bigger than the truth,
and we had no one real to be<p>Our bodies were forsaken.
With no safe place to hide,
we learned to stop hearing and feeling
what they did to our outsides.<p>We tried to make them love us,
till we hated ourselves instead,
and couldn't see a way out,
and wished that they were dead.
We scared ourselves by thinking that,<p>and scared ourselves to know,
that we were acting just like them --
and might ever more be so.<p>To be half the size of a grown-up
and trapped inside their pain....
To every day lose everything
with no savior or refrain...
To wonder how it is possible
that God could so forget
the worthy child you knew you were,
when you had not been damaged yet ...
To figure on your fingers
that the years till you'd be grown
enough to leave the torment
and survive away from home,
were more than you could count to,
or more than you could bear,
was the reality we lived in
and we knew it wasn't fair.<p>We who grew up broken
are somewhat out of time,
struggling to mend our childhood,
when our peers are in their prime.
Where others find love
and contentment,
we still often have to strive
to remember we are worthy,
and heroes just to be alive.<p>Some of us are healing.
some are stealing.
Most are passing the anger on.
Some give their lives away to drugs,
or the promise of like beyond.
Some still hide from society.
Some struggle to belong.
But all of us are wishing
the past would not hold on
so long.<p>There's a lot of digging down to do
to find the child within,
to love away the ugly pain
and feel innocence again.
There is forgiveness
worthy of angel's wings
for remembering those at all,
who abused our sacred childhood
and programmed us to fall.
To seek to understand them,
and how their pain became our own,
is to risk the ground we stand on
to climb the mountain home.<p>The journey is not so lonely
as in the past it s been ...
More of us are strong enough
to let the growth begin.
But while we're trekking up the mountain
we need everything we've got,
to face the adults we have become,
and all that we are not.<p>So when you see us weary
from the day's internal climb ...
When we find fault with your best efforts,
or treat imperfection as purposeful crime ...
When you see our quick defenses,
our efforts to control,
our readiness to form a plan
of unrealistic goals ...
When we run into a conflict
and fight to the bitter end,
remember ...
We think that winning means
we won't be hurt again.<p>When we abandon OUR thoughts and feelings,
to be what we believe YOU want us to,
or look at trouble we are having,
and want to blame it all on you...
When life calls for new beginnings,
and we fear they re doomed to end,
remember...
Wounded trust is like a wounded knee--
It is very hard to bend.<p>Please remember this
when we are out of sorts.
Tell us the truth, and be our friend.
For children who were broken...
it is very hard to mend.<p>by Elia Wise
it is very hard to mend......
Our pain was rarely spoken
and we hid the truth from friends.<p>Our parents said they loved us,
but they didn't act that way.
They broke our hearts
and stole our worth,
with the things that they would say.<p>We wanted them to love us.
We didn't know what we did
to make them yell at us and hit us,
and wish we weren't their kid.<p>They'd beat us up and scream at us
and blame us for their lives.
Then they'd hold us close inside their arms
and tell us confusing lies
of how they really loved us --
even though we were BAD,
and how it was OUR fault they hit us,
OUR fault that they were mad.<p>When days were just beginning
we sometimes prayed for them to end,
and when the pain kept coming,
we learned to just pretend
that we were good
and so were they
and this was just
on of those days ...
tomorrow we'd be friends.<p>We had to believe it so.
We had nowhere else to go.<p>Each day that we pretended,
we replaced reality
with lies, or dreams,or angry schemes,
in search of dignity ....
until our lies
got bigger than the truth,
and we had no one real to be<p>Our bodies were forsaken.
With no safe place to hide,
we learned to stop hearing and feeling
what they did to our outsides.<p>We tried to make them love us,
till we hated ourselves instead,
and couldn't see a way out,
and wished that they were dead.
We scared ourselves by thinking that,<p>and scared ourselves to know,
that we were acting just like them --
and might ever more be so.<p>To be half the size of a grown-up
and trapped inside their pain....
To every day lose everything
with no savior or refrain...
To wonder how it is possible
that God could so forget
the worthy child you knew you were,
when you had not been damaged yet ...
To figure on your fingers
that the years till you'd be grown
enough to leave the torment
and survive away from home,
were more than you could count to,
or more than you could bear,
was the reality we lived in
and we knew it wasn't fair.<p>We who grew up broken
are somewhat out of time,
struggling to mend our childhood,
when our peers are in their prime.
Where others find love
and contentment,
we still often have to strive
to remember we are worthy,
and heroes just to be alive.<p>Some of us are healing.
some are stealing.
Most are passing the anger on.
Some give their lives away to drugs,
or the promise of like beyond.
Some still hide from society.
Some struggle to belong.
But all of us are wishing
the past would not hold on
so long.<p>There's a lot of digging down to do
to find the child within,
to love away the ugly pain
and feel innocence again.
There is forgiveness
worthy of angel's wings
for remembering those at all,
who abused our sacred childhood
and programmed us to fall.
To seek to understand them,
and how their pain became our own,
is to risk the ground we stand on
to climb the mountain home.<p>The journey is not so lonely
as in the past it s been ...
More of us are strong enough
to let the growth begin.
But while we're trekking up the mountain
we need everything we've got,
to face the adults we have become,
and all that we are not.<p>So when you see us weary
from the day's internal climb ...
When we find fault with your best efforts,
or treat imperfection as purposeful crime ...
When you see our quick defenses,
our efforts to control,
our readiness to form a plan
of unrealistic goals ...
When we run into a conflict
and fight to the bitter end,
remember ...
We think that winning means
we won't be hurt again.<p>When we abandon OUR thoughts and feelings,
to be what we believe YOU want us to,
or look at trouble we are having,
and want to blame it all on you...
When life calls for new beginnings,
and we fear they re doomed to end,
remember...
Wounded trust is like a wounded knee--
It is very hard to bend.<p>Please remember this
when we are out of sorts.
Tell us the truth, and be our friend.
For children who were broken...
it is very hard to mend.<p>by Elia Wise
#44
Posted 15 November 2007 - 01:13 AM
This has become one of my favourite poems. It is amazing!
The Guest House
This being human is aguest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meannes,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
- Rumi
Each time I read it, I find a new meaning. I love this poem.
hugs,
troubleinparadise
The Guest House
This being human is aguest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meannes,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
- Rumi
Each time I read it, I find a new meaning. I love this poem.
hugs,
troubleinparadise
#45
Posted 03 February 2008 - 02:07 PM
I.
Joy, love, and an open heart
Still the mind and silence the breeze
Great waves of sympathy roll over
My innocent, smiling countenance.
Forever more my soul sings alight,
Blowing flames into a golden sun,
Gently shedding its silent light
In the passion, the fruit of the great essence
The one that stands alone, like no other
Warmth whose limits know no bounds
And the force that rules them all
But never shows its smiling face.
II.
The night air blows across my skin as the moonlight streams down in between silver clouds, gracing my face with a gentle glow…crickets stir the air into a nocturnal symphony, and my eyes grow heavy with the bliss of deep sleep.
III.
The essence of life flows far afield
From a river so deep…who can comprehend it?
From the countless colored diamonds love flows out
And toward the tide of infinity it returns
Like a butterfly drawn to an ocean of nectar
It echoes in a bottomless pool of being
As it has, and ever shall be, that one force
That one force called me.
IV.
Time passes like a dewdrop
Rolling down the stem of a leaf
It rolls faster and faster
And falls to the ground
Caught in the fold, can we dewdrops
Fall into the lake, and not onto the
Hard rocks?
Joy, love, and an open heart
Still the mind and silence the breeze
Great waves of sympathy roll over
My innocent, smiling countenance.
Forever more my soul sings alight,
Blowing flames into a golden sun,
Gently shedding its silent light
In the passion, the fruit of the great essence
The one that stands alone, like no other
Warmth whose limits know no bounds
And the force that rules them all
But never shows its smiling face.
II.
The night air blows across my skin as the moonlight streams down in between silver clouds, gracing my face with a gentle glow…crickets stir the air into a nocturnal symphony, and my eyes grow heavy with the bliss of deep sleep.
III.
The essence of life flows far afield
From a river so deep…who can comprehend it?
From the countless colored diamonds love flows out
And toward the tide of infinity it returns
Like a butterfly drawn to an ocean of nectar
It echoes in a bottomless pool of being
As it has, and ever shall be, that one force
That one force called me.
IV.
Time passes like a dewdrop
Rolling down the stem of a leaf
It rolls faster and faster
And falls to the ground
Caught in the fold, can we dewdrops
Fall into the lake, and not onto the
Hard rocks?
