Best Therapy Poems
The walls of the doctor's office
Are blue.
Blue is a color that's supposed to
Calm, to soothe.
The doctor and the nurse both have
Blue eyes.
They are telling me
About the magic pill
That will make
All of my problems
Go away...
The nurse asks,
"Don't you want to be
Like everyone else?"
I don't answer...
Not immediately.
I ask if I can answer
Next time I come back.
I'm still thinking
Of those words...
Don't you want to be
Like everyone else?
If I hear-
If I hear lines in my head
Chasing eachother around
Like hallucinations,
Hear voices speaking poetry,
Is this what it means
To be schitzophrenic?
Don't you want to be
Like everyone else?
If I start speaking with a ryhthm then
To speak in iambic pantameter-
Is this like OCD behavior?-
Don't you want to be
Like everyone else?
If I stay up all night-
Have you ever stayed up all night?
Have you ever gone outside
And sat in your backyard
At 3am and felt how... peaceful...
The darkness was- listened as
The wind whispered love songs
And watched the sky
Until the first light of dawn
Brushed the sky's cheek
With her fingers?
Did you look for words
To describe the first kiss
Of sunshine?
I've always loved
To write about
The sunrise...
Don't you want to be
Like everyone else?
I haven't written poetry
In a month but
I still can't sleep-
Don't you want to be
Like everyone else?
I haven't written poetry
In two months, and
I don't know why-
I don't think I can,
I think-
Maybe my heart broke...
I don't care if I see
The sunrise...
Don't you want to be
Like everyone else?
I slept for 15 hours straight
But I'm not quite sure,
It doesn't feel like I ever
Really woke up-
Don't you want to be
Like everyone else?
I just want... to write.
Don't you want to be
Like everyone else?
I wrote a poem today...
I wrote about the sunrise.
I've always loved to write
About the sunrise.
Don't you want to be
Like everyone else?
I know I probably seem
Tired at the moment;
People have been
Telling me that-
I haven't slept much
For a few days or so,
I've been writing too much
Poetry...
People keep telling me
I look so happy.
The doctor asked me
Don't you want to be
Like everyone else?
...No. I don't.
But I didn't say this.
I nodded like
They wanted,
And then wrote
It in a poem-
The one place
I never have to
Lie.
I leave the sun-dappled autumn sidewalk, entering the office
The empty chair there lingers.
dark tendrils coiling in my mind—
my blind rage pleading for quiet healing.
flashbacks clash like striking thunder
opening buried treasures of truth.
and in that final brand searing cry
My heart reborn, mindlessly adrift in spectral mist.
I gladly depart as sleet glazes, streets so slick…..
Although long nights dim for your missing child,
The woodland marks his own path
Guiding tiny footsteps.
Courageous be, despite a troubled heart
Hanging unto divine grace--
On faith the soul resides.
Then let my comfort grant you kindled peace
Awaiting star's miracle …
Till angels lead him home.
Contest 480 of Brian Strand
writing is my therapy.
she releases feelings in me nothing else releases
I do not even care if it is poetry,
it is the feeling i seek,
she is my friend, she cares not what words I use,
she releases my sadness, my madness, and every day badness.
she eliminates my gloomy days,
she excites me, encourages me, and uplifts me
she makes me happy, joyful, she keeps me moving,
she keeps me wanting to live.
she makes me feel playful,
she increases my enthusiasm,
she is a compulsion.
I cannot desert her, any more than she can desert me.
we have become one, she and I.
She is my tribe.
She is my advocate.
She has replaced my friends,
because she is my bestie.
writing is my therapy.
She has breast cancer, malignant tumor
Time passes, a waiting game
Routine mammography
A filter of frustration and sadness
Death can not be overcome
Grief is the price of love
The moment of freedom, the mask falls off
Show yourself as a true friend
"We'll do this together"
12-07-2018
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Glowing orange, cloud coals burn
reflections into low tide evening surf,
slap lapping against scattered shells,
ripe fruits for hungry sea tramp's picking.
Itinerant thoughts, aimless as seaweed drift,
scatter like bands of sandpiper strays
on endless quest for burrowing crabs.
Peace rolling off the water, a liquid aura,
brings surcease to the day's anxious plight.
Cavorting light rays pirouette in prismatic play,
unfettered children of earth's weary sun
who slips to rest upon night's graying breast.
Carefree scenes surround, seashore treats,
delectable as holiday sweets displayed on Christmas Eve:
ribbon candy colored cabanas,
verdigris beach poles rope garlanded,
soft stained seashell ornament display.
Almost as good as Christmas, this evening on the beach,
stretched out upon the sand
my back against bleached driftwood band.
Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright, January 31, 2016
Day old coffee
in its maker
a cold witness
sometimes
to broken dreams
and war stories
and proclamations
of
getting well
of
new beginnings
of
hearty hope.
Solemn stories and
cloudy memories
and Joe
laughter’s echo
at some obscure
joke but
the window
knows
how schemes get
distorted
deformed
disfigured.
Some have just
flown that way
inevitably
some do go
without ceremony
without fanfare
no hoopla
simply vanish
and all that’s left
are
empty seats
empty room
empty maker
waiting for
the next batch
of sunshine.
(click the picture to buy my poetry book!)
Four characters that we know well
have problems they all want to tell
in therapy group.
To get all the scoop,
let’s eavesdrop, for all is not well!
Believing no more in himself,
sits dear Santa Claus and an elf
who is hating his work.
Santa says, “What jerk.
I should put you back up on your shelf!”
The elf, in a huff, then fires back
(for confidence HE does not lack),
“I believed in you once,
when you weren’t such a dunce.
Old geezer, go stuff your own sack!”
The anger inside the room grows
when Rudolph, who hates his red nose,
screams, “Don’t say such stuff.
St. Nick’s work is tough,
and MY job, dear elf, frankly BLOWS.
You elves get to go to the mall
and smile at the children and all.
No one’s calling you names
as you play reindeer games.”
The elf yells, “At least you’re not SMALL.
You think you have woes? Look at ME.
I’m called silly names constantly.
There’s a song about YOU
and your red nose debut.
Geez, a hero you’ve now come to be!!
An elf is an elf all the same.
Kids don’t even know my real name.
Reindeer get names like Cupid.
Well, your name should be STUPID.
What I would not give for YOUR fame!”
A snowman sits stoically there.
He turns to the arguing pair.
“A carrot’s MY nose!
To death I have froze,
yet I’m melting right now in this chair!”
Grab a blank sketch book and call it your own
Create your personal memory album
It’s fun, creative, therapeutic, and shareable
Your eyes will light up each time you share memories
Your heart will tingle as you turn the pages
You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll travel back in time
‘Cause memories are meant to be remembered
Take your book and sketch your favourite memories
The object is not to produce works of art but
To evoke the feelings related to each moment in time
Draw stickmen and cartoons but mostly
Exaggerate details to get each feeling across
Even with unpleasant memories
The ones that haunt you because
You still see them through a child’s eye
I found the adult in me wanting to step in
And protect my inner child
There was a soothing healing happening
And I felt much lighter about it all
Better than a camera, you hold the pencil
Drop irrelevant details, expand on the relevant ones
Tweak the images in your mind and put them on paper
Feel free to add key words of course
Re-spin the storyline and rewrite your history
Create your own precious memory album
Start now, pick up a pencil
Draw the memories you hope to never forget
Sketch the elements of your magical moments…
Published in my mini book of sketches ~FLASH MEMORY THERAPY~ 2019
AP: 2nd place 2020
Translucent turquoise tide pools
soft shimmer on the sand,
mirrors for vain seagulls,
bathtubs for crusty crabs.
The tide slap lapping on the beach,
cavorting up and down the shore
with sounds of gentle laughter
mixing tumbling rocks and broken shells.
Adrift along a fantasy,
stretched out upon the sand;
my mind a merry fishhook
baiting dreams like fishermen.
Above, the sky’s bright powder puff
has rouged my cheeks like shells,
spritzed freckles across my nose,
brown spray amid the swells.
Days like these cannot be bought
nor pursued as treasured store;
you stumble on them, mindlessly,
whether rich or whether poor.
A gift to lift your hefty load,
from life’s harsh grind, reprieve;
lay back, let salt sea breezes blow
and feel your stress unwind.
Copyright, May 1, 2022
TANGLEWOOD AS THERAPY
Tanglewood untangled me, took my breath away
each moment of Sibelius, Mahler, Rachmaninoff
sweet violins, trumpets, kettle drums, cellos, fire
mixed with wind, echoing within the shed, over
the lawn, concert goers sprawled on blankets,
seated on beach chairs attentive to every sound
those strains, my favorite classics, filled my blood
stream, inched me toward lovers, tugged me,
two spouses proposed, suitors hugged my body,
kissed me with gusto, whispered into my ears,
became surrogates for melting chocolate cream,
weakened my knees, laid bare my breasts, filled
my groin, all from the moment my father took
our family to the shed where I first heard Mahler’s
First “The Titan”, not on a scratchy 78 platter, not
from our wood cabinet radio in our Brooklyn house
the melodies of democracy, free radio, modern
media, fade, assaulted by the Kremlin loving
leader. Russian composers crowd the classical
repertoire, do not taint my delight, my passion,
for the memories of past affairs are Picasso art
filtered through Stravinsky, Prokofiev, and one
therapist treating me for TRUMPRESSION
She spoke to me
about the semantics of shame,
the seduction and flame,
the name of the pain,
lunatic loop of lost meaning,
complaining of symptoms remaining
robust and teething
weighing upon me
morning through evening
like a stoney smoke stifling,
misidentifying the madness
of this sadness as inherent illness
primordial and permanent,
the face of Her wisdom
a jewel of enlightenment,
a catharsis burning on the coals
of my ingrown crown,
Her voice vouches for my vim
as she says to me with a cerulean sympathy,
The Mind must make Itself
as a heart must learn to heat the soul,
emote to promote the promise of your pulse,
you are not a puzzle
you are a powerful purpose,
emotions are the lights of your eyes
the colors of your concepts,
the verve of your values,
find no shame from your sensitivity,
make love with your intensity...
J.A.B. 2023
I see you filled with emotional pain
You feel like you are alone
So I will hold your hand
It’s okay, you do not need to explain
I will be here through the hurt
Let me absorb your tears
When you are ready tell me how you feel
My promise is to listen
You are safe here with me.
For Carol Connell’s Kimo Therapy Contest
Written August 5th 2018
Congrats on hosting your first contest Carol. Also thanks for the example.
There are no lies to be written
Real life is how it's read
What I write is the honest truth
No more regrets
I've been pushed
I've been shoved
Straight in the gut
Where my heart bleeds out the love
No bandage around
To patch it up
Pressure more pressure against me
On the floor bleeding
No help to come save me
Pain creeps around the room
On the floor I try to breathe
Therapy
Need the therapy
Read this aloud
Know what I'm about
Feel my pain
Read it
Look at my face
Be it
I get up on my feet
Love still dripping
Someone help me!
I can't see
Therapy
Need the therapy
As I open my eyes
I see plain white bright walls
Around me
I'm strapped
Noticed I'm patched
What happened to me?
I sit there and wonder
Why me? Is this my fantasy?
This is what therapy put on me
As we are all part of the same verse,
languages to belong by diverse.
When the pen is mightier then the sword,
rhymed words are the crown of all commerce.
Legislation and constitutions in applicable intellect,
loving words by peacemakers detect.
Therapeutic words are the guru’s mother tongue,
liberating the spirits to where they belong.
Admired by masters of philosophy in dept,
liberating the cosmic mental effect.
Love letters become the innocent testament,
marriage contract sealing the happy ever after trend.
Societies in refined approach spoke in rhyme,
mental attitude with a thought through to define.
Mechanic quick thinking is the wheel in wheel respective,
giving no room for pliable introspective.
Selected words of grace as guided meditation,
open the vaults of poor collected separation.
Books of poesy towards the child’s education,
replaced by syllabus sheets towards nullification.
The human mind without words has no image,
the system in disguise establishing the damage.
While rhymes in poetic sense by the day,
keeps all confusion at bay.