By Geordie Bull
I loved writing poetry as a child. It was a form of expression that made me feel free, unencumbered and creative.
I allowed myself to experiment with words like a painter plays with colour. I won a few awards and was encouraged by teachers and my parents to share my poems.
Somewhere along the line, poetry morphed from something desirable and good to a self-indulgent, pointless past time. Beyond the angsty teenage years, it felt too vulnerable and unproductive. I packed poetry away with other childish loves.
A couple of years ago, I noticed a yearning to write poems again and gave into the craving. As a professional writer, my poems seemed silly and not-good-enough, yet I persisted because the act of writing in this way was the only way I could explore ideas and emotions that weren’t logical – things I didn’t yet understand myself. It became satisfying, fun and creative. It helped me to gather the strength to be myself.
I’ve started owning my desire to write poems again, and encouraging my coaching clients to do the same. Some of the poems they have shared with me have awoken them to their vast inner wisdom and become works of art to be shared. Poems have, many times, become lights in the darkness.
Poetry writing is especially good for mothers. It can take seconds to jot down the words that form the foundation of a poem, scrawled between feedings, chores or paid work. In such a short time, it delivers a sense of accomplishment in having made something and exercises our creative muscles.
Poetry writing is especially good for mothers. It can take seconds to jot down the words that form the foundation of a poem, scrawled between feedings, chores or paid work.
By giving ourselves permission to write poetry, we validate our own wellspring of wisdom and nourish ourselves by playing in the world of words. Writing poetry is soul stretching and life-affirming.
If you feel a spark of interest, I encourage you to begin writing poems and see where the adventure takes you. Here’s one of mine to get you started…
The Bubble Girl
By Geordie Bull
you were born into wrongness
you pointed and screamed
‘Look at this!’
searched the blank eyes of those
who loved you
and found no recognition
there must be something wrong with me, your clever brain said
in your vast brilliance
you started work on a bubble
that would encase your wrong body
a safe place to live –
somewhere to contain the unpredictable storms
that took hold and made
people look at you askance
out of sticks and paint and glitter
You pieced together a bubble that was first acceptable
they marveled at your creation
and its prettiness began to
muddy the view of what was inside
as the years wore on
the soft animal within began to awaken
it uncurled itself
and the fiery sting of that first shame
tapped on the cage of your chest