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Meaning through poetry (favorites, published)

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Link to poems written by members:  member's original poetry



I just had to share this one by Mary Oliver on grief:  From her book entitled:Thirst.




That time

I thought I could not

go any closer to grief

without dying


I went closer,

and I did not die.

Sure God

had His hand in this,


as well as friends.

Still, I was bent,

and my laughter,

as the poet said,


was nowhere to be found.

Then said my friend Daniel

(brave even among lions),

"It's not the weight you carry


but how you carry it-----

books, bricks, grief-----

it's all in the way

you embrace it, balance it, carry it


when you cannot, and would not,

put it down."

So I went practicing.

Have you noticed?


Have you heard

the laughter

that comes, now and again,

out of my startled mouth?


How I linger

to admire, admire, admire

the things of this world

that are kind, and maybe


also troubled------

roses in the wind,

the sea geese on the steep waves,

a love

to which there is no reply?

Edited by manymoretodays
corrected link

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Hey everybody,


I've personally found poetry and metaphor to be an incredibly helpful ally in understanding and digesting the struggles of tapering. It has helped me transform things that seemed like they would haunt my life forever into something that I feel incredibly blessed to have experienced and transformed.


I'll start by sharing a few poems, and I would love it if you would share poems or metaphor that has helped you through these challenging times :)



Those who will not slip beneath

the still surface on the well of grief,

turning down through its black water

to the place we cannot breathe,

we will never know the source from which we drink,

the secret water, cold and clear,

nor find in the darkness glimmering,

the small round coins, 

thrown by those who wished for

something else.

- David Whyte, The Well of Grief




This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are 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 whatever comes.
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

— Jellaludin Rumi,
translation by Coleman Bark





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Oh me too NobodySpecial, as far as finding the use of poetry and metaphor incredibly healing.  And the transformation you mention as well.........I so agree.


And love, love, love Rumi, most especially "The Guest House".  There are some great ones in the Coleman Bark translation.  I may take a look today at my copy.


Do you write some poems or free form at all?  I find that very helpful as well.  And........drumroll...........we have a topic with some poetry written by members through the years. 

Also.......good, good.......on you starting this topic as I believe I posted some poetry by a published author in that thread.  I will try to move that poem here.  If I don't perfect the...... moving it quickly.......you may enjoy just reading the poem I posted there as well, it's on grief.


Best, Love, peace, healing/inrecovery, and growth,



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Hey @manymoretodays,


Send me a link, maybe I'll become a quick fan of your work and share it here :)

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Oh hey, I often just do it on paper.......the writing and more free from.  There are some other poems written by members that may speak to you though.  The other poetry section(stuff written by members, other than the one I mentioned) that we have going is here:





Go ahead and give it a whirl........I think you'd enjoy doing some of your own.


Love, peace, healing/inrecovery, and growth,


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The danger has passed, The wrong's have been righted;

The Veteran’s are ignored, The soldier slighted.


We live in dismay, with our future's uncertain,

But to the VA, we feel like a burden.


Physically unable, mentally unstable,

We search for help, the doctor's not able.


We seek the help we might expect,

Just to be treated without respect.


We do our best to keep our anger in check, to control our rage.

If they knew what we're capable of, maybe their attitudes would change.


To these people, we may not be societies pillars,

what they need to keep in mind, I am a trained killer.


A warrior takes his own life, the only way to deal with the pain,

Doctors go to work the next day, without shame, without blame.


An American hero died, another veteran suicide, just a statistic,

Sometimes I wish, he'd have first went ballistic.


Taking out those that treated him bad, that got him started on these pills,

He knew he could take no more, this was it, the end gives him chills,


So he hangs from a rope, or a bullet through his brain,

He should have first made those people feel HIS life of pain.


The veteran is gone, the doctors live on, but I hope they learn to see,

Because the next crazy one they piss off just might be ME.


Trained to kill at an early age, we are without feeling, without remorse,

Silent, deadly, seek them out, give them no recourse.


But nothing would change, VA puts another one in their place,

Another moron handing out pills, as a doctor, a total disgrace.


It leaves those of us that are still here, living, fighting with all our will,

To keep seeking an answer, it only comes in the form of another pill…


We try the pills, because a prescription pad is the VA doctors only skill,

But when we try to sleep, we don't sleep, we just remember………...… still.


                                                                         Author unknown  (2018)

Edited by manymoretodays
boxed empasis disturbing

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Thanks for the link @manymoretodays,


I'll give it a shot :)


I do write essays / short letters, I guess that's similar to poetry? I write each day, and have a backlog of probably 2 - 300 + now!

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