Dancing Hands and Creative Souls » Poetry

Peaceful Snow Sleeping

admin — Thu, 11 Feb 2010 03:23:47 +0000

I was sitting with 2 residents in an Alzheimer’s Unit.
“Let’s write a haiku poem. Look out the window at all the snow. What do you think of the snow? How does it make you feel? What does it remind you of?”
I received feedback: Ice cream, cold, have to wear a coat, kinda wet, falling ice, snowball, winter, dead.
“What would you compare it to?”
My sister sleeping.
“Is the snow sleeping?”
Yes
It also has energy
“For what?”
To make the grass grow in the spring.

I began writing their words in the 5 syllables, then 7 syllables, then 5 syllables. Here is our Haiku poem.
Peaceful snow sleeping
Watering seeds for Spring
Waiting for flowers.
We got the paints out and painted flowers coming out of the snow.

Paint and Poetry

admin — Sun, 31 Jan 2010 00:30:39 +0000

Ted is 86 and loves landscape paintings.
“I could never do one,” he said.
“Let’s try,” I said.

We watched as the water and colors spread across the page forming mountains and meadows with the wave of his hand. When it was finished, I held it up. He thought it needed a horse and asked if I would put one in it. I did just that and he asked for some more horses.

“Let’s write a poem about this picture. You come up with a sentence.”

He came up with a sentence about the sunset and we brainstormed on words that rhymed with “west”. We ended up with a 4 line poem.

The sun is setting in the west.
It is going down behind the crest.
A horse is following the rest.
“Wait for me” the stallion says.

Poetry from the Heart

admin — Fri, 08 Jan 2010 01:22:04 +0000

Sadness
I once lived
But now
I am tucked away
In the shadows
Remembering days gone past
Can’t wait to grab hold
Of future days
Coming alive on a spring day
Watching trees come alive
Insects buzzing by
Grabbing a glass of water
How minute life is
At the same time
So large

David is bedridden. He sees himself in the shadows. His emotions and wisdom emerge when he speaks in creative phrases or paints with one hand. Creative arts and the challenge to use the imagination bring forth freedom that surpasses the body. David can be “who he is” in spite of not having the physical capabilities to express the depths of the soul. So much can be expressed not only with words that come out in poetry, but with color, and brushstrokes, and even the beat of a drum!

Group Poetry

admin — Thu, 07 Jan 2010 23:21:23 +0000

Five dementia residents were circled around me. I read some poetry and stopped on the rhyming lines to see if they could fill in the words. A couple of them blurted the words out easily. The others enjoyed the rhythm and sounds. “Let’s write our own rhyming poem,” I said. Let’s come up with a topic. Out of the blue, Eva leaned over to me and said “Did you know that I didn’t used to wear shoes. I couldn’t because my feet would swell.” I grabbed at the line and wrote it down. “ Let’s try to come up with a rhyming line,” I said. We ended up going around the circle talking about what each person liked or didn’t like to wear. It was personal and stimulating. They loved it.

A Poem about Clothes

Eva couldn’t at one time wear shoes.
Her feet would swell… what could she do?
She cannot wear a woolen sweater.
She wears cotton instead… that’s even better.
Ann likes to wear shirts that are red.
“I won’t wear black” she said, shaking her head.
Mary likes to wear a white sweater
And wearing blue is even better.
Rosie doesn’t like to wear scratchy clothes.
It causes itching on skin and nose.
Thelma likes wearing a plain old dress.
A bright and pretty dress… oh yes!

Haiku

admin — Thu, 07 Jan 2010 23:10:24 +0000

Doing poetry together with the aging is one of the best treats in my week. “This was a wonderful time.” I have heard many say that as they leave our poetry groups. One day, we wrote several Haiku poems. We chose nature themes and brainstormed on phrases. Then we counted the 5-7-5 beat (syllables), narrowing it down to the most picturesque language. We then painted watercolor pictures to go with the poems.

Harold

admin — Wed, 06 Jan 2010 03:28:17 +0000

Harold is flat on his back all the time. He can’t ever get up. He does not let life keep him down. He is often in discomfort and pain as his body continues to waste away. His spirit is alive and kicking. He is gracious, and his bright eyes envelop anyone who comes in the door. When we converse, he would speaks in phrases…with very descriptive words. One day, he was telling me about a bull that he came face to face with years ago. I liked the story and asked him to tell it again. I wrote it down as he told it to me and it came out as prose. It was beautiful.

Another day, he was feeling down and I asked him to put it into words. The following poem flowed out and I wrote it down.

Bitterness

Once able to do
Now
Miss people
Having somebody
People
Busy people
I think of myself
As important
They don’t understand
Why should they?
Too much on their minds
So I sit here
And I click
Me and my TV remote
Chewing gum for eyes
And there’s the plastic dog
On my windowsill
I see a bush outside
And a garbage dumpster
Leaves drop and blow
They come back
Rejuvenate
I don’t want to click
I want to read