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From Panic To Poetry


23 роки тому 0 198 logo logo logo logo logo logo logo logo logo logo 0
It does bring me into the present - allows me to focus on on something beautiful - also, poetry and journaling are ways of monitoring yourself and tracking progress of regression throughout days, months years or just yesterday. Maria P.S. Poetry and writing allows to 'scream out' as loud as you want in the total silence of the written word.
23 роки тому 0 33 logo logo logo logo logo logo logo logo logo logo 0
Hi Guys Do you find that journaling or writing poetry reduces your general level of anxiety for that day?
23 роки тому 0 198 logo logo logo logo logo logo logo logo logo logo 0
Yes, indeed. It is a way of emptying my thoughts onto paper with words - the silence of writing is soothing to me - I use the venue of poetry as creating beauty. No matter how I feel - chaotic, angry, wierd, alone, cloistered in, hateful, loveful, afraid, thankful, grateful - or just to escape into a fantasy and create a beautiful feeling, it is necessary for me. Maria
23 роки тому 0 173 logo logo logo logo logo logo logo logo logo logo 0
Thank you so much for this..it is beautiful. I love the rain and find it very comforting too. I like the way it sounds on my tin roof, and on the leaves in a forest. I is sft and allows me to think..it is fuzzy. Thanx Red Does this form of expression help you get things out...?
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Dear All, I have written poetry all my life and find it has been instrumental in monitoring ebbs and flows of my phychological behaviors - I would like to share some of my work with you in hopes you will share some with me. Maria The Rain Doth Comfort Me By Maria November 25, 1999 Tho I remember the sweetest touch of them all I pray the voice of the rain doth not stop today For this morning is of silent voices flying through My mind’s atmosphere like the breath of a child ‘tis the gasp of my mother & child…of those Who have fallen, yet my stride takes heed With the ear of a fawn listening for a twig’s Aide memoire of fear & a secluded thicket If only this sun would not come through the veil Of soft grays to burn & wither the innocent souls In my valley today…for now I am quiet & pensive Within these strange walls that bleed oblivion

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