Floral Ecstasy

November 13

FLORAL ECSTASY

I could eat fields of buttercups and drink down ponds of water lilies.  Wear foxgloves and a pair of lady slippers, too.  I could wrap myself in bridal wreathe and underpin with nettles.  I could rise with the roses, lay with the lilies, shade with the sage, sing with the trumpet vines and run away from home with a Turk's cap on my head and a pansy in my pocket, until the four o’clocks say it’s time to come home for evening primrose and then bed.

Increase your tool chest by one.

*

When I’m Gone

When I’m gone ……

I hope they’ll say I tried real hard and did my best

But more likely will be the lament;

she didn’t live up to her potential.

When I’m gone ……

I pray the song will be one of tinkling bells and uplifted voices

But more likely is a disparate confusion of musical chairs.

When I’m gone ……

I wish that my banner will be raised by knowing arms

But more likely will be a shuffle of my undecipherable notes,

then the circular file.

When I’m gone ……

I would like my dreams to fly

to the ears and eyes of friends and take refuge

But more likely these dreams will chase me down the long corridor

and be nothing but my shadow in the long dark night.

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life

Seam Allowance

October 3

SEAM ALLOWANCE

The space given and taken, the space used to bind us and sew us fast.

The permission for humanness and the need for seams to make us whole.  The narrow margin, a shoulder on which I lean, the slender strip a place of refuge. 

          

Darts are snipped to hug the curves; I bend to fit to life. 

Our nearness; being my own part and part of more. 

Planning, and a pattern cut to order with allowances made for fraying and fragility, allow me to feel woven into a web of what is and still hope for more.  The unfinished garment is taking shape, easing and stretching.

 

And before my eyes, pins held between the teeth of God.

Keep strong words on a high shelf you have access to.

*

Have Faith

Strange and wonderful tragedy

takes you away from me

and I don’t know how it is that you return,

but you do and I thank God,

But I’m not sure it was God’s idea

that you went away or that you came back,

though, I am sure, He missed you every bit as much as I did.

I revolve the freshness of you in my mouth like candy;

I swirl, but don’t want to crack open.

Honeymoons are for people who live comprehendible lives;

we fly to each other and cling like raptors plummeting to the ground.

You leave your mark upon me I do the same for you;

we are none the worse for the wear.

I stand in the gush from the hydrant,

soaked in the pleasure, forgoing the safety.

The world may burn down again tomorrow,

I remember that it has before, but I am wiser for the singeing

and weathered with soot in my eyes and charcoal piled roundabout my legs,

yet I’m still standing and you are back from the dead

and I think of you as Lazarus.

And now we will live the comedy

for life is what lay ahead,

we took the hit of death before its time

and so must be off the hook for the rest.

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life

Screaming Lethargy

September 26

SCREAMING LETHARGY

The screaming lethargy of being alive after many years of wanting something else, the exhaustion of pulsing, breathing, waves and waves of thinking.  Yet as tired as I am, I am.  Here without a doubt, I stand.  No crawling for I have not fallen, no climbing for I have reached the plain.  I wait for the rain to wash over me, the truth to run through me, time to pass by me.  As if on a free trip to an unwelcome destination I arrive with randomly packed bags and low expectations.  I’m here now.  The train doesn’t seem to be moving on.  I might as well leave the station, nothing to do on the platform.  There may be points of interest or flowers to be smelled.  I step haltingly and fear making any connection to this unbidden place.  My name is unknown; I befriend the lamppost, the birds, the street.  I am tired of travel, fearful of arrival.  Fury courses through my veins but the weather is pleasant, I might take off my coat and stay.

Plan a trip with no destination.

*

One Street off Amory

Apology holds change at arms length.

Apology is the thing I was taught to wait for

as a sign that things will improve,

but apology is not a harbinger of change.

It is quite the opposite

it is the guarantor of business as usual;

no amendment need occur,

apology has been made and life goes on with no alteration.

Without variation we all stay sick

and apologizing for that won’t get us better.

Restitution, amends, revelation, revolution

these are the things which make the world bright,

Apology is just a scrap with which to wipe your ass.

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life

Age and Death

December 22

Age and Death

When death was young

It did its job cleanly no mincing about

Now the uncertainty and old age tremble

Leave the world filled with half dead zombies

Living is less for the faltering of death

I would rather be struck down swiftly with a scythe

Than bludgeoned endlessly with a butter knife

Sing with the wind

*

Before Pearls

You must stop crying

You must

The endless tears will poison you

Your teeth and soul, the life of you

Just because you don’t know how you can go on

Doesn’t mean the world will stop to let you off

The raw red rough of it will drag you to its lair

Doing what it will with you, there is no hope to spare

Unloved child you must go on

Lied to and misguided doesn’t change the time

There is nowhere to lie down and sleep

No safe and sheltered home

So dry your face, pick up your pack

Carry all your freight

Close your eyes to beauty

Close your ears to lies

You are the only oyster

The sand your only prize

You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/More-Sober-The-Way-Sane/dp/144141231X/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1374072329&sr=8-3&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/Lines-My-Life-Sherrie-Theriault/dp/1448652820/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1374072576&sr=1-1&keywords=Lines+from+my+life%2C+Sherrie+theriault

When I'm Gone

November 15

When I’m Gone

When I’m gone I hope they’ll say I tried real hard and did my best

But more likely will be the lament; she didn’t live up to her potential.

When I’m gone I pray the song will be one of tinkling bells and uplifted voices

But more likely is a disparate confusion of musical chairs.

When I’m gone I wish that my banner will be raised by knowing arms

But more likely will be a shuffle of my undecipherable notes, then the circular file.

When I’m gone I would like my dreams to fly to the ears and eyes of friends and take refuge

But more likely these dreams will chase me down the long corridor and be nothing but my shadow in the long dark night.

Ask your own questions

*

NAVY DUCK
When the postcard is hung upside down
The plane flies away on its back.
I know one of those irregular days
With the disposition of a bee stung mule
Is on its way to visit me.

I have found diplomacy goes a long way
And when it runs out, humor is the best fall back.
Nothing mean or sophomoric but the ability to laugh
Is a fortune in the face of a bankrupt day.

When the sun sets on these spare and harrowing days
I mortgage strength from tomorrow
And right the picture---then fly right.

You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/More-Sober-The-Way-Sane/dp/144141231X/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1374072329&sr=8-3&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/Lines-My-Life-Sherrie-Theriault/dp/1448652820/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1374072576&sr=1-1&keywords=Lines+from+my+life%2C+Sherrie+theriault

Hand Washing

September 16

Hand Washing

I live a simple life now; I handle life as it is dished up.  I no longer need to make use of the dish prison.  Living an orderly active life I find it untenable to have my favorite spoon or bowl held hostage until I make enough mess to run the dishwasher through.  I don’t live an ‘Eight is Enough’ type existence and need not burden my psyche trying to save my hands a little soap. I save the Cascade for visits to waterfalls, Jet Dry for landing strips.

Smile with all the parts of your face

*

DEATH PRACTICE

Why do you practice death like it were a skill?

Do you fear you lack ability, or because it’s your goal

Have you made it your hobby?

Beleaguered by the questions of my sponsor

I search quickly for some believable response.

I confused calm with death

And thought I was practicing the former.

Death came for a holiday

How could I refuse it.

It’s a test drive, if I like it I can keep it.

My sponsor doesn’t think I’m funny.

Check your motives, wants and desires,

Make sure death is what you really want,

That it’s not just your fallback position

Because you fear life.

Don’t get me wrong

I hope death is a good thing

But why try to chew tomorrows food

When your plate is full of today?

You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/More-Sober-The-Way-Sane/dp/144141231X/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1374072329&sr=8-3&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/Lines-My-Life-Sherrie-Theriault/dp/1448652820/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1374072576&sr=1-1&keywords=Lines+from+my+life%2C+Sherrie+theriault

Carrion

August 23

Carrion

The trouble with not burying my dead issues is that in very short order they begin to smell and not, too long after that they start to attract vultures.  Alternately when I am able to drain all the juice out of these botherations and they become freeze-dried decorations like Roy Rodger’s Trigger, I find that I can still climb aboard but they just don’t take me anywhere.  I have found, just for me that I prefer visiting the grave of a past problem far better than having to live with its corpse, but then I am funny like that.  I have never been one for hanging on to the crucifixion, of other’s or my own.

Don’t wait for the bell of courage to sound, go ring it yourself

*

THE CALL

Within the sound of your voice

I sing.

In the beat of your heart

I heal.

I feel in your touch

And dance when your toe starts to tap.

I see myself in your beauty

And warm inside your embrace.

Your thoughts are my inspiration.

Your lungs breathe me in and blow me out.

I soar in your flight

And dream in your waking.

I ring in your ears

Fall with your tears.

I’m lost in you

And found in you.

I travel and lounge in you

I share all your rantings and hide in your secrets

You hear and caress me, my darling

You know who I am.

You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/More-Sober-The-Way-Sane/dp/144141231X/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1374072329&sr=8-3&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/Lines-My-Life-Sherrie-Theriault/dp/1448652820/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1374072576&sr=1-1&keywords=Lines+from+my+life%2C+Sherrie+theriault

Wales

July 14

Wales

It is safe for the houses to sleep in the streets, but not for me.  I cannot follow that which is so right and regular for mundane things.  I am a jagged piece and it is hard for me to find my place.

The sun comes though everyone’s windows and peeks around the blinds left down.  I must mind my manners and not be a nuisance or a bother; draw no undue attention to my brightness, carry a basket to hide it in.

And while every river can drown its sorrows in the rush of the downhill sweep to the sea; I must stand here stock cold sober and bear the pain appointed to me.

Curl your fingers into the tangles of life and hang on

*

WAKE

Don’t worry that you might spoil the procession

By getting out of your coffin.

You don’t need to lie there waiting for the lid to close.

People will walk past saying ---so sad---too bad

But don’t lie instate just to keep them from feeling

Their trip was a waste.

Just because the crypt has been purchased

Doesn’t mean you’re ready to go.

There are still opportunities to dance.

Don’t die for love, glory or pride.

Don’t die before your time.

Death is only an honor

If you lived every preceding second.

Periomenville

April 28

Perkiomenville

Being actually alive does not feel as good as I imagined the relief of being dead would feel and therefore I have anxiety and dread, or is it disappointment.  I feel like a failure when I am in the process of trying and I want to throw the pieces in the air and run.  Does this mean I’m weak or does it mean I am frightened?  Or is there some heavenly host of other reasons why my crêpe paper soul twists and turns in the breeze of the marketplace?  Some part of me was auctioned off and its removal left a psychic scar that even equanimity can not ease.  I am all things wonderful and yet there is this flaw, this toe tied thread which holds me back, holds me down with painful accurate precision.  I look for the knife with which to cut it all the while wondering if this will turn it into a toe tag or a price tag.

Police your self destruction

*

K-TURNS

I do not believe in a universe that makes complete sense

I often find myself trapped

Because the things I pull into no longer feel firm.

I attempt K-turns in alleys far too narrow for the maneuver

I can’t back myself through the passages I plunged into willingly

My faith doesn’t compute in reverse and I find this disconcerting

I may walk into the face of fire

But find it impossible to turn my back on the flame

Today a one-way faith is fine

As long as I am moving forward.

Imperturbable

April 26

Imperturbable

Perfectionism is a cover, a blanket of lead; hard to move and rich with poison.  What it tries to hide is my unwillingness to struggle and strive.  It’s not a fear of failure, but the horror of success after a long hot pursuit.  If I can stall on the intricacies of the first move there is no further movement.  If I can fail before I begin there is no sweat, no stain, no stink.  Catastrophe is no bother, but skinned knees are my undoing.  Winning is not so important to me; my unfortunate goal is to look untroubled.

Snap a picture of your beliefs

*

TRANSITIONS

During the months of winter

The trees stand tall and leafless

Static in their appearance, frozen in direction

The insurgence of spring brings to life the truth

The buds and flowers show the draw of the their owners

The pull of life from the earth and sky.

Other trees have begun to restore the gifts so graciously given

These leafless giants open themselves

As home and sustenance to the surrounding community

Returning favors and flavors, coming to terms with wholeness

Celebrations of all I have, call for me to give back

Even during the time when we all look the same.

Floral Ecstasy

November 13

FLORAL ECSTASY

I could eat fields of buttercups and drink down ponds of water lilies.  Wear foxgloves and a pair of lady slippers, too.  I could wrap myself in bridal wreathe and underpin with nettles.  I could rise with the roses, lay with the lilies, shade with the sage, sing with the trumpet vines and run away from home with a Turk's cap on my head and a pansy in my pocket, until the four o’clocks say it’s time to come home for evening primrose and then bed.

Increase your tool chest by one.

*

When I’m Gone

When I’m gone ……

I hope they’ll say I tried real hard and did my best

But more likely will be the lament;

she didn’t live up to her potential.

When I’m gone ……

I pray the song will be one of tinkling bells and uplifted voices

But more likely is a disparate confusion of musical chairs.

When I’m gone ……

I wish that my banner will be raised by knowing arms

But more likely will be a shuffle of my undecipherable notes,

then the circular file.

When I’m gone ……

I would like my dreams to fly

to the ears and eyes of friends and take refuge

But more likely these dreams will chase me down the long corridor

and be nothing but my shadow in the long dark night.

Death Practice

September 29

DEATH PRACTICE

“Why do you practice death like it were a skill?  Do you fear you lack ability?  Or, because it’s your goal, have you made it your hobby?”

Beleaguered by the questions of my sponsor I search quickly for some believable response.  “I confused calm with death and thought I was practicing the former…..Death came for a holiday, how could I refuse it?…..It’s a test drive, if I like it I can keep it.”  My sponsor doesn’t think I’m funny.

“Check your motives, wants and desires.  Make sure death is what you really want, that it’s not just your fallback position because you fear life.  Don’t get me wrong, I hope death is a good thing, but why try to chew tomorrow’s food when your plate is full of today?

Ride change.

*

Moniker

The Hurt carry on the tradition,

would never think to give it up,

don’t even know there is that option,

strap on their weapons without a second thought.

How can there be a second thought

when there never was a first.

Hurt is a reflex

and it moves its way through the world

like dominoes tumbling;

Everything’s knocked down

before you ever saw it standing.

So, what’s the use anyway?

So, I fall down and in that action push you forward

and we are all together in the mud.

But it is so hard to recognize anyone in the mud,

including myself and especially you.

If I hurt you that makes it hard for me to see

anything about you except my wish for your departure,

Which I subconsciously hope will take away the guilt

I can’t afford to feel.

If I make it out of the mud I can’t afford anything,

but if I don’t pay up I’ll be in new mud soon,

So I must break tradition

and the first step toward that is seeing it

and the second is calling it by its name.

Age and Death

December 22

Age and Death

When death was young

It did its job cleanly no mincing about

Now the uncertainty and old age tremble

Leave the world filled with half dead zombies

Living is less for the faltering of death

I would rather be struck down swiftly with a scythe

Than bludgeoned endlessly with a butter knife

Sing with the wind

*

Before Pearls

You must stop crying

You must

The endless tears will poison you

Your teeth and soul, the life of you

Just because you don’t know how you can go on

Doesn’t mean the world will stop to let you off

The raw red rough of it will drag you to its lair

Doing what it will with you, there is no hope to spare

Unloved child you must go on

Lied to and misguided doesn’t change the time

There is nowhere to lie down and sleep

No safe and sheltered home

So dry your face, pick up your pack

Carry all your freight

Close your eyes to beauty

Close your ears to lies

You are the only oyster

The sand your only prize

When I'm Gone

November 15

When I’m Gone

When I’m gone I hope they’ll say I tried real hard and did my best

But more likely will be the lament; she didn’t live up to her potential.

When I’m gone I pray the song will be one of tinkling bells and uplifted voices

But more likely is a disparate confusion of musical chairs.

When I’m gone I wish that my banner will be raised by knowing arms

But more likely will be a shuffle of my undecipherable notes, then the circular file.

When I’m gone I would like my dreams to fly to the ears and eyes of friends and take refuge

But more likely these dreams will chase me down the long corridor and be nothing but my shadow in the long dark night.

Ask your own questions

*

NAVY DUCK
When the postcard is hung upside down
The plane flies away on its back.
I know one of those irregular days
With the disposition of a bee stung mule
Is on its way to visit me.

I have found diplomacy goes a long way
And when it runs out, humor is the best fall back.
Nothing mean or sophomoric but the ability to laugh
Is a fortune in the face of a bankrupt day.

When the sun sets on these spare and harrowing days
I mortgage strength from tomorrow
And right the picture---then fly right.

Hand Washing

September 16

Hand Washing

I live a simple life now; I handle life as it is dished up. I no longer need to make use of the dish prison. Living an orderly active life I find it untenable to have my favorite spoon or bowl held hostage until I make enough mess to run the dishwasher through. I don’t live an ‘Eight is Enough’ type existence and need not burden my psyche trying to save my hands a little soap. I save the Cascade for visits to waterfalls, Jet Dry for landing strips.

Smile with all the parts of your face

*

DEATH PRACTICE

Why do you practice death like it were a skill?

Do you fear you lack ability, or because it’s your goal

Have you made it your hobby?

Beleaguered by the questions of my sponsor

I search quickly for some believable response.

I confused calm with death

And thought I was practicing the former.

Death came for a holiday

How could I refuse it.

It’s a test drive, if I like it I can keep it.

My sponsor doesn’t think I’m funny.

Check your motives, wants and desires,

Make sure death is what you really want,

That it’s not just your fallback position

Because you fear life.

Don’t get me wrong

I hope death is a good thing

But why try to chew tomorrows food

When your plate is full of today?

Age and Death

December 22

Age and Death

When death was young

It did its job cleanly no mincing about

Now the uncertainty and old age tremble

Leave the world filled with half dead zombies

Living is less for the faltering of death

I would rather be struck down swiftly with a scythe

Than bludgeoned endlessly with a butter knife

Sing with the wind

*

Before Pearls

You must stop crying

You must

The endless tears will poison you

Your teeth and soul, the life of you

Just because you don’t know how you can go on

Doesn’t mean the world will stop to let you off

The raw red rough of it will drag you to its lair

Doing what it will with you, there is no hope to spare

Unloved child you must go on

Lied to and misguided doesn’t change the time

There is nowhere to lie down and sleep

No safe and sheltered home

So dry your face, pick up your pack

Carry all your freight

Close your eyes to beauty

Close your ears to lies

You are the only oyster

The sand your only prize

Liminal

November 3

Liminal

Not everything which is birthed arrives here alive; sometimes struggle is answered with stillness. I love thee in thy loss for there is no life to love thee in. Hope can be a bubble that breaks returning to whatever it was before that perfect roundness and yet the roundness is not a mistake. Reflected beauty is beauty all the same. Some sparks aren’t meant to become flames, but their glow still warms my eye.

Wage old wars only in the past and never in the present

*

DOWN THE UPSIDE

On the downside of a rising star there is too much fear
Anticipation is recommended for ascent, delight should be encouraged
But all out alarm is usually sounded whether it is needed or not.

Panic dims the shining pleasure of mounting the sky.
Refuting celestial status, denying astral projection, I renounce myself.
Attaining height, my position in space is apparent
To bystanders and onlookers.

I need to ride the comet and accept fate my nemesis
Fortune shines on me
I should not squint away kismet.

Make Use of Brown Soap

August 26

Make Use of Brown Soap

When I have death in my pocket it makes it easy to cross the street without a glance. A little arsenic in my in my veins allows me to swallow the rest with no thought beyond want. Twist the screws tight enough in my brain and no other pressure seems problematic. All of the trouble in the world can beat a path to my door when I carry within me the seeds of destruction. I have to check myself for stow-away devastation. Ruin begins in tiny droplets but will wash me down the drain if not wiped immediately from my skin. Vigilant acknowledgement of the power of small burdens protects me from the mind blown ravages of the ensuing cyclone. Microbes cause mayhem, so I must watch where I touch and wash before I eat.

Don’t keep your windows shuttered; don’t keep your eyes closed

*

UNIFIED THEORY

When I build the circuit correctly the light comes on.

When I heal the shards together the bell rings.

If I am meticulous and attentive, if the world is gracious

And bares herself to my mind I will see how everything fits.

I know the reflexive nature of things

And the way life folds one thing inside the other.

Whale song is a long slow underwater birdcall.

Moon rise, sun rise, then the moon again.

The universe works without my interference

But also without complete understanding.

I am learning how to be a part of a beautiful maze

I long to comprehend it.

The weeds are trying to take back the city

If I lay down maybe they will take me back too.

If I keep my eyes open I might see it all unfold.

Conception without is my desire within.

Carrion

August 23

Carrion

The trouble with not burying my dead issues is that in very short order they begin to smell and not, too long after that they start to attract vultures. Alternately when I am able to drain all the juice out of these botherations and they become freeze-dried decorations like Roy Rodger’s Trigger, I find that I can still climb aboard but they just don’t take me anywhere. I have found, just for me that I prefer visiting the grave of a past problem far better than having to live with its corpse, but then I am funny like that. I have never been one for hanging on to crucifixion, other’s or my own.

Don’t wait for the bell of courage to sound, go ring it yourself

*

THE CALL

Within the sound of your voice

I sing.

In the beat of your heart

I heal.

I feel in your touch

And dance when your toe starts to tap.

I see myself in your beauty

And warm inside your embrace.

Your thoughts are my inspiration.

Your lungs breathe me in and blow me out.

I soar in your flight

And dream in your waking.

I ring in your ears

Fall with your tears.

I’m lost in you

And found in you.

I travel and lounge in you

I share all your rantings and hide in your secrets

You hear and caress me, my darling

You know who I am.