Hades

January 17

Hades

There is a strangeness to the dark.  A velvety comfort when my paranoia is not alive with ice crystals and contempt.  Cocoons of light create hives of life in an otherwise isolating phenomena.  Pressing to my skin I can wear the night out as a jewel, a talisman for the hope I dare not share.  Pixies and faeries inhabit dawn’s wee hours but the black blank stretch of space is home to things quite different.  Unspeakable in their face I allow them to pass.  Should I be carried off my return is eminent for half the seeds remain.  Not wholly ransomed I live only part time in the sun.  When the shadows fall there is the oddness of home I can neither embrace nor deny.

Load the scale in your favor.

*

THERE IS A TREE

There is a tree in the woods
I've seen it.
It was cut off from any visible source of
Strength or sustenance.
Carried aloft by surrounding trees
The splintered trunk dangles in the air
It makes no connection to the forest floor.
I know the feeling
I have been cut off too.
Violently separated from my God, as it were.
I probe the fractured stump at the bottom of my soul.
I explore the crevices
Seeking tendrils of hope.
My anxiety bonds to my frustrations
But faith eludes me.
I look down to the broken place
The view unrealized by me.
I have a vista of unimagined beauty
Provided to me by the growth of others.
I am eye to eye with my peers,
Held in their loving embrace.
I bloom and flower with them.
I endure the winters the same as they
And come spring am stronger for it.
I don't know why I was damaged.
I don't know why I was saved.
I am grateful it is done.

My sponsor says "It's for our sobriety
And the pleasure of your company."

Vlog:  http://youtu.be/PiW66zH2pg4

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

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

K-Turns

May 7

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 flames.  Today, a one-way faith is fine as long as I am moving forward.

Allow talents to unfold like spring leaves.

*

The Little Black Dress

The holes in my pockets cause me to feel naked.

Though it is an inside pocket

and no one can see I still feel exposed,

My thinking changed and for that matter chained,

one link looped through the next.

I start with a hole in my pocket

so I know I can’t stay in this dress all day.

I know I will need the storage later as time wears on

but I can’t change now

and I don’t want to waste time putting on my tights.

My legs are cold.  I fly from room to room.

I gather my keys, but forget my phone.

I am bare legged and unreachable,

overexposed due to a hole in my pocket.

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

How Like the Moon

February 4

HOW LIKE THE MOON

I show the shining, bright face to the world but can not enumerate the dark.  I change and turn for all to see, glowing sliver to full fledged smile.  I inventory all phases, can tell you from wax to wane, but the darkness, the anchor to my lonely life, I can only guess.  I feel my way across the unknown topography, searching with fingertips and faith to find the secrets of this magic nightmare.  And what?  What is the thing to break it?  Hope?  Reverence?  A detailed map?  Or is the darkness just a fact?  Part of the big equation, the equalizer of the light?  If this is so, how best to live with it?  Continue the search or post barriers?  Go ever forward, looking for an answer?  Endear myself to the void?

The choices are always mine.  The way, seldom clear. 

Breathe with power.

*

Today’s Math

Today is 12/06/06 this is an equation to me,

12 = 6 + 6, simple.

Not everything is, but math always works for me.

My Higher Power is math based

and one of my major decision making tools

is to run the equation of the presenting situation.

There are many constants in my life

and those numbers are easier to calculate

the variables often prove more difficult.

Scalable problems allow for my Geometry.

Proofs are a comfort when I can get them.

Set Theory is what I settle for when I can’t.

I try to show all my work

and have others check my calculations.

I can’t tell you how often a simple error

in addition or subtraction has fouled my whole equation

not to mention my equilibrium.

In conclusion I would like to say it is now 12= 9 + 6

and somehow I’ve lost three days, or did I gain them?

See how tricky the signs are.

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

Have Faith

October 4

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 G-d, but I’m not sure it was G-d’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 it 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.

Try not to long for Santa

*

FISHING FOR CONTENTMENT

Fishing for contentment

Is a wonderful past time.

But what is used for bait?

Is there a delicacy

To dangle before contentment

To lure it into my life?

Can I crumble the best biscotti

And leave a trail to my door?

I don’t believe contentment

Swims around waiting to be caught.

I think it’s more like the wild yeast

That finds its way to my starter.

If I put the ingredients in my life

Contentment will rise to the occasion.

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

Moniker

September 30

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.       

Open up your secret vault and unload

*

BATTLESHIP

If the first is a guess, what is the second?

Paranoia or worse.?

Action is a blessing, reaction a debilitation

And to twist from reaction to self-doubt

Sinks the battle and the battleship.

When I can’t make sense, the gift is stepping back,

Better to put my hand down than to lose the farm.

When I find myself in a minefield I can walk gingerly

Or wait for aid to come from above, air rescue or other.

The option of rethinking every step sets me dancing

The tune which begins this hurky jerky polka of death which

Stems from the metronome of criticism playing in my ear.

When I am overwhelmed with critique

I give up acceptance of chance or joy of spontaneity

Throwing myself into a pit of apprehension.

I am safer being wrong occasionally

Then unsure forever

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

A Verse to the Wise

September 28

A Verse to the Wise

Encoding truth into poetry makes reality survivable by giving readers the opportunity to dig truth up like diamonds.  Throwing certainty in peoples faces like cold water gives them a wake up call but nothing to embrace. The beauty of semaphore is the dance that need not be understood by everyone who sees it.  Communication through device leaves headroom and breathing space while acceptance might be reached.  The current of a conversation often leads me to face the facts, but a tsunami of candor could drown me.

Exhaust reaction with reason

*

DENY ONE---DENY THE OTHER

If you want to deny the problem

By necessity you must deny the solution.

Resolving a problem whose existence is rejected

Creates a split in the crust of collusion.

Often times the convolution and reconvolution of addiction

Causes a bloated roiling mass

That rolls through the streets of sanity.

How can a wedge be cut in a creature so dense.

How can I work on piecing together remedies

When I am readily assured by fellow sufferers

There is NO DISEASE?

Can I trust my personal depletions?

Can I employ faith to a resolution

When faith is utilized to fortify

The contagion I’m told doesn’t exist

But if not faith what?

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

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.

Canine Comprehension

October 22

Canine Comprehension

I wonder what it is that the dog knows. True love, quantum physics, the ratio of lift to thrust required to make the ball fly, how food shared from my plate is better than food from her bowl. This begs the next question. What do I really know; song lyrics, nursery rhymes, old scores from old grudges? What I hope I have learned; is the space it takes to keep an open mind, the willingness required to make a real change, and the width, depth and breath of honest affection. If I haven’t learned these things I will put them at the top of my list of things to do. Because I believe I can teach this old dog a few new tricks.

Not all friends are friendly

*

CONTROL

I have everything in the world but control
And yet it seems to be the only thing I yearn for.
Past history has made it difficult for me to have faith
And I have clung to scraps of control as in alternative.

I have hope but I have hope in a way
A disgruntled gambler has hope.
The horse may cross the finish line first
But it’s a long shot.

This is the trouble with control, if I could ride the horse
I might be able to exert some sway in the situation
But since my jockeying would only make things worse
My inability to secure the outcome leads me to despair.

And here I am, I am not in the race
I will not risk betting on the horse.
I have no skill accepting the capricious nature of life
And work hard not to be capricious myself.

This may be the crux of my problem
I work so hard to do things right instead of having fun.
I try constantly to keep things from going badly
I focus no time on creating joy in my life.

I may not believe much
But I do believe God wants me happy.
This could be the seed---which starts faith.

Have Faith

October 4

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 G-d, but I’m not sure it was G-d’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 it 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.

Try not to long for Santa

*

FISHING FOR CONTENTMENT

Fishing for contentment

Is a wonderful past time.

But what is used for bait?

Is there a delicacy

To dangle before contentment

To lure it into my life?

Can I crumble the best biscotti

And leave a trail to my door?

I don’t believe contentment

Swims around waiting to be caught.

I think it’s more like the wild yeast

That finds its way to my starter.

If I put the ingredients in my life

Contentment will rise to the occasion.

Lathe

January 8

Lathe

Turning into a spin, the edge cuts into my misconceptions, the point sharp and accurate to a fault digs into the excess I carry around, keeping me from my useful purpose. A good eye and steady hand are needed lest breakthrough ruin me. Not that all is ever lost for a spoon with a hole in the bowl will stir a soup smooth. Relinquishing my burdens and trusting the carvers tools and methods takes great commitment. I am carved commitment or no, but things turn out better when I don’t flinch.

If you can’t make hay then mow the lawn

*

IN A BACKWATER

There is a place so removed, uninspired, ignorance flourishes
I hate to go there.
I avoid it when I can
Today I could not avoid it.
Today I saw the gable end of a small barn
Half hidden in the scrub trees.
On the face of the gable end are two plywood cutouts
They are large, taking up the major portion of the space.
The first is a budgie, a bright blue parakeet, 7 or 8 feet tall.
It is tilted to it's side, it looks dyslexic but intriguing
Above it is a cutout of a black guitar, similar in length.
Hanging long ways across the top, almost from eve to eve.
I don't know what it means.
Why they are there.
Who could have put them there.
A story is there,
Just sticking it's tongue out at me.
I can hardly bear it.
I think of God and laugh.
If my God has nothing better to do then tease me,
I need a better God.
I think of my Higher Power and wonder if the power is curious too.
Am I overlapping a layer of consciousness I have no part in?
Is this subliminal previews of my future?
Am I too nosey for my own good?
I just don't know
It could be something all together different
I have only time.
Time will tell in the end it always does.
I hate to wait

Have Faith

October 4

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 G-d, but I’m not sure it was G-d’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.

Try not to long for Santa

*

FISHING FOR CONTENTMENT

Fishing for contentment

Is a wonderful past time.

But what is used for bait?

Is there a delicacy

To dangle before contentment

To lure it into my life?

Can I crumble the best biscotti

And leave a trail to my door?

I don’t believe contentment

Swims around waiting to be caught.

I think it’s more like the wild yeast

That finds its way to my starter.

If I put the ingredients in my life

Contentment will rise to the occasion.

The Dark Fantastic

August 15

The Dark Fantastic

When the tornado touches down worry ends; the anticipation is over and thought stops. Tragedy is funny that way. In the aftermath I find out what mattered and what didn’t; whether I have helped or injured myself trying to plan for the worst. I fail to realize there are cloud filled days when nothing happens and days when trouble comes from out of the blue. What matters ultimately is if I was happy yesterday all the way into today until the thunder struck. Greed is not: living for today; greed is my attempt at gathering the future while dragging the past.

Compel your brilliance to shine

*

AUTUMN

The falling leaves slap my hand

As I ride the road a fifty mile per

My arm dangling.

Exposed they stand stark,

Stripped naked to the soul.

The growth of this years yearnings on the fringe.

I can follow this lead

Remove pretence not clothing

Stand before all who have an interest in seeing me.

Unashamed of my wants and the things I reach for

I can cast off the uniform of evolution

And enjoy a long winter of truth.

Spontaneous Generation

July 11

SPONTANEOUS GENERATION

Dust under the bed turns into bugs. My grandfather believed in these alchemies of myth. I thought myself free from the small witchcrafts of threat. The longer I stay sober, the more real is the insidious nature of my disease. Mental clutter does breed all manner of squirming and chattering vermin. Every intellectual closet I leave uncleaned is a brooding box of contempt, false pride and bloated ego. The synchronism of hatchling defects and nursing grudges, fairy tale thinking and firebrand action, mimic Grandpa’s bedbug rantings. I can never turn my back on unswept philosophy or the dross of assumptions I’ve left waiting in piles. Spiritual house cleaning is all that saves me from the transmigration of blood sucking, life-draining phantasm. Supernatural transformation needn’t plague me if I take right action. The difference between blessings and curses is the direction you are going.


Tiptoe into your heart for a peek.

Water Babies

June 24

WATER BABIES



Timeless babies bobble in their underwater positions. Voiceless cherubs bounce and wink, the river of their wisdom streams to my feeble mind. The noise of silence wrinkles and tinkles as the waves crash soundlessly above. My head fills; I must surface but beg not to lose my connection when I break the tension of top-side sobriety; I turn these angels to screened-off faithfuls. I owe all I have to these aquatic infants. Every hope, all my fear is held to test in the face of swimming heroines and their embryonic grave.


Read a poem to a plant.

My Sober Heart

May 12

MY SOBER HEART


The heart I have today is not the heart I have had all my life. Cells age and are replaced. I slough off what I can no longer use and rejuvenate with fresh layers. My sobriety is the same. Past step work is revamped and approached in innovative ways. Yesterday's prayers are replaced with today’s; today’s meditations will be dispelled by tomorrow’s. The function remains the same but it is constructed with brand new work. Service I render is always for my sobriety but I work to strengthen various quadrants. My heart is not as young as it used to be and vigorous action remakes it new each day. I rebuild my sober heart continually because forever and today I have the mind of an alcoholic.


Time your thinking so it can fire your mind.

The 24 Hour God

May 10

THE 24 HOUR GOD


Matching a loving God to the horrors of my past has proved impossible for me. Projecting a connection to an all-powerful God of the ever-foreshortening future seems implausible. In today, I see a nurturing God. Not an all purpose God, not a God who serves all. In my life, there is a God I trust today. Each morning, when I wake, it is a pleasant surprise to find a God. Not an expansive God, not a God to fit the continuum, but a nice neat God who fits right in this 24.


Lift your fingers to your scars and feel the gratitude.

K-Turn

May 7

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 flames. Today, a one-way faith is fine as long as I am moving forward.


Allow talents to unfold like spring leaves.

Street Signs

May 6

STREET SIGNS


Hanging out on the corner of Disillusion Boulevard and Grief Road, then returning to that special spot on Despair Avenue, was my daily routine. I made the circle and never looked far afield. Widening my circuit allowed me to find Anticipation Place and Hopeful Terrace. I pushed my search and found roads, whose existence I never fathomed, intersecting, creating areas of intrigue. Optimism Court interfacing with Realization Way is the fairest of my finds, but many a fine street corner has me lurking, catching stray sunshine and encouragement. I make my home wherever the hospitality is available and return less often to the dark and stifling places of the past. Happiness is where you find it. Just make sure to read the signs.


Exponential growth is a little thing that affects you in a big way.

Whammo

April 22

WHAMMO



I have been hopping on one foot with a ball of hope shoved under one arm and a ball of hysteria under the other. I wish I could tell from the outside of the ball which is the hope. I worry I will put down the wrong one, so I hold on to both. My life is sorely limited by the baggage, and I fear I am losing life with every hop. A lack of information is my problem. I don’t adequately know the properties of either and suspect my every interpretation. Finally, I stand before my sponsor to ask the question of my life.
“That’s easy, Honey. Hope is the one that bounces back,” is all she has to say.


Give yourself credit in a currency that enriches your life.