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 carver’s 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 its 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 placed them.
A story is there,
Just sticking its 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

Vlog: http://youtu.be/noWs8WCwREk

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

Old Goldfish

January 8

OLD GOLDFISH

I got them when my sobriety was new.  They were tiny little guys, ten-cent feeders.  I wanted my stepson to sleep soundly in our strange jumble of a home, fresh from purchase.  The tank sat on a dresser under his elevated bed, space to fit my hand to feed them, no space for baby boy to climb in.  I loved my goldfish.  There is never a no with gold fish; feed them as often as you want; let the water get cold.  Put them in a big space, a small space, plants, no plants.  No was so hard.  I hate and fear no.  I am hard, fish are easy.

Tears and mesmerizing aquarium.  Meetings and steps.  I could not keep myself alive. I don’t know how I kept the fish fed.  The program kept me going, kept hope flowing, and the fish swam.  In this century, when we finally are outliving wild goldfish, we are sober together by the grace of our Higher Power.  It’s been a wonderful time.  I am grateful to be here with the goldfish.  I am grateful the goldfish are here for me, expecting so little.  Maybe I could return the favor.

“I’m grateful you appreciate the fish,” says my sponsor.

Find a bell to ring

*

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 carver’s tools and methods

takes great commitment.

I am carved commitment or no,

but things turn out better when I don’t flinch.

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

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

Old Goldfish

January 8

OLD GOLDFISH

I got them when my sobriety was new. They were tiny little guys, ten-cent feeders. I wanted my stepson to sleep soundly in our strange jumble of a home, fresh from purchase. The tank sat on a dresser under his elevated bed, space to fit my hand to feed them, no space for baby boy to climb in. I loved my goldfish. There is never a no with gold fish; feed them as often as you want; let the water get cold. Put them in a big space, a small space, plants, no plants. No was so hard. I hate and fear no. I am hard, fish are easy.

Tears and mesmerizing aquarium. Meetings and steps. I could not keep myself alive. I don’t know how I kept the fish fed. The program kept me going, kept hope flowing, and the fish swam. In this century, when we finally are outliving wild goldfish, we are sober together by the grace of our Higher Power. It’s been a wonderful time. I am grateful to be here with the goldfish. I am grateful the goldfish are here for me, expecting so little. Maybe I could return the favor.

“I’m grateful you appreciate the fish,” says my sponsor.

Find a bell to ring

*

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 carver’s tools and methods

takes great commitment.

I am carved commitment or no,

but things turn out better when I don’t flinch.