What is Mine

December 13

WHAT IS MINE

The cloud of snow slept in the tree overnight and poured from the branches with the morning breezes.  Showers of crystal, dropping from a clear daylight sky, are telltales of intentions delayed.  What was meant for moon time has been kept till sunshine, a treat for bright eyes and young hearts.  How can I weep over altered destinations?  Arrivals and departures are truly within the province of poetry and postcards, not things for worry or fretting.  Putty is for forming into an image of my desire not the world.  Time is a liquid substance I cannot decant at my will.  Shoulds and oughts are parlor games for the bored and senseless.  If I waste my life playing a game I can’t win I will fail to see what I can’t lose.

Work with someone who works.

*

Pretty Girls

Pretty girls seem to live by separate rules,

but I don’t know why.

The world is filled with people and rules,

crazy circumstances and the uniformity of exception.

The where and what for, of arbitrary allowance

to be regulated based on symmetry or fashion

strikes me as odd, beyond survival

and this may explain so very much.

Gravity pulls down equally; discriminates for nothing.

Orbital rotation continues in spite of the fairness of an eye.

The universe supports us without end

but prejudice is our failing

and I blame it on the pretty girls

Vlog: http://youtu.be/lebYO9ADr0s

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

Pretty Girls

December 17

Pretty Girls

Pretty girls seem to live by separate rules, but I don’t know why.  The world is filled with people and rules, crazy circumstances and the uniformity of exception.  The where and what for, of arbitrary allowance to be regulated based on symmetry or fashion strikes me as odd, beyond survival and this may explain so very much.  Gravity pulls down equally; discriminates for nothing.  Orbital rotation continues in spite of the fairness of an eye.  The universe supports us without end but prejudice is our failing and I blame it on the pretty girls

Sift the silt for treasure

*

MARIAN

Even if the whole world was created in a cipher
And whirls off into nothingness
This is still not a commentary on the existence of God.

We have today---for this moment of sobriety
There is a Power Greater than

My despair, my apprehension and it builds with me a home
From the bricks of my optimism.

Partnership is no prevention of inhospitable endings
But is a temporary relief from desperate loneliness.
The tired struggle of guaranteeing niceness spills my energy
Scraping from each 24 the marrow so necessary.

My open palm saves me from grasping,
My open mind from grappling
I rid myself of tiny gods in tiny heavens
Where I do not reside.

Let the blades of grass probe between my toes
There is beauty for me to see,
Love to hold, hope to float.
Where this train originated and whatever its destination
It’s in my station now and I am grateful to be on board.

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

What is Mine

December 13

WHAT IS MINE

The cloud of snow slept in the tree overnight and poured from the branches with the morning breezes.  Showers of crystal, dropping from a clear daylight sky, are telltales of intentions delayed.  What was meant for moon time has been kept till sunshine, a treat for bright eyes and young hearts.  How can I weep over altered destinations?  Arrivals and departures are truly within the province of poetry and postcards, not things for worry or fretting.  Putty is for forming into an image of my desire not the world.  Time is a liquid substance I cannot decant at my will.  Shoulds and oughts are parlor games for the bored and senseless.  If I waste my life playing a game I can’t win I will fail to see what I can’t lose.

Work with someone who works.

*

Pretty Girls

Pretty girls seem to live by separate rules,

but I don’t know why.

The world is filled with people and rules,

crazy circumstances and the uniformity of exception.

The where and what for, of arbitrary allowance

to be regulated based on symmetry or fashion

strikes me as odd, beyond survival

and this may explain so very much.

Gravity pulls down equally; discriminates for nothing.

Orbital rotation continues in spite of the fairness of an eye.

The universe supports us without end

but prejudice is our failing

and I blame it on the pretty girls

Pretty Girls

December 17

Pretty Girls

Pretty girls seem to live by separate rules, but I don’t know why. The world is filled with people and rules, crazy circumstances and the uniformity of exception. The where and what for, of arbitrary allowance to be regulated based on symmetry or fashion strikes me as odd, beyond survival and this may explain so very much. Gravity pulls down equally; discriminates for nothing. Orbital rotation continues in spite of the fairness of an eye. The universe supports us without end but prejudice is our failing and I blame it on the pretty girls

Sift the silt for treasure

*

MARIAN

Even if the whole world was created in a cipher
And whirls off into nothingness
This is still not a commentary on the existence of God.

We have today---for this moment of sobriety
There is a Power Greater than

My despair, my apprehension and it builds with me a home
From the bricks of my optimism.

Partnership is no prevention of inhospitable endings
But is a temporary relief from desperate loneliness.
The tired struggle of guaranteeing niceness spills my energy
Scraping from each 24 the marrow so necessary.

My open palm saves me from grasping,
My open mind from grappling
I rid myself of tiny gods in tiny heavens
Where I do not reside.

Let the blades of grass probe between my toes
There is beauty for me to see,
Love to hold, hope to float.
Where this train originated and whatever its destination
It’s in my station now and I am grateful to be on board.

Pretty Girls

December 17

Pretty Girls

Pretty girls seem to live by separate rules, but I don’t know why. The world is filled with people and rules, crazy circumstances and the uniformity of exception. The where and what for, of arbitrary allowance to be regulated based on symmetry or fashion strikes me as odd, beyond survival and this may explain so very much. Gravity pulls down equally; discriminates for nothing. Orbital rotation continues in spite of the fairness of an eye. The universe supports us without end but prejudice is our failing and I blame it on the pretty girls

Sift the silt for treasure

*

MARIAN

Even if the whole world was created in a cipher
And whirls off into nothingness
This is still not a commentary on the existence of God.

We have today---for this moment of sobriety
There is a Power Greater then my despair,
My apprehension and it builds with me a home
From the bricks of my optimism.

Partnership is no prevention of inhospitable endings
But is a temporary relief from desperate loneliness.
The tired struggle of guaranteeing niceness spills my energy
Scraping from each 24 the marrow so necessary.

My open palm saves me from grasping,
My open mind from grappling
I rid myself of tiny gods in tiny heavens
Where I do not reside.

Let the blades of grass probe between my toes
There is beauty for me to see,
Love to hold, hope to float.
Where this train originated and whatever its destination
It’s in my station now and I am grateful to be on board.