Inventory

June 22

INVENTORY

“When you say ‘self’ who ever do you mean?” asked my sponsor.  “Do you mean the lovely velvet child or the facade you built to show others?”

“Well, I wish I could answer you, I do,” my reply.

“I see the shrine you construct in your sobriety.  I love that you made it.  When you talk about ridding yourself of ‘self’ I doubt you mean this edifice.  Do you speak of some creature in the past?  Do you know of whom you speak?  Are you parroting then assuming this thing exists solely for you to now dispose of it?”

“I thought ‘self’ was self-evident,” I feebly interject.

“I want names and locations.  If you only suspect some of these entities please provide me with a full accounting of your suspicions.  I also want, to the best of your ability, the origin of these individuals.  I am unwilling to cosign their disposal without a proper bookkeeping.  I see by the bright look on your face I have made myself clear,” she said with conviction.

“So, this is what you meant by self inventory,” I say and sigh.

Draw a maze of exit from a dilemma.

*

The Tide in Texas

I cannot tell you of my pain,

how the liars took me off my land,

how my heart lay shattered all around,

how I’m so foolish and left in town.

I cannot show you the big red ball,

which to me is a shame

or how it bobs and sways or how the tail of it hangs

out of reach and taunts me all the day.

But growing up to face the facts

and finding my strong legs

has put me to another tact

and sucks the mud away.

Sharing my disappointment and my grief

is like adding ballast to the boats.

It lifts us all instead of sinking me.

Not much of a price to pay.

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

Jag

March 20

JAG

I have the most interesting lawn ornament.  It is long and sleek, low to the ground, resting on rubber rolls, steep of side and languid front and back.  It has glass, glass that slants and glass that slips into its sides.  Its paint shines when I buff it and shows dust when I don’t.  Inside there are seats and many artistic accessories.  I sit on the steps and admire the thing; then I sit in the thing and admire the porch.  That’s all there was until I was handed the key.

Live at home.

*

When is enough, enough?

What is the difference between full and all?

Don’t know?  Well, let me tell you,”

said my sponsor with a wink.

“Full is when the broccoli that went perfectly

with the entrée leaves a pleasant smile on your face,

full is when the arrow on the gas gauge points to F,

these are little indicators of full.

Indications that you have reached all:

the wet scary feeling in your mouth

after your second piece of pie,

all is the gas pouring down the side of your car

because you have to try to squeeze more in.”

“Yes, yes,” I reply, “I know when I’ve overdone it;

I resent everyone or at least I am cranky about everything.

I know when I’m under doing it, too;

I get either a lost feeling

or the sense that I should be in charge,

but how do I really know that I am doing enough?”

“If your sponsor has a good idea of where you are

mentally, physically and spiritually;

if the people in your home group can count on you

to contribute service regularly.

If most people in most meetings know not just your face,

but also your name.

If your sponsees freely admit that you are their sponsor,

those are sure signs.

Though the biggest signal for me is how constant my contact is.

If I’m reluctant to pray

I’m usually not doing enough of something.”

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

Just Say NO to Bushel Baskets

August 24

Just Say NO to Bushel Baskets

Spending my life under a bushel basket kept me from realizing who I am.  I thought because of the close quarters I knew myself better than those free to explore the world, yet, alas, no.  I am unaware of the world outside and inside the bin; this woven covering served to sever all true communications.  Even in places where my candle burned through, it couldn’t allow sufficient light, in or out, for as much as an SOS or a night light.  Here I am, not knowing my abilities… my possibilities…. or my worth and there is the world, standing a startled stranger from me, for I only know it as the circle around my feet and nothing more.

Manipulate your mind until it is supple and flexible

*

HARD TIMES

Sometimes I pack the earth down so hard

that weeds can’t even grow up through.

I try to make nature inert.

I try to kill my alcoholism.

I confine my disease to this tiny path of compacted dirt

and wear blinders as to ward off distractions.

I forget there is a garden to be grown

in the fertile ground of my recovering mind.

Losing the compulsion to drink is a gift.

Stopping my mind from thinking is soul murder.

I can sink my toes in the good brown soil

and look to the lilies and Queen Ann’s Lace for inspiration

.

I can stop giving myself such a hard time.

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

I didn't mean to make you laugh

August 6

I didn’t mean to make you laugh

You think I’m witty, well, yes, I have always been like this, no one knew quite what to do with me as a small child, but I have grown into this acumen, or possibly grown out into it is closer to accurate.  I was dark witted when I was young, I think of myself as less so now, optimism is a blessing I have gained through the years, it feels good and I keep it close. I need to be a blithe spirit to travel the road I do.  Tears have their place, I know that for sure, but I rather not go around with a puss on all day and all night.  Additionally it is so much about perspective; you see, the honey makes the peas taste funny but at least now they stick to my knife.

Assign colors to numbers

*

I AM

I am my own hope.

The spring of willingness flows within me

And makes everything possible.

I am my own dream.

Colors and sprinkles fly in my mind

And mix with a sprite’s laugh

And make me enchanted.

I am my own joy.

Filled with wonder and delight,

My quick turns and ready mind warm

My heart and pink my checks.

I am my own prize.

New and exciting

Every day that I am myself,

I win.

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

Estranged

May 28

Estranged

After long years I have made my own acquaintance, friendship is on a far distant shore.  I know who I am and can recognize myself on the street or in a crowded room.  I have a legitimate sense of wariness of the afore mentioned persona, nothing too nasty, just a discomfort.  She is not someone I would bring home, maybe not even share a meal with but I can stand her, minus intimacy, minus any deep empathy.  I feel an awkwardness in acknowledging her, strange as this might sound, she is no one to be ashamed of, not a truly bad actor and yet the reports say she doesn’t live up to her potential and I have it on personal authority that she actually surpasses it on most days and keeps this a closely held confidence.  And there it is, I know her secrets but I don’t keep her.  This is what makes me strange and her stranger.  

Catch your reflection in the eyes of a friend

*

THE ONE I BOUGHT

There are fairy tales I never gave credence to

Multiple bear stories don’t move me

Cats with footwear have not warranted a second thought.

True love-----------

Now that one I still buy

Hook line and sinker.

Work hard---------

And true love will fix the rest

That is what I have always believed.

The evil spell I have walked under

During my sad little life will be broken

Only by the durable and fulfilling love of my betrothed.

Each time this plan fell through

The blame was left to the wrongness of the match

But not the wrongness of the plot

Anytime I work to be restored to sanity by one person

I have displaced a rightful power

And thrown myself to the sea.

Be That Girl

May 13

Be That Girl

I have tried to protect the investment I made in the past by selling the soul of my future.  I arrived self-possessed, a winning girl, but I slid the self from the scene leaving me simply possessed.  I gained everything then lost it a piece at a time starting with the parts nearest my heart.  I must draw the shards together once more and mend this lovely crystal. The art of living is insured by my action not by grasping at slivers in terror of what slips from my fingers.  I am what I have inviolate and all else comes to fruition when I am pleased; when I am myself.   

Be aware which pens are poison

*

SOOT

I diligently work to remove the soot.

The residue from the last time I tried to hot wire my brain

When I attempted the short circuit of my safety-thinking

I caught my life on fire and flames, though brief, were spectacular.

Electric fires are very jarring

The burning insulation toxic

It leaves bare, stuttering lines crossing and recrossing

My stable base, the methods I once used to keep sane, is shot

All because I wanted to go joyriding in my thoughts

Suspended reality sounds so good but always bursts into flame

Leaving me with soot removal as a hobby

Pucker Up

February 28

Pucker Up

The gifts I never expected, never knew I needed, never imagined wanting, arrive wrapped in fretful apprehension more often than not.  “Who knew?”  I ask myself standing swathed in a skin I never realized I owned.  My identity has been handed to me an article at a time, each item less likely than the last.  Do they fit, yes of course, fit as if they were made for me, fit because they are me.  My inability to recognize myself is a stumbling block; my willingness to try is my salvation. Though there are times when a kiss is just a kiss, there are other times when a kiss can change the whole world. 

Quarter your difficulties, dice your recriminations

*

YARD BOAT

Early in my life, I lived in a gated yacht club,
The canal passing in front of my home.
I had no boat
I didn't know how to sail
I had not a thought of learning.
In later years, I learned to sail.
I covered the water in choppy tacks
And prayed for safe returns to shore.
Those were the years with a yard boat.
Covered in a tarp, the blue sided craft sat dry
The sun and wind taking their toll
The vessel stayed on the trailer
Waiting to be towed.
At the reservoir it would fill
Water leaking in from every joint.
I would bail and sail with all my heart.
Timing has never been my strong suit.
Rare are the times when all the ingredients
Come together in my life.
I have used this as an excuse
To feel like a failure.
I have used it to blame and dismiss God.
I have used it to avoid pursuit of opportunities.
I have averted my attention from the satisfactions in my life.
Living on the water is a pleasure
And stolen moments tacking in the basin of Round Valley
An equal joy.
Happy with what I have makes MORE a surprise
Not a necessity.

Hiding

February 18

Hiding

“Defeat is what you make of it,” says my sponsor.  “Fighting a thousand secret battles when you claim that you want peace is not right.  The agony of defeat is when you keep on fighting.  There is no honor in waving the white flag, but never laying down your arms.”

“I can’t just give them up they have been in the family for years,” my whining retort.

“I’m sure they have, darling, I’m sure they have, and haven’t done any of you a lick of good either,” her smug reply.

“They are good for sabotage,” I begin my running start at her.

“Sabotage is something you only do to yourself, because who else can you really sabotage?  Who do you really hate enough other than you?”

“My hobby is denying that, you know.”

“Yes, and sweet lot of good it does you, the war rages within you and outside you say it’s harmony, no matter all the signs of discord.”

“And if I were to really give up.  If, I were really tired enough, how can I insure my safety?” I asked with my hands nearly in the air.

“Tell the truth, even if it’s only to your self.  Put space between you and weapons of mass destruction.  Oh, and make sure you surrender to a friend.”

Loosen your grasp as often as you can

*

LIFE IS UNFAIR

Assuring myself I will not be permitted through the gate,
I walk the perimeter assessing the fence,
Looking for a place to exploit, a wire slightly high.
Trying to look graceful, I duck under the fence.

Telling myself I prefer life on the edge.
The water is less dangerous here on the fringe.
I wouldn't want to be swept away.

I stay clear of my peers.
I stand in the baby pool and feel confidant I won't drown.
Brushing from my conscience that I won't swim either.

Struggling to the top of the pile or scurrying underneath
Is a blatant lack of humility
Skirting the margin is the same.

Facing life and finding it unfair
I take to the world of exception
And hope to slip through the cracks to a life of safety.
In that act, I discount my talent and ability.
Worst of all, I disconnect from God.

Suzy Q's Mother

February 17

Suzy Q’s Mother

Through process of elimination I have had to learn who G-d is and who G-d isn’t.  When it comes down to my understanding everything incomprehensible is off the table and what is left is mine, all mine.  I can’t fathom an all powerful G-d; therefore my G-d is not all powerful.  I can not begin to comprehend a vengeful G-d, as you might have guessed; my G-d is not vengeful.  Because of these constraints I have a non-omnipotent G-d, one with limitations and bounds.  This doesn’t mean I love my G-d any less in fact it may be why I love my G-d so very much.  And G-d loves me with a Mother love that trails me to the depths and heights of the path, but like any mother, she can’t do everything.  My G-d is accomplished and wonderful, but there are days that I need things, which lay outside my Higher Power’s area of expertise and I must turn to help beyond our little circle of two.  This is not easy at first.  We both feel awkward in the attempt, but Suzy Q lives two houses down and her mother still has her hook shot from college and since my mom’s experience of basketball is that it’s the court you walk through to go play tennis, I ask Mrs. Q with help making the three point shots.  I don’t have to understand Suzy Q’s mother, I leave that to Suzy.  I just have to ask for help, learn the jump and go home when I’m done.  It’s nice to be able to slam dunk, but there is no place like home.

Recommend earnestness

*

THIN ICE

The ice is brittle, transparent and breaking away.
I brace for destruction, turmoil and frigid descent.
I am stuck in my topside thinking
And cannot realize the chance for freedom the cracking expanse promises.

I am an oceanic creature.
I can escape my watery bonds with the splitting of the ice.
Trapped in a hole I keep open only through the friction of my unrest
I am kept from the community of life to which I belong.

My reflection mixes with my view of the sky
And I forget my place, forget my name,
Forget how I have come to be trapped here.

The pining after what is not mine to have
Has brought me to this thin edge.
I must break through to be who I am.
In doing so I shatter the illusion of who I thought I was.

Zeal to zenith
I must move away from the phantasm and mockery
And take refuge in what I am

The Was and the Is

January 30

The Was and the Is

The Silent Scream that existed as a placeholder for my G-d was incomprehensible to me.  I entered AA and was informed that understanding my Higher Power was required not just some far distant goal.  In true alcoholic form my first move was to shun G-d.  This made room for my rage which was in much need of the space.  After a few fine years of dissipation I lost interest in incendiary devices no matter how large their detonation capacity.  Having cleared the room I brought in G-d as potted plant.  I talked to it occasionally, watered and fed it, mostly ignored it.  Growing in spite of lacking ministrations G-d was an unobtrusive force living in the corner changing gas into air and demanding nothing.  As I quelled my apprehension and lived with the Presence I looked, listened, probed and questioned the subtle Force sharing the room. “Add it up,” chanted the children in my ear, “run the numbers, settle the accounts.”  I calculated proofs and discarded the faulty and inaccurate.  What was left, the whole, not the remainder was mine to keep, but it was not everything.  I haven’t an everything G-d, because I am not a nothing person.  I am something and G-d is something too.  We are complimentary, like pairs of angles who come full circle.

Show the sun the souls of your feet

*

TRUST

You can trust people to be who they are.
I am a different being in relationship to different people.
To some I am the center of their constellation,
The sun burning bright, I 'm all they can see.

To others I am the moon,
Orbiting them, silent and dedicated.
With another group, I am a comet streaking through the sky,
Seldom seen but well remembered.

For many I am a distant star.
One among the multitude, blending in the night with the other signs.
Then there are the folks who see me in a more down to earth way,
I am the dirt beneath their feet.

The farmer sees me as a plant to be tended.
The cowboys view me as a horse to be broken.
To fisherman I'm a catch.
I am what people want to see.

So what can I trust them to be?
Wrapped in their own worlds
Yes, mostly I guess,
None of my business in the end.

I watch them and learn what I want to do, who I want to be.
In large part by avoiding what I see them do.
I do trust people to serve as bad examples, often
And good ones infrequently.

Inertia

January 29

Inertia

in·er·tia
n.

1.     Physics. The tendency of a body to resist acceleration; the tendency of a body at rest to remain at rest or of a body in straight line motion to stay in motion in a straight line unless acted on by an outside force.

2.     Resistance or disinclination to motion, action, or change

This force is real; the laws that govern it act on me for well and ill.  When I’m on a roll it’s hard to guide me and like the girl with the curl; when I’m stuck, I’m very, very stuck and it’s awful.  

I am bound by this reality and go or stay according to what is set in motion or stopped, but what about ‘the outside force’?  Am I in charge of summoning ‘it’ or is ‘it’ summonable at all?  Will ‘it’ obey like the dog, or obey like the cat?  Or is ‘it’ more random than the rain?  Can ‘it’ be lured or tempted or does ‘it lure and tempt me?  And the biggest questions on my mind: Is ‘the outside force’ also subject to inertia?  Are we in this together? What is ‘its’ outside force?  Might it have something to do with me?

Wash one pain at a time

*

NURSE

What if the word God is like the word nurse?
What if the person is only the simple meaning?
The actor doing the service
The plain act, uncontrollable from my end.

What if my active part of God,
Is the same as my active part of nurse?
What I draw down, how I schedule myself
To be ready when the milk arrives.

How I pull and am satisfied
Digest and draw again.
Like the sea laps at the shore,
The moon tugging it all the while.

What if God is about my hunger,
Satisfaction dependent on finding a suitable teat?
Maybe this is why, when it comes to God
Much of what I do, is cry.

When faced with my need, I open my mouth
Finding only two possible responses,
Suck or Scream.
My aching consumes me and I don't know how to calm myself.

I look for the caretaker, the person, the deed.
I need sucker but never look for the breast.
I am the child of God.
I must learn to draw God in

Between Two Chains

January 18

Between Two Chains

The curving movement half seen sweeps forward and catches me squarely on the chin.  Realization glimmers that next time it will strike me in the mouth and I take a step back.  I estimate the returning arc, raise my arms, push the board back from whence it came.  As it hurtles toward me once more I reposition.  Force returns force; fury comes vigorously my way and I thrust with strength and enthusiasm. And this is fine for what it is.  I have learned how not to get hit.  I can push when I get shoved.  How much better will it be when I can get on and swing?

Tie your lose ends into bows.

*

IN THE PRAIRIE

In the prairie there are small fenced cemeteries
Family plots.
The flat expanse of land opens to the eye
Hand carved monuments stand in testimony
To love and service.

In these places grow wild flowers
These places cordoned off
From mechanization and agribusiness
Held in trust are the bones of loved ones
And the soul of nature.

Blue bells, paint brush, lupines
And all manner of reedy grasses.
Deep inside me is a place like this.
The place I have buried my young.
The little ones who died of shame, neglect and hurt.

And I must return, not to exhume the dead
But to pay tribute.
To return with honor and love
Harvest the daisies and buttercups.
Grow them in the garden of my heart.

I can tend the flowers
Which spring from destruction
I can mingle them with the growth of my sober life.
Restore my prairie
To a splendor it has never known.

I can enjoy the bounty
Of saving seeds worth saving
And planting my Higher Powers will for me.

What's Mine Is Mine

December 21

WHAT’S MINE IS MINE

I don’t always know how to get the dog off the baby.  The attacks are often sudden and always swift.  My shock at the reality delays my response, falters my steps and fogs my mind.  What should I do to disengage this assault?  What can I do that won’t make things worse?  How can I resolve this now?  The pain is almost unimaginable but yet all too familiar.  It all comes down to ownership.  I must admit this baby is me.  I have to face facts; this dog is my pet, I have fed, nurtured and groomed him and now I have to put this dog to sleep.

Explore the air not just the dirt.

*

A Thousand Windowed House

I am like a house with a thousand windows.

When I am lit up inside

you can see all the way through;

When I go dark

the reflection of the world around me is all

that is visible when you look my way.

My sprawling mind is what creates this effigy of me.

A tribute when I am well tended

and a fire trap when I neglect my duties.

If I learn to celebrate in all the rooms

this house is my home,

so I must practice; dance and sing in the hallways.

So I can pirouette into the rooms with full voice.

For what is the point of being a house

with a thousand windows, if I don’t live there?

Marmalade

October 19

MARMALADE

Marmalade, bitter and sweet, spread across my spiritual toast; zest and sticky solution mix and cover the surface.  I bite down taking in the start of my day.  Past this point anything is possible, fame or disaster, a dreary fog-filled morning or cloudless afternoon.  Seeing the passing populous, I alternately advance and retreat from this human wall.  Response and responsibility tattletale their way to my reactionary will.  The tightrope sways over river of potential; balance is more than a desire, it is a necessity.  So I enjoy my breakfast tea and watch the marmalade melt as I dip my bread in my well-steeped brew.  The parade will start soon enough; I need this time before I launch into the fray.

Start a fire in your mind.

*

Self Importance

When I am over sensitive and everything

that everyone does looms large for me,

I am more likely to think

that I am a driving force in the lives of others.

It’s a funny connection in the same way

that when I scratch the dogs tummy her foot paddles;

when I am not getting my needs met

I tend to believe I am in this world

to meet the needs of others.

Often when in this mindset I also delude myself further

to worry that I may be the only person

who can help these other people.

I have been training myself to throw a flag

on any and all plays where I am that important.

I try to bring all action to a stop

and get right sized about who I am

and how important I am and to whom and why.

It’s not that I don’t have value,

I have the same value as everyone else,

but when I shortchange my needs and my feelings,

over responsibility to others mushrooms

and this is not good for anyone; me least of all.

As with most things,

if I find out what is right for me

it tends to be right for those around me,

even if I can’t see that at the time.

Whining Brats

Sept 15

WHINING BRATS

Some days whining brats come at me from all directions and my hair won’t curl.  Apathy chases me around the house.  I wonder how it has more energy than I do.  My mind twists into a wrinkled mess; I drag my good foot and hop on the bad one. And even on those days I still rather be me; I never long to be the innocent victim or the spiritual leader, the tough guy or the PhD.  No matter how bad it gets or what the struggle is, there is no place sweeter than in my head.  Many are the days when I wished not to exist, not at all, but never to shuck my skin for the skin of another.  Now that I manage, breathe right and face each day with cheer I know it was almost worth it and might be worth it yet.

Write your name on a piece of paper and slip it into your pocket.

*

Warhol Wouldn’t Be

There is no trick to art.

If I work to make my pieces fit with the familiar

I lose my individuality.

If I make what is truly me

I fear there is no line in which to stand.

I must make the work, find the market,

live life and die happy;

All this with no map

and a world filled with people

who tell me what to do,

but none who can guarantee the outcome.

My unwillingness to fight,

to look at and feel the ugliness of life

is at the core of my impediment.

The Fruit Bowl

September 7

THE FRUIT BOWL

Meetings are living and precious fruit.  I must squeeze every drop from them, even the lemons.  I am privileged to be among the succulent growth and pungent fragrance of determined hearts and minds.  The infusion of strength, the vitality received from the essence of truth gives and gives to me.  I am refreshed by exposure to raw talent, revived by action and growth.  The diversity of shape and flavor cheer and inspire me.  The contrast from bowl to chalice is dramatic, ever a reminder to stay where it’s fresh.

An offer is better than a gift.

*

Genius

I am often bonded to a self which thinks I know everything

and when in doubt believes I should know even if I don’t.

Freeing me of this requires the constant support

of friends and neighbors’ assuring me that in a capricious world

willingness is a more practical resource;

it packs neatly and handles most jobs with aplomb.

Staying consistently free from the bondage of self

requires truckloads of willingness

and the spirit of humility and sometimes even forgiveness.

I am freer when I like myself,

for the true bondage of self is the hatred of self.

When a Snapper Crosses the Road

April 29

WHEN A SNAPPER CROSSES THE ROAD

What should I do?  I see the soggy green/gray lump creeping the macadam too slow to survive for long.  The surge in me, to aim and end the duckling eater's life, is a short-lived but palpable surge.  My Disney style justice is dismissed but heard from nonetheless.  Shall I pull over and assist?  This turtle is as ill equipped for this stretch of road as I am ill equipped to aid in its conveyance.  Should I reach with fingers or toes to something I know can extend its neck and sever me from parts I hold dear?  The ever-present missionary in me has spoken and is silenced.  In fact, what I can do is slow down and give wide berth.  I know this creature is a danger, but never more so than me.

Plot your graph and measure your curve.

*

Terry Bradshaw

When someone wants to take the easy way out

I condemn them for wanting ease

and fail to register that they want out.

I hear a whine when in fact it’s a cry.

A challenge is rarely passed up by the able bodied,

but must be foregone by the injured.

Carried from the field is no personal victory,

not a goal for sure.

When I would rather watch than play

I need to check for wounds not inflict them.

It is not natural for me to sit in the stands,

but accusation is never the way to get me on the field.

Suit up when I’m whole and hide when I’m not.

Absence is a fallback position for the fallen

I have to help myself to get back up.

Napping

April 16

NAPPING

Too often, I have lifted the edge of the lawn in an attempt to join the worms for a bit of a dirt nap. Or I crawled into a self-constructed cave to bear my feelings and hibernate from life. The times I sprint with the deer, jumping the fences in hopes of escaping the wolves, these are all the times when I forget who I am. I forget to ask direction, fail to make a meeting. Seeing those of my ilk puts my feet on the ground, focuses my perspective on just what sort of creature I am. I can’t always follow my instincts when I don’t know who I am. I can’t see myself until I stand next to you.

Relax one toe at a time.

*

In Training

Like a faithful dog that was hard to train,

patience is a thing hoped for

yet peevish during the breaking in.

Stanch companionability is hard won,

but worth the cost of acquisition.

And what is the price I truly paid in the end;

whatever I gave in the pursuit of patience

was a cheap babysitter

and kept me from far worse reformation.

For what would I do in this late day and age

as a tempest torn toddler,

no bottle to sooth my woes and bothers.

Strictly speaking this is a world ill suited

to the edgy intolerant masses

and only seems to fit those who can mark time and bend.

The Naked Not the Dead

September 4

The Naked Not the Dead

Because comfort is sometimes no comfort I can shave my hair and walk bare in the naked world. Removing pretense helps in unexpected ways. Foolish action becomes formulaic when you are scared or hurt. I lived through the summers of blood; the winter is not enough to stem the tide or heal the wound. I have no want to raise the dead, but how to save the living? Poverty is the inheritance of so much misguided lethargy and I must shear off the illusion of maturity and let the children speak.

Bury pettiness in an unmarked grave

*

WHINING BRATS

Some days whining brats come at me from all directions

And my hair won’t curl,

Apathy chases me around the house.

I wonder how it has more energy than I do.

My mind twists into a wrinkled mess

I drag my good foot and hop on the bad one.

And even on those days I still rather be me.

I never long to be the innocent victim

Or spiritual leader, the tough guy or the Ph D.

No matter how bad it gets

Or what the struggle is

There is no place sweeter than in my head.

Many are the days I wished not to exist at all

But never to shuck my skin

for the skin of another.

.

Now that I manage breathe right

And to face each day with cheer

I know it was almost worth it

And might be worth it yet.

Just Say NO to Bushel Baskets

August 24

Just Say NO to Bushel Baskets

Spending my life under a bushel basket kept me from realizing who I am. I thought because of the close quarters I knew myself better than those free to explore the world, yet, alas, no. I am unaware of the world outside and inside the bin; this woven covering served to sever all true communications. Even in places where my candle burned through, it couldn’t allow sufficient light, in or out, for as much as an SOS or a night light. Here I am, not knowing my abilities… my possibilities…. or my worth and there is the world, standing a startled stranger from me, for I only know it as the circle around my feet and nothing more.

Manipulate your mind until it is supple and flexible

*

HARD TIMES

Sometimes I pack the earth down so hard

that weeds can’t even grow up through.

I try to make nature inert.

I try to kill my alcoholism.

I confine my disease to this tiny path of compacted dirt

and wear blinders as to ward off distractions.

I forget there is a garden to be grown

in the fertile ground of my recovering mind.

Losing the compulsion to drink is a gift.

Stopping my mind from thinking is soul murder.

I can sink my toes in the good brown soil

and look to the lilies and Queen Ann’s Lace for inspiration

.

I can stop giving myself such a hard time.