New Borne

March 27

New Borne

What happens when you finally get what you want, what you barely dared to dream?  What happens when you can hardly do more than drip tears down from smiling eyes?  Where do you go with a future filled with proposed joy?  Heaven is an option if only you believed, but hell has been such a perennial destination it’s hard to realize there will be no return trip this year or possibly ever again.  The work required to change from an attitude of longing to one of satisfaction is as real as all the work needed thus far.  Tending love is a host of disciplines I want to step to, like I have done it all my life, like I was born to do it and I was, yet, still growth is accompanied by its own pain and awkwardness and who am I to deny this treat.  Any new life worth living is worth the pain to bear it.    

Turn up your smile

*

FEELINGS

Getting my feelings back
Was like a package delivered.
Not a letter bomb
More like live squid or bait of some kind
It was something to catch me out there.

I think overcoming the shock
Was more or less the small part
Though it seemed to loom at the time.
The squirming, the writhing of my soul
Was like a pregnancy following a bad dream.

I wondered how this became a part of me.
I squandered my days
Hoping it would leave quietly some night soon.
Like all difficult relationships
I attempted to hold my breath through it.

Failing this, I tried to offer my feelings a guest wing in my heart
And a never ending supply of tea and cookies.
When the reality of life with feelings planted itself firmly in me
I let out my breath, stopped the hostess act
And endeavored to roll with it.

This worked well.
I have since invested in a wet-suit and fins
The squid are much easier to live with
When I meet them on their turf.

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

Behind Closed Doors

October 25

Behind Closed Doors

The children of happy fathers make no sense to me.  I have known no such peace.  What is it to live in a world where there is a man who likes you, someone who approves?  I feel like my chin would have always been out there to see, no ducking, no need to hide, had there been a good man to whom I could turn.  The dark circles under the eyes of my soul make me old, old and different from those kids, mere children, safe in a home with a happy man whose joy it is to be their Dad.

Dance cheek to cheek with your muse when you can

*

DETAIL DAYS

Detail days seem like lost soulless days.
I sort the piles of endless junk mail
Catch up on bills, letters, laundry.
I don’t leave the house but in someway
I feel like I’m not in my home.

It’s like a day of pulling out all the needles,
Splinters and thorns which accumulate
Under my skin from rough weeks and road rash.
I steel myself to the pain of relief and rescue.

Cleared counters, emptied baskets, finished worry list
Leave me with that newly moved in feel.
Piles overwhelm me but sometimes details define me.

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

My Babies

July 31

MY BABIES

Too often I have abandoned the infants of my creativity to doorways and charities.  Having little patience I did not raise them to their intended station.  Joyful parentage need not stop at the cutting of the cord.  Downplaying the importance of each birth, I would leave beauty and art to be foundlings and the province of others.  I can share the guardianship of these precious gifts and be more than a brood mare for cunning and craft.  I have neglected things apparent for the promise of each new conception.  Overpopulation weakens the body of my work and leaves my portfolio listless and immature.

Touch your finger with your nose.

*

Charmed by Snow

Warm weather snow falls in fat full flakes;

I am living in a world of dreams and sweet peas.

Sudden dustings sparkle and surprise

leaving as quickly as they came;

yet the world is kinder now.

Beauty is an ambush of the heart.

My breath alters, accelerates,

speeding me to a smile, an illustration of joy.

Crows walk the edge of the hedgerow,

prattling on as they do;

snow to their ankles and food on their minds.

I drive over the mountains

discovering myself as the recipient,

the receiver of all this great gift, this life.

Louet

September 11

Louet

Consolidating fuzz into yarn makes me a friend to sheep everywhere. Spinning the filaments of truth into cables of life does not impress the mutton in anyway, but sure does my mental health a world of good. Free floating fiber is bad for my lungs and piles lint all around. Giving things a firm twist pulls together what used to be fluff and keeps me warm and dry.

Jones for candor

*

WORKS

I cry the waterworks so necessary to the healing of my heart.

I explode with the fireworks required

For anger to set living boundaries.

I sleep the sleep of angels, as I link to dream works

Allowing mental maintenance to occur,

Slip into my political face, making time for public works.

I return to my abode, call the pie maker and order “the works”.

Have it delivered so I can face the homework

Waiting for me and bearing my name.

Coming Home to Work

April 25

Coming Home to Work

I have arrived home to a beehive; everyone industrious, everyone filled with purpose, everything buzzing right along. My response to this of course is anger. I have a sting and I want to use it. I have a place it falls into yet I fear falling. The living world is now opened to me, but my destination had been death for so long that the prospect of diligence ignites steel blue fury. I divide my time between gratitude and rage. I want to accuse myself, rescue myself, then I remember everyone in this place has a buzz, a stripe and a stinger.

Hum in a foreign language

*

DESSERT

I have to be my own appetizer

I have to be the thing which entices and intrigues me

I must be the roughage, the salad full of color and variety

The entrée must be me, as well.

The things which sustain me

The meat of my life

I have to supply and swallow it down

I can be all this.

I run to the sweetness of others

But this cannot be my source of sustenance

The greater part of me

Needs to derive from me.

I can set the table

And fill it with the fullness of who I am

I am enough and others are dessert

Twinkies will never be sufficient, they can only be a treat.

Earl Grey is not my Friend

October 19

Earl Grey is not my Friend

Scabby knees is what I look for; I need to be with those who climb, not those who slide. I hate to say it, but looking cool and sitting on the sidelines does nothing for me or my sobriety. I have to build those calluses, require patches in my clothes, carry a hammer to pound in those spikes. If I don’t see tools in your hands and bodily evidence that you have been using them, I really don’t have time for you. This is a “let’s go, lets go” kind of recovery for me and if it isn’t for you then have fun and I hope you have a good seat, but I am not staying for your tea party; I have no time for tarts.

Explain the difference between a rabbit and a bunny

*

SLOTH TOES

A sloth is known by the number of its toes
Not its name or love of art or music.
The oddest attributes draw attention and acclaim
From scorekeepers and flag-wavers of the world.

Going my way in this life I am seen by clock-watchers
As timeless and by trumpeters as soundless.
I am not defined by these.

The number of my toes or the time I keep
Or the sound I make is more than who I am.
An explanation of me will not fit on an index card
Or nameplate or job title.

As long as I stay clear of these traps
And classifications I am safe.
If I buy in or fall down
My sum and total will neatly fit on a toe tag.

Barnum, Bailey & Me

September 9

Barnum, Bailey & Me

When I wake to find a whip and a chair by the side of my bed I know I am in for a circus of a day and the tears of this clown will not change a thing. I ready myself for the tightrope walk and watch out for stray elephants. All the trained poodles in the world can’t make this into a day in the park. Painted ponies prance through their paces; I try to stick to my own act, meanwhile remembering that no matter how difficult these routines may be it still beats a seat in the stands.

Raffle off the surplus grit from your nitty gritty

*

MEGAPHONE

The point of surviving

Or maybe the goal after survival

Is enabling the voices of victims to be heard

Starting with my own.

I allow the surging waves of thought and feelings

To rush the gates and exit

I try to bleed the bad

With and without the use of leaches.

So much is stumbled upon rather than sought after,

Some things hound me, I run down the street

With memory at my heels

I must let the screams out or become them.

Today I talk, tomorrow is for others.

When I pour forth I open the way for the rest

I have become the megaphone

Rather than the cheerleader

It is good to be of use.

Seen on the Street

August 12

Seen on the Street

Sometimes graffiti improves a place, other times it degrades it. I now wonder; is this defined by the breaking or breaching of public norms? Or is it built from the intent of the artist/perpetrator? Possibly the pedestrian traffic or the light of day determine the difference between art and recalcitrance. What if all these factors flashing like a neon kaleidoscope facilitated what this all really means? What if it all signifies nothing other than yet another way for me to entertain my brain while avoiding work? I guess I better get back to the spray cans, I have a wall to cover.

Open your mind to unusual collaboration

*

THE TEAM

The dream sobriety I envision,

The fantasy recovery I mentally construct,

Blows out to sea as so much mist

In the face of actual life.

Setting out sports teams, which don’t exist

Is playful and entertaining.

Trying to rebuild the principals of the program

Is a delusion I can drink over.

Finessing my network and pretending I can put together a team

On a basis of specialized talents instead of ground level willingness

Is like designing a plane without regard to physics

Playing only to esthetics.

Anytime I am redesigning

I must realize I am no longer participating

If I keep my head in the game

I can stay away from statistics and stop planning outcomes.