The Dreamer

August 27

THE DREAMER

“What about the dreamer?”

“What about her?” responds my sponsor.  “You ask me about her like I was the one who pushed her off the cliff.”

“Are you saying I pushed her?” I questioned my sponsor.

“Yes, that is just what I am saying. Do you need me to sing it?  You wanted the dreamer to fly off to safety and happiness and wanted her to take you with her.  In an attempt to grab hold of her ankles and propel her to heaven you threw her from the precipice. Now she is broken and bleeding far from your sight.  Your dreamer is damaged and you ask me what about her.  Do you want to know what you did and how to remedy it or were you looking to duck responsibly?”

“Quack.”

Run before you fly.

*

Defining the Indefinable

What is Alcoholism?

What is a Hurricane?

What is a Cataclysm?

I know I look for the root cause,

look to predict the outcome,

look to prevention and preservation.

This thing which comes pouring

from the four winds

to land in my yard

and knock on my screen door.

What it shows me today,

the furious winds,

the slanting rain,

may not be how it presents tomorrow,

I must keep in mind it is all the same storm

and must be regarded with the same respect

and treated with the same care and diligence.

Whether it’s the thirst or the thinking,

a jail cell or my mental mouse trap,

alcoholism is an umbrella term for the tsunami,

which came to collect me,

but no definition will convey the devastation it has wrought.

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

Autumn

August 25

AUTUMN

The falling leaves slap my hand as I ride the road at fifty miles per, my arm dangling

The trees are shedding their masquerade

Exposed they stand stark, stripped

Naked to the soul

The growth of this year's yearning waves on the fringe

I can follow this lead

Remove pretense 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

Do what you do.

*

Echidna’s Child

The difference between perplexed paranoia

and procrastination is sometimes a subtle distinction.

The confusion which swirls,

confounding me along my trudge,

gets the name of procrastinator.

I am not at all sure I should continue to call it by that name.

I believe that quite possibly I am an internal chimera,

a blend of creatures, both mythic and fantastic,

striving to live as one functioning specter,

in a world too hard for a disparate visage as myself.

When I am most myself,

when the goal is pure and true, I work with a will.

When I am making deadly compromise

and risking my soul for social ease or the approval of the keepers,

my dragon heart rebels and I am struggling

against the fire in my stomach and fear screaming in my head.

I don’t know how to eliminate the conflict,

but for now I will attempt to stop calling myself names.

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

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.

*

Living as a Megaphone

He whispers in my ear,

I part my lips and let it all run out.

Vacant tube of a thing,

his words pour through me

nothing to stem the flow,

He hides behind me, the bully that he is.

I stand with rings painted bright concentric, bold.

I am nothing;

 I know it

and don’t need him to tell me,

My inactions speak louder than his words.

He is not the one who bore right through my core;

he is just the little worm who is living there secure.

I will have to purge him out to be his megaphone no more.

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

Fabulous

June 21

FABULOUS

“I don’t care what else is on the inventory.  You still have to take responsibility for fabulous,” said my sponsor with a determined look on her face.

“But you don’t understand.  The other things on the list make it impossible for me to be fabulous.  You just can’t see how incapable I truly am,” I say as I collapse into a pathetic heap in the overstuffed chair.

“What you don’t comprehend is that fabulous is not affected by your other little grumbling.  You can’t tarnish fabulous; it doesn’t wear away with burden or neglect.  This is why no matter how far you bury it, or misname it, or even flatly deny it, fabulous shines like a beacon and you end up with every Todd, Nick and Martha on your doorstep expecting you to be who you are and let them warm in the glow.  So, my cherub, you can fight it or live with it, but fabulous is here to stay.”

And this ladies and gentlemen is how my sponsor wins all the arguments.

Pour a rainbow into your dreams.

*

Do Not Enter

Putting all the mess

securely behind that door is no protection.

If the keys are changed will I be able to open it?

If the locks retumbled will I crack the combination?

Like a demon sealed within a womb

emergence is inevitable either upon this mortal plain

or cellularly encoded and reborn at a later date.

Prison is what holds captive the innocent,

evil is always at liberty.

Walling off my parts and pieces

severs limbs and destroys thinking.

Loads of cheesecloth is what I need; filter and refilter,

catching all debris.  Putting the toxic things

to better use and making myself free.

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

Stop Talking

April 5

STOP TALKING

“Try to stop talking when people stop listening,” said my sponsor.  “And try not to take it personally.”

“Why is that?” I query.

“Most individuals can’t handle much of anything real.  Try as they may, they are unable to listen to anyone speaking the truth.  Tell them a story; you can hold their attention all day.  Sprinkle bits of honesty into the tale and you still will keep your audience.  But strafe them with bullets of the truth and they will run for cover.”

“I’ve seen it happen.  I never knew what made them scurry, but I have seen them sprint away.”

“It’s a coping mechanism.  If you try to turn their heart too quickly, they’re afraid it will stop beating.”

“Why is it you never worry about that with me?  You tell me the facts whether I want to hear it or not.”

“I can tell you because you take step 3.”

Color a page using only three crayons.

*

Fearing Fearlessness

How many times

have I given the credit to night blind fear,

credit due the brave persistent child?

How many times

have I blamed the willing diligent pursuer

when the fault was the backstabbing delay of mistrust?

I resist the onset of freedom.

Fear was my oldest familiar

and I put from my mind that it was my jailer, captor;

Kidnapped me from my cradle

and kept me locked from God’s fine intentions.

Fearlessness sounds debilitating to my crippled ears,

Organs who hear well the disclaimers

and are deaf to the claims.

I am the producer of bile and addicted to dread,

Endorphins wear white hats

and win the day

once this yellow belly is put to bed.

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

Amends

January 28

AMENDS

Amends is about truth and change.  The relationships of my past were places of little truth and even less change.  I tried to be nice not honest; I tried to keep things going even when they needed to die.  Making amends has ended most of my relationships from the past.  A quick strong 10^th step keeps me from starting too many new ones.  Good healthy relationships require time and attention, so this necessitates a short list.  Sometimes I wish for more quantity, but I realize in sobriety I cannot accept less quality.

Tie your shoes with humor.

*

Simplicity Itself

My life runs at a Gilbert and Sullivan pace,

with about as much sense and comic relief.

You say 'keep it simple'

and my disease says 'why ruin a good play?’

The truth is this is not play at all

but a work that consumes my life from me

and doesn't thank me for my time.

Simplicity for me requires respect,

a gift I selectively give myself

a gift that I often use only as a shield during battle.

My past method of increased self-respect

is life in a war zone, this is no solution.

Release of grief, this is the onerous path I avoid taking.

Purging the wrong thinking and action of others

from my blood, my eyes, my skin,

allows me to lift my chin and square my soul.

To plumb and level living,

don self-respect as a birth right

and set a calendar fit for plausible life, a simple life.

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

Deep in the Sea

January 27

DEEP IN THE SEA

Under the mirror, there is a life.  Under what I reflect to the world, I am a world apart.  I smile sweetly, political in my response to confrontation and conflict.  Deep, deep in the sea, is a current of sadness I can’t always shake.  Pain is the past, but it’s there like a moray, lurking to strike aimlessly, pointlessly, at the passers-by.  The ripping teeth and cold stare, my terror.  No way to escape it, I focus on the topside, the reflective part of me.  I keep the surface as clean and free as can be.  I stick to my business, list goals and make plans.  The water runs cold and then hot beneath.  I carry the steps to this under-water grave, trying to inflate the rubber skin of god, but no.  There is no life in the god of my understanding, or maybe there is no life for the character the drowned balloon represents.  The sea is bigger than me, the life stronger and more abundant. The sky it reflects as vast as the liquid I swim.  There is a Power and it doesn’t need that comic book face.  Safety is not the requirement that can be granted.  Lack of safety does not end my life.  It does not end God.

Tear open your thoughts like a letter you read mostly between the lines.

*

A Living Love

What I love about the program

is that it is a living thing, like me.

It is not perfect, it is growing and changing,

adapting and correcting for each experience and need.

AA is a life into life process

and saves me because life begets life,

no matter what I was told.

The answer to life is living

and I get to see that being done

by everyone from newcomer to old-timer

each at his or her personal ability.

I am allowed to dangle my feet,

wade, tread-water and swim,

all under the watchful eye of

loving support and critical pretender.

Difficulty is not removed nor is the way made smooth,

but I am no longer without a thread to hold.

I love the web I help weave myself into

and feel protected from the spider of my addiction

because together we are living proof.

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

The Frog

January 21

THE FROG

Stretched in the water, still, the frog hangs.  The pond is barely a teacup, sufficient for the communion of God and frog.  I watch the frog, unblinking , savoring respiration.  In a pond in Maine, I bore this posture, center stage.  A quarter mile of water all around, I hold my head above the surface and feel I am in the eye of God’s creation, face to face with benevolence.  Peace spars with uneasy smallness.  I am a tiny speck, floating in the soup; I am one organism in a sea teaming with life; I am a part of, not privileged but equal to the rest.  Can I bear this reality, the struggle of living on a web?  Can I live a humble life, knowing I am favored no more than the rest?  Can I set aside my need for preferential treatment, a God-given Band-Aid for my multitude of hurt?

“If you can’t, you will drink," says my sponsor.

“If I have to live this way, I will cry,” I respond.

“That is your God-given right.”

Take someone else’s Higher Power out for a test drive.

*

Saurian or Dalliance

I love to be mystical

but the only dragon in my life

is when I drag on and on.

Procrastination is the winged beast in my world.

I armor plate the thing, shiny and gleaming,

my loitering delay is mightily impressive.

You might think it would take flight

from the way it postures

but departure has been adjourned

in favor of misgiving and postponement.

I wander through the forest

attempting to appear brave and feeling it occasionally

while my tale grows longer.

I need the fierce face and sharp claws

I can beat the mythology

if I will just continue to take action.

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

The Way West

December 10

The Way West

The sun reflected in the windows winks at me as I fly over.  The plane climbs higher and the reflected light no longer reaches me.  I slip from my eastern bonds.  I am west coast bound.  The carpet of snow was laid down to quiet the passage.  Clouds take over the task, then part to reveal the patchwork of the middle ground.  We cross the Stateline without a sound; a few more miles then touchdown. 

Putter with intrigue

*

FREE THE PATE

Arrested development was bad enough
The living death sentence
It imposes is completely unacceptable.
My childhood ran downhill
Away from the mountains of confusion
Which is life in this society.

My ability to mature was damaged
And what I learned to do was mutate.
I could move laterally but never grow up.
I became the goose grown for its liver
And all the honk and squawk
In the world couldn’t change it.

I don’t have to understand
How I was let out of the prison of addiction
As long as I don’t go back.
I will never have to fear breaking out in handcuffs
Or getting locked in my crib.

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

The Twelfth of April

December 3

The Twelfth of April

When I met you, you were a power tagged and trapped in a box.  A tiger caught by its toe and yet I could do nothing but fall under the spell of your roar.  The suppressed growl you leave for me like an invitation I could never decline.  I write to you a note of explanation; words testifying to my desire, which I promise to hold back out of respect for you. And a wish to survive my drive toward you and your furious stripes and claws. Your bite which I long to feel, yet know I must not ask for.  When I inquire if you have read, you say with sanguine smile, “Read it to me.”  When I am done and with tear stained face, all you reply is, “I have lost my taste for anyone but you.”

Keep an ear out for more than danger

*

GOOD SAMARITAN PIE

The meal prepared from my cognition,
The bread and jam of humility, salad of expectation,
Roast of determination and Good Samaritan pie
Wait on the table to be devoured.

The courses pass and come desert, my kindly intentions.
Are cut to wedges and pushed from setting to setting.
I can dollop after dollop cover the requisite desires
Of this tart in attempt to deny my addiction to fixing
Or I can serve up the plain truth.

I help and help, and wander down roads looking
For lost puppies to return to their homes.
I must admit my longing to lend support
Is sometimes half-baked and if kept to home and hearth
It might serve me better and make a sweeter dish.

Assistance is best in proportion to the meal
I must live my life and save my Good Samaritan pie till last.

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

Before Ophelia

July 23

Before Ophelia

Young women drown themselves before Shakespeare immortalized, memorialized Ophelia.  But having a poster child changes us.  Cautionary tale or rallying cry, Ophelia is a hand to hold on dark cold days when the light is hard to find and everything seems bent toward destruction.  Not that I think she solved anything with her despondent act just that she stands in the familiar frame I find myself in from time to time.  When I imagine I’ve invented the wheel it makes it harder to step down and walk.  Ophelia’s fate makes it easier to get off depression’s bus and find my way back home.

Press your excuses for truth

*

TOOTH FAIRY

I slide my hand under the pillow

And am disappointed not to find a quarter.

I feel I deserve one though I didn’t leave a tooth.

I did leave my bite,

I’ve toned down my bark a bit too.

It has not been easy.

I’ve spent much of my life snapping and growling

At the world around me.

I have shortened the leash on these reactive behaviors

Many I have put to bed all together.

Improved conduct is prize enough

But I surely would enjoy a winged visitor

If only just for fun.

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

Rounder

July 16

Rounder

Back again, yes, that I see, but change is not the same as return.  What I know of you is your past.  I believe the past because I know it.  If there is a new you to meet that remains to be seen.  Even a chameleon sheds its skin, though I doubt its intrinsic nature is altered much in the process.  So flash your smile and wind your words into the thoughts of those with whom you have no history.  I’ve been exposed before, the virus doesn’t conquer me, I am immune.  Once bitten makes me wary when you come around again.

Pick a color and let it find you all day

*

TO SLOOP

When I was a tanker- I carried such a heavy load.

The diesel cycle ran at regular intervals

And my internal temperature was terrific.

The fuel sprayed and things went round and round

The cost was high.

Now my principal means of propulsion

Is the wind in my sails.

Conversion was difficult

Though I found the rigging and mast a fascination

The ballast was a heavy load to bear.

Cargo is something short lived

To be cast off at the next port.

Incumbent discretion is welded to my keel

And will go with me to every harbor.

As a tankard, liquid was transported or consumed.

As a cutter, dependability keeps me tacking into the wind.

Now my outlay is low and my rewards are high

I carry only what I need, I am free, a sloop upon the sea.

Do Not Enter

June 23

Do Not Enter

Putting all the mess securely behind that door is no protection.  If the keys are changed will I be able to open it?  If the locks retumbled will I crack the combination?  Like a demon sealed within a womb emergence is inevitable either upon this mortal plain or cellularly encoded and reborn at a later date.  Prison is what holds captive the innocent, evil is always at liberty.  Walling off my parts and pieces severs limbs and destroys thinking.  Loads of cheesecloth is what I need; filter and refilter, catching all debris.  Putting the toxic things to better use and making myself free.

Respect experimentation

*

ARRESTED DEVELOPMENT

Arrested development was bad enough

The living death sentence it imposes

Is completely unacceptable

My childhood ran down the hill

Away from the mountain of confusion

Which is life in this society

My ability to mature was damaged

And what I learned to do was mutate

I could move laterally but never grow up.

I became the goose being grown for its liver

All the honk and squawk in the world

Couldn’t change my plight

I don’t have to understand how I was let out

Of the prison of addiction

As long as I don’t go back

I’ll never fear breaking out in handcuffs

Or getting locked in my crib.

What I heard through the snow

June 16

What I Heard Through the Snow

The commentator’s voice fades in and out as the reception is lost and found among the static of my drive home.  In here is a pattern, a connect the dots matrix; I try to feel my way too as I weave past the slow and stubborn traffic.  Like a call from the wilderness distorted through a storm, my frantic thoughts obscure, sometimes distort the content, the intent, the soul of a message I so desperately need.  Broadcast warnings, safety suggestions, help and hope are torn to slivers and rewoven in my careworn brain.  The distraction of the road allows the subliminal heart beat to tattoo in my ear then my chest, all the way to my toes, bodily acceptance overpowers my relentless mind and clarity is achieved, no matter the drifts. 

Lay a hand on improbability

*

ALONE IN A NEW WAY

I am restored.

I have my sanity like a Spring coat

I am not sure I need it

But it’s nice to have nevertheless.

I prayed for this state of reason

Believing it would give me entree

To a world where I was a late arrival

To a party I am no longer sure

Will ever take place.

I stand in the entrance hall

And practice new dance steps.

I search the space for prospective partners

But rarely see anyone who is swaying

To the same beat.

I am grateful for my sanity

Even if I have to enjoy it alone.

The Wake Up Call

May 4

The Wake Up Call

I wake early and watch the lazy rain fall in slow fat random drops.  I view it with silent awe, only part of my recently somnolent mind bewildered.  Dawn advances toward me and I register a new concept: snow, it is snow; the sky had been, too dark to allow me to see the white, all I could comprehend was the fall.  The lighter the sky becomes the more the precipitation behaves like snowfall.  I muse this to my sponsor and she laughed, “Well, we all misname things in the dark, Sweetie, lighten up and give yourself a break.”

Look for the secrets you keep from yourself

*

QUEEN’S COUNTENANCE

I know the 7 P’s of preparation

I set the table for those I know

The unexpected arrive clothed in time and tradition

They seat themselves at the table with the naked

They become mute

We prattle and pose

Rarely glimpsing the goals sitting at the unset seats

What we need to become

Is far from what we are

I can not even call it other

It is within when we make room

And ether when we won’t

I can wait and try

But the juice is deep with the pulp

I get myself in line for the future

And wait for the clothes offered by my guests

I sit the emperor and rise the queen

Blinded

April 27

Blinded

Alcoholism hits me like a kind of blindness.  I stagger through the living room cursing anyone who changes familiar placement or published timetables. Just like every aspect of this disease, shocked sightlessness, is mine to deal with.  I must pick up the white cane, procure the Seeing Eye pup, learn to read clustered braille.  When my vision clears in these well worked spaces I am relieved, but I must accept that when I walk into a new room more often then not I will be blind again and must pick up my walking stick once more.

Apply a timeframe to misery

*

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 intersected

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.

Like an Elf in an Empty Tree

April 17

Like an Elf Working in an Empty Tree

The chairs in the loft are empty, but I still hear the choir sing.  The bottle though it’s empty, still sometimes calls my name.  Though front pocket is empty and there is rolled up empty sleeve, still the nicotine haunts my dreams. On this empty road I travel, I still long for company.  The stillness is not all that’s empty, but I run to fill that spot.  Chaos is like a tapeworm it eats me from inside, but in the meantime I still believe it’s filling me. 

Curve around what is sharp on your tongue

*

HOW THINGS SEEM

Not everyone who pushes me down is my enemy

Not everyone who pulls me up is my friend

I have been seduced by the closeness of people

Who used me as their shield

When I have been held in a place of honor

The  point man of life

I forgot that made me the replacement target

For the one who stood behind me

I have been offended as I was thrown to the ground

The hands that shoved me I saw as my rejecters

I was spared the tragedy and peril of the thing which flew by my ear

Thanks only to the grace of a thrust in the right direction

Accurate appraisal is my weakness

Seeing thing for what they are is hard

Things are rarely how they seem

Hospitality

February 9

Hospitality

What unites us, heals us, serves us, is the hospitality of the program.  Fellowship encircles us and draws us close, in a word unites us, hospitality is our core.  Hospital is the root of hospitality and recovery is the route to health, hospitality is the skeleton of recovery.  Hospitable aid, the true gift of self is hospitality; hospitality the master of A.A.

Observe inaction and discover its root

*

FORGIVENESS

Forgiveness is not something to force on people
 like unwanted coffee.
It is only appropriate to forgive people who ask
 for forgiveness
And show with their behavior that they want it.

It is never appropriate to shove forgiveness on people
 who haven't asked
And show no signs of wanting it
 or demonstrate just the opposite.

It's been said, forgiving was to help you feel better.
It doesn't.
Letting go of resentments makes you feel better.
Making amends to the people you've hurt,
Cleaning up your side of the street makes you feel better.

Keeping an open mind and heart will make you ready
 for the possibility of someone coming to make amends.
Forgiveness is a two way street.
Anything you have to throw over someone like a net
 is usually a mistake.

Guest Flag

January 21

Guest Flag

The polite thing to do is fly the silly blue rectangle with its equally silly white diagonal stripe.   That would be the polite thing, for sure but that would peek my disease’s hold card.  If anyone knew that my illness was sailing my ship instead of me the effect would be ruined.  Or so says the canker that grips me and steers me to disaster.  Announcing this day-tripper as an unentitled accessory to whatever wrong I am about to commit might warn my friends or enlist my sponsor, but no I leave my colors fly and endanger the surrounding water.  For in truth my flag is just as fraudulent as this vessel and is only on loan to me as well.

Panoramic inventory shows the landscape in a better light.

*

THE MUSIC

I hear a tinkling noise and look around the room.
No, it's coming from my head.
It's the sound of the music of my life.

The bells, a horn or two
The strings,
Always the strings.

The sharp clear cry of the vixen
Calling from the hedgerow
The lonely voice of resolve.

The melody shifts
Tomorrow's tune warming up
In the wee hours of the night.


I don't try to part my lips
Replication is not a possibility
I am only just learning to move with the rhythm.

Keep the beat in my heart
And draw it down
For my toe to tap.

I cannot sing my song
I must let it live in me awhile longer.
I can't share things of which I haven't had my fill.

Giving too much
Too often
Makes the anthem run thin.

I have to be fully me, to be full voiced.
I need to stew in the juice
Of overflowing harmony.

The pounding of my feet on the steps unite the accord
Wild things and practiced plans
Put forward the waves of life on earth.

I follow
Placing my feet in well worn trends
The dance school reopened for sober living.

Passion plays and calls my response
For today, I pass
I leave the song inside