Crazy Time

December 19

Crazy Time

Picking the right time to be crazy seems to be the key to getting away with it.  Wanting to get away with it slants the field a tad.  What crazy is changes from place to place, which puts all the more emphasis on the timing.  The surrounding company and barometric pressure play parts and put on airs.  Lighting, lighting must also be involved, I assure you I don’t know how and can’t calculate the Ohms, but I flip the switches in case it helps.  I have mapped for you a fair amount more than I know.  I wish you well on your attempt, for crazy is a kindred club, I would hate for you to feel inept.

Admire your friends

*

THE FIRST FATHER

The rest of what I have to say
I will slip under your gravestone.
If I have time after I buy the red dress.

To say I hate you is an overstatement.
I only detest what I know of you
The rest I leave to other people
Who might have the misfortune to cross your path.

Your unavailability can protect you
From anything I could ever do to you.
Your hurt and arrogance is far worse punishment.
If I thought you were worth the energy of an attempt.

Having to be you every day must make it hard
To leave the bed in the morning.
I know I couldn’t do it if I had to
Drag your baggage around all day.

The sad part is I’m not sure you know it’s baggage.
You might think it’s armor
But your misnaming of everything
Is just another of the things I never miss about you.

Which is why although I pray every day
For your wellbeing for the sake of mine
If I never see you again
It might just be long enough.

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

Where's Your Chair?

September 3

Where’s Your Chair?

Is the ring more unnatural for the tamer or the lion?  One the trapped, the other the trapper.  Who is the more in danger; the one with loss of freedom or the one with possible loss of life?  And while this question is still in play the next question is begged.  Why is there a ring?  What is worth the price paid by the whip holder or the whipped?  Spectacle is a thing whose cost reaches from the forest to the trees; can take you from the highest rung down to your knees.  All this lost for some Owwe’s and Ah’s from people needing diversion from the ring they turn tricks in.

Refuse delivery of bad acts

*

HOW EVER YOU CAN

I heard --Let go with love.

You know how to do that? Asked my sponsor.

No that’s why I’m here to see you,

But it sure sounds like something I should do.

Well in a perfect world maybe we can all do it that way.

But for now let go with a mean look in your eye.

Let go with rage in your heart.

Let go with words boiling on you tongue.

Let go with the butter knife up to its hilt in the jelly jar.

Let go standing at the sink wishing for some other life.

Let go as a reflex

Let go as an anthem, as a prayer, as a declaration.

Let go even when you don’t feel you are holding on anymore.

At the same time-hold on to what’s important---

Your recovery---Your Higher Power, and your sense of humor.

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

For Want of Frith

June 25

For Want of Frith

I feel like I am standing on a trap door, every flex in my footing triggers insecurity.  With my arms spread wide, I think the wiser move might be to hold them to my sides.  For if the little square did give way my arms might be sheered off with no time served for the tears I’ve cried or the blood now shed sprinkled on the earth.  Step from this, I tell myself, do not make delay, for all the ground is not a trap nor all the world a stage.  But is it not the trade in pain that sticks me to this spot and keeps me here for all my life just waiting for the drop. 

Sweep a path to your goals

*

UTILITY OF EMOTION

I plug into the utility of my emotions

These utilities aid my life as all utilities do.

The duel prong of anger serves to light me up

And gives me strength to set boundaries.

The four line clip cord of pain allows me to keep in touch

With my Higher Power, my friends and my fellows.

I have nothing to share if I can’t stay real about my pain

.

Fear is hard to contain and is carefully piped

Explosions of fear can start so easily,

It’s a good thing its foul odor can be smelled in the air.

The co-axial cable of joy screws neatly into the back of my mind

And gives me delight,

Color and sound are the privileges of sobriety.

Emotions are plainly utilitarian

But they help me survive

And make living into a life.

More than a Fedora

May 10

More Than a Fedora

I have no explanations only expletives, I wish I had something to say that you wished to hear, but that is not current events; foul humored broadcasts are what fill the air this day.  Bad temper is tempting, but I can no longer be satisfied in this way nor is this a performance that you care to witness.  I will play FCC to my ruminations curtailing this colorful darkness for my benefit and the clearing of the air.  I have never shied from dramatic vocabulary and I do not now, but throwing out words is waste and I am learning to conserve.  I don’t have to leak my power I can cover my head and close my mouth. 

Know what you are holding on to

*

URBAN LANDSCAPE

I am taking this giraffe to the penthouse,

Do you suggest the elevator or the stairs?

Why do you chose these complicated tasks

To fill your days asked my sponsor?

You think this is beyond my abilities?

I didn’t say that, I do believe either you or the giraffe

Are likely to get bent out of shape

But that is the most obvious of observations

What if I told you being disproportionate

Is both of our natural states, I asked?

I know that too, my darling little lamb.

You may be a contrast to the multitude

But why make it harder?

Why not a ranch with a cathedral ceiling

Bay doors even?

You are taking out the spirit of adventure, I say

Baby, you may have confused frustration

With excitement, says my sponsor

Yes, but you have forgotten the view.

Dance of Death

June 10

DANCE OF DEATH

Honeyed words pour from painted lips; shades of doubt color my mind.  Stained glass eyes look to blank walls and picture the gallery of imagination, attempting to sell it for hard currency.  Sirens sing from the throats of mute men; the screams which rise in me fall on deaf ears.  Paradox feeds controversy but it needn’t.  Evolution from a cesspool is repugnant though progress is steadily made.  Inertia is violent if that is from whence it came.  Afterbirth is always bloody and humans not always nice.  I must live and heal as others climb up and slide down.  I must keep the beat and forget the dance of death.

Float your expectations and check for daggers underneath.

*

Dido

Either I can have a bad relationship that I never wanted

or no relationship and the painful isolation of having been lied to,

deceived by someone who, in theory, should have been trustworthy.

You are off to war and I am agape

not having realized until too late that you are a soldier.

The fact is that one of these things will occur;

you will be killed by a machine which cares nothing for you

and sees you as its enemy or destroyed by the organization

that sees you as its own.

Or you will throw yourself on your sword

and keep from bothering anyone else with this task.

There is no scenario where you are the One you promised me you’d be.

No homecoming, no welcoming arms to hold me.

I stand on the sidewalk,

a garbage pail of cold water poured over my shock and dismay.

To my grief you say that you have heard it all before,

so why did you set me up to say it all again?

I am heart stricken and cut in a place to obvious to hide

and too hidden to speak of.

You have no time to talk, no aid to give, no love to spare.

I thought I was yours, but see that I have been swept from your life

by the flood of a large gauge hose and water of questionable origin.

Everything is wet but nothing is clean.

This is an unholy act and I am defeated and living in Carthage

Crazy Time

December 19

Crazy Time

Picking the right time to be crazy seems to be the key to getting away with it. Wanting to get away with it slants the field a tad. What crazy is changes from place to place, which puts all the more emphasis on the timing. The surrounding company and barometric pressure play parts and put on airs. Lighting, lighting must also be involved, I assure you I don’t know how and can’t calculate the Ohms, but I flip the switches in case it helps. I have mapped for you a fair amount more than I know. I wish you well on your attempt, for crazy is a kindred club, I would hate for you to feel inept.

Admire your friends

*

THE FIRST FATHER

The rest of what I have to say
I will slip under your gravestone.
If I have time after I buy the red dress.

To say I hate you is an overstatement.
I only detest what I know of you
The rest I leave to other people
Who might have the misfortune to cross your path.

Your unavailability can protect you
From anything I could ever do to you.
Your hurt and arrogance is far worse punishment.
If I thought you were worth the energy of an attempt.

Having to be you every day must make it hard
To leave the bed in the morning.
I know I couldn’t do it if I had to
Drag your baggage around all day.

The sad part is I’m not sure you know it’s baggage.
You might think it’s armor
But your misnaming of everything
Is just another of the things I never miss about you.

Which is why although I pray every day
For your wellbeing for the sake of mine
If I never see you again
It might just be long enough.

Reguess

May 2

Reguess

When in my sarcasm I suggested that you ‘guess again’, I realized that you were in fact guessing, guessing about everything, guessing in order to create a process of elimination, a tool on which I now recognize you entirely depend. Guessing as a way of life is a tragedy. I’m not saying that trying to know every last thing in the world is an acceptable alternate goal, but to reach an adult age and not even be able to work your way up to a possible hunch is scary, scarier than even my sarcasm, which at this moment seems interminable, but I’m sure you guessed that.

Make a list of your favorite fingers

*

ON COMING

Anticipation of the approaching traffic consumes.

The tiny spec grows and develops into the arriving vehicle

50 miles per and the rapid succession of the coming

And those leaving eats quickly at my heart.

The pain seers me

Why are these who travel from the direction of my destination

Passing me by?

For miles and miles they appear to be greeters

The breeze created by their passing chaps my face

And questions my goals

How can so many abandon my objective?

But flee they do.

My hunger does not diminish

And I press on

Of course if we all went this way, we might tip the globe

Maybe that’s what they fear.

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.

Blanda

November 21

Blanda

I know how good a quarterback you are on Monday, safely at home. What were you like on the field, gameday? You act as if seeing your mistakes in retrospect is the same as not having made them, but the game is lost and a rematch is not a do-over. The score is final, whether you accept the stats or not. Defeat does not deter my love of the game and doesn’t diminish my affection for you, but history has been made and I don’t wish to repeat it.

Step aside and let fury pass

*

PERSONAL DICTIONARY

Everyone keeps a dictionary in his or her head.
All the words lay on platters
Each with its own flavor and meaning

There are favorite menus and phrases
Which form warmly in the mouth
And hang sweetly for the ear.

Other vocabulary is exotic, pungent
Occasionally with strong after taste
Or off key ringing
Abundance brings a wealth of conversation
And keeps the cold of boredom at bay.

Free for the taking words grow out of life lived.
When we have lived separately
Even if only in our separate heads
Meaning vary and reference must be checked.

Blue sky is blue sky
But do you speak of azure, cerulean or peacock?
Life is so much show and tell.
Drink the sunshine with your eyes
And flow it out to me with your words.

Satisfaction

August 29

SATISFACTION



Satisfaction is like a marble in my pocket. Formed when correctness was still red hot and my sponsor rolled my mind until I was whole. I sigh and square my shoulders. I know I am up to any task. I am skilled with my tools and know well the talents of my intimates and helpmates. I am not invincible but I am capable. I value who and what I am today. I sleep the sleep of a person not a hostage or a captor. I am me. I have a marble in my pocket and it reminds me of the world. I have a world within me; knowing how to live with that is a great satisfaction.


Listen clearly to angry words but don’t repeat them.

Utility of Emotion

July 5

UTILITY OF EMOTION



I plug into the utility of my emotions. These utilities aid my life as all utilities do. The duel prong of anger serves to light me up and gives me strength to set good boundaries. The four-line clip cord of pain allows me to keep in touch with my Higher Power, my friends, and my fellows. I have nothing to share if I can’t stay real about my pain. Fear is hard to contain and is carefully piped. Explosions of fear can start so easily it’s a good thing its foul odor can be smelled in the air. The coaxial cable of joy screws neatly into the back of my mind and gives me endless delight, color and sound; these are the privileges of sobriety. Emotions are plainly utilitarian but they help me survive and make living into a life.


Touch all the letters in your name.