Pride Goeth Before a Fall

November 23

PRIDE GOETH BEFORE A FALL

In truth, pride goes wherever it wants, it’s pride.  Pride wanders alone, for no one enjoys its company.  Pride travels far but gets nowhere.  Pride rises above reality and seeps beneath the surface.  When pride wears out, love and honesty poke holes in it until it is grounded and transforms to humility.  Pride’s past is remembered with flush and embarrassment.  Recounting yesterday is pride’s unenviable task.  Keeping it from recreation is mine.

Dress yourself with love.

*

No Mickey Mouse

The Wonderful World of Disney

belonged to normal children;

kids with Sunday nights

and not the tear filled screaming

which punctuated my weekends.

I had no time for the creative melodrama

built to add interest into the dull little lives

of safe little ones, there is no Disney for me;

no clean pasteled figures frolicking.

I know only the freshened wit of the wizened rabbit

and the frenetic slamming of that distorted duck;

these are there for me.

Teaching me the dark humor of the life I lead;

Preparing me to laugh at M*A*S*H,

yet still never cluing me to the fact

that Carroll O’Connor was only teasing,

so still I cried to hear his rants,

But the dry irony of Hawkeye,

war and blood, those I got.

I was carefully led there by the Merry Melodies.

Vlog: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R7AIC03nvnM&feature=youtu.be

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

Birth of an Apple

October 24

BIRTH OF AN APPLE

When an apple gives birth what is the result?   Seed or sauce?  Crunch or crisp?  The act of creation is so much an act of sacrifice, how can it be limited to only one kind of delivery?  The children of effort produce fruit of their own; who am I to call them other than my kin?  How many times have I thrown over bluster for blizzard?  But snow is snow.  I can accept every squall if I keep clear and willing.  I may finish my days in a winter orchard if I spend my life picking not choosing.

Keep two lists: what you want and what you have.

*

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.

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

Pictures and Frames

March 9

PICTURES AND FRAMES

I paint my way into the corners of the frame.  Each picture I fill diligently, color, texture, all the tricks I use.  I work hard to get the desired effect.  I hold nothing back; I put heart and hopes forward.  I load my brush with pigment; I propel my tongue out of my mouth.  I use it for balance like a kangaroo uses its tail.  Stroke after stroke, I layer the image.  My depiction is fresh to me.  I bring the green, the red, the blue, blue, blues; all of those flow from me.  The canvas fills; my soul soars through the tinctures.  Then the disappointment begins, the complaint and lamentations.  The perspective is off.  I can’t seem to contain this scene within the confines of this gilded prison.  I re-adjust.  I tilt my head; I paint from the bottom up, then the top down.  No, no.  I must pick up a new canvas, the frame oak, burnished and honeyed brown.  I cast to the side the gilt and sculptured casing; I lay it along the wall with the others, the many discards of life.  As yet, the obvious has escaped me; the tint, the hue, angle, size may diverge but that is all.  I have recreated the same scene in all the frames.  In all my attempts, I have painted only one picture.

Learn your process.

*

Résistance

Resisting tough love

is approaching long run action

with short run thinking.

I hate to set the toddling babe down lest he fall,

but in the end if I do not put him down

he and I will both be the worse for it.

Whether I see a forest or I see trees

depends so very much on my perspective,

also on my willingness to delay

the prevention of minor scrapes

to eliminate the need for permanent scaring.

The theme is greater personal responsibility

and less irrational fear.

Guarding tomorrow’s possibilities

by not hamstringing them today

through the resistance of tough love

saves lives, it saves mine.

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

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

Two Powers

February 6

Two Powers

The river and the bridge; one force swift and roiling the other stolid and stoic, the first carries me away and the other carries me over.  For the love of liquid, current and life I have slipped in to the water and washed; my life abandoned.  For love of upright contact, terra bound movement I cross the bridge. Will I be deposited in the Ocean or wend to the City and back?  Where is the greater power in Surrender or Choice?

Ignorance and greed are the same thing aren’t they?

*

THE SEAMLESS DOOR

Tongue and groove fit tight.
The pickled boards belie the passage.
Hinges buried deep
Secreted inside the place with no words.

The door remains shut, hidden.
The air, candy sweet.
The space, filled with the unbroken stream
Of surreal childhood.

What can I tell you of this living snapshot?
Nothing but haltings
Stops and shutters
Of a life encapsulated.

Proudly, I walk from this train wreck
Only to find the tether stitched
To my heart,
My soul, my mind.

Flashing through the room,
I weary and wonder.
I have often found myself outside this confusing destination
But never have I seen the door.

Always, I believe this time I am free of it.
When I find myself again within this realm
I know it is something
I cannot be parted from.

Then what of the door?
The undetected portal
Was spied by me one day
While it swung in the breeze.

I saw the simple barn
And the open loft door.
I never thought my incubus to be housed
In so plain a construction.

There the turmoil of my forward motion
Stored in the attic of the pony shed.
So may tragic contrivances
Are stored in such candid spots

Accessibility is the beginning of approach.
I take the stairs.

And Gratitude

January 31

Principles before Personalities............and gratitude!

As with everything I have to be careful of how I infer meaning.  You say ‘Principles before Personalities’ and I hear, Their principles and Their personalities, immediately I’m on a tear.  How different if I think of ‘my’ principles and ‘my’ personality.  When I face it this way it is reflexive; I embrace my principles and my personality falls into step.  I am safe and sane therefore gratitude follows just as the topic suggests.  Good orderly direction is elegant when I don’t reverse direction.  There is an obvious way to pet the cat when I accept that we get along fine, when I don’t………well, need I say more?

Books open minds, music opens hearts

*

WHEN I WAS YOUNG

I'm sure it will come soon
A time I can be carefree, innocent.
Worn and weary, I slog through the painful
Over awareness of what was considered my childhood.
What can I do but hope things will get simpler as I age.

My sobriety takes years from my face.
Lines slip from me and I feel the weight lift from my shoulders.
My tender branches twisted with the constant force of wind
Bud and flower in the shelter of recovery
Holding them in their own embrace.

Colors seep to the windows of my mind
Forming pictures and carrying me to a new world.
Limpid pools, a place I dive, as I look to the mirror.
Serenity a rebounding of life fills me
And I am the gentle girl I missed so long.

Longing for my loveliness, I cry at the sight of my baby one.
I have not yet taken my place on the swing
But I have been down to the edge of the playground
And run barefoot in the sand.
I will be who I was to be, it's late but it's better.

I know well enough
To enjoy it as it comes
Treasure it for every sweetness.
I will come into my youth

Pride Goeth Before a Fall

November 23

PRIDE GOETH BEFORE A FALL

In truth, pride goes wherever it wants, it’s pride.  Pride wanders alone, for no one enjoys its company.  Pride travels far but gets nowhere.  Pride rises above reality and seeps beneath the surface.  When pride wears out, love and honesty poke holes in it until it is grounded and transforms to humility.  Pride’s past is remembered with flush and embarrassment.  Recounting yesterday is pride’s unenviable task.  Keeping it from recreation is mine.

Dress yourself with love.

*

No Mickey Mouse

The Wonderful World of Disney

belonged to normal children;

kids with Sunday nights

and not the tear filled screaming

which punctuated my weekends.

I had no time for the creative melodrama

built to add interest into the dull little lives

of safe little ones, there is no Disney for me;

no clean pasteled figures frolicking.

I know only the freshened wit of the wizened rabbit

and the frenetic slamming of that distorted duck;

these are there for me.

Teaching me the dark humor of the life I lead;

Preparing me to laugh at M*A*S*H,

yet still never cluing me to the fact

that Carroll O’Connor was only teasing,

so still I cried to hear his rants,

But the dry irony of Hawkeye,

war and blood, those I got.

I was carefully led there by the Merry Melodies.

When I Was Young

February 1

WHEN I WAS YOUNG

I’m sure it will come soon, a time I can be a carefree innocent. Worn and weary, I slog through the painful over-awareness of what was considered my childhood. What can I do but hope things will get simpler as I age? My sobriety takes years from my face; lines slip from me and I feel the weight lift from my shoulders. My tender branches, twisted with the constant force of wind, bud and flower in the shelter of recovery, holding themselves in their own embrace. Colors seep to the windows of my mind, form pictures and carry me to a new world. Through limpid pools I dive as I look to the mirror. Serenity, a rebounding of life fills me, and I am the gentle girl I missed so long. Longing for my loveliness, I cry at the sight of my baby one. I have not yet taken my place on the swing but I have been down to the edge of the playground and run barefoot in the sand. I will be who I was to be; it’s late but it’s better. I know well enough to enjoy it as it comes, treasure it for every sweetness. I will come into my youth.

Listen for a bridge that calls your name.

*

Principles before Personalities............and Gratitude!

As with everything I have to be careful

of how I infer meaning.

You say ‘Principles before Personalities’ and I hear,

Their principles and Their personalities,

immediately I’m on a tear.

How different if I think of ‘my’ principles and ‘my’ personality.

When I face it this way it is reflexive;

I embrace my principles and my personality falls into step.

I am safe and sane therefore gratitude follows

just as the topic suggests.

Good orderly direction is elegant when I don’t reverse direction.

There is an obvious way to pet the cat when I accept that

we get along fine, when I don’t………well, need I say more?