Mail Fraud

November 18

MAIL FRAUD

The open envelope betrays the tampering I suspect.  Too bad my critics are snooping, not my supporters.  When they are finished tearing open my mail, they tear me apart as well.  Shredded, I feel unable to handle further correspondence.  I shut down communications.  There is no channel for benefactors to travel.  My champions are at a loss to defend me from my opponents; the struggle flounders.  Misunderstanding the meaning of messages, I have been mocked and enslaved.  I would love to vanquish my foes, but you see I am opening my own mail.

Ask often all the questions.

*

The Story as a Stowaway

I want to tell you a story,

but I want to tell it to you quickly,

so I can give it to you and then you can carry it

on your way, for what good is my story to you

if you must leave it where it lay?

Your need to be elsewhere presses on us both

and I wish to give you what you can take rather than

to try to stall you here for an epic you might never lift

and certainly not dream of dragging along.

I want you to be on your way

and take a part of me with you.

I wish to sew myself in your mind;

tether my tale to your soul.

I believe in forward motion and the need to carry on.

Where you’re going I can’t go on my own

but I know that if I am funny, quick and lite,

part of me goes even to the end of your world

and my hope is to help you make it bright.

Vlog: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uLoOa_Mx-CQ

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

Jenny

February 19

Jenny

Though ignorance may be bliss, living in the shadow of someone else’s ignorance is sheer hell.  The confusion is bad, but the lies are worse.  Want to cripple a child for life give it to a well meaning fool who has the rule book to the wrong board game, that child will grow to need crutches they don’t make and medicine they can’t brew.  Dependant on misguided insanity the child will require a miracle cure and may lack the ability to ingest it.  Best case scenario the kid makes a brave escape into a world she can barely comprehend, worse case she turns the rule book upside down and reads it backwards to her own unfortunate brood.  Ignorance is always a twilight proposition, half agreement the other half handcuffed nightmare.  Full consent is by necessity impossible while blameless innocents is similarly unachievable.  The only suggestion I can make from this side of the looking glass is to pick your poison and plan your getaway.

Rain encouragement down in your dreams

*

TIME IS HERE TO STAY 

I have passed my days emptying them. 
Like bread crumbs on a trail of rescue 
Expecting them to facilitate redemption 
And if not that at least retreat. 

I release an audible sigh 
As I let each evening slip to the path behind me 
The future I view as a cliff I am nearing 
I hope to be ransomed before the edge. 

I plan carefully how to stay in sync with revision 
Things must be resolved and revert 
But this is not the way. 
The past is there to be mined. 

Inert gold as well as land mines linger beneath the surface 
The days stream on. 
I am not nearing the limit 
I am shrinking from hope. 

I turn my eyes from expectancy with a shutter 
Deeply, I realize I must leave my fairytale life 
And walk away with my days in my pocket 
A treasure------mine to spend.

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.

Waterline

September 4

WATERLINE

The interface of water and land is compelling.  Soothing but dramatic; I’m drawn to this transition.  I stand and watch the lap, lap, lapping of the liquid to the land.  The gift of one place to another calls me.  Change and transition exhilarate my senses.  Whether it is rock or sand, river or sea I feel the pull to watch life in response.  Boundaries are beautiful.  Borders allow safety and recreation, not just risk.  When I embrace this in life I embrace it in me.

Do it twice, once with the pattern and once without.

*

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.