2 Chairs

July 29

2 CHAIRS

Math is the language that moves closest to the speed of my brain.  The language of recovery slows my thinking so I am more than numbers and clicks.  I need not race my mind in an effort to win.  I am my prize; the victory is mine if I can embrace who I am.  I can use numbers to figure whether I am more or less, but owning who I am must be given to the talk of the soul and heart.  My nashamah is not an astral projection to be theorized but the seat of my emotions.  The only way to discover myself is through deep and loving conversation, so I had best pull up two chairs.

Play colors like music.

*

The Regulator

Face to face the clock stares me down.

I nearly dare the mismatched hands

to beat me at my part.

Their never-ending round-house

drops me to the ground.

My foot work is no equal for eternity.

Fancy days and star lit nights distract me

from the fight I’m losing,

directing my thoughts to what I gain.

If I turn with the hours,

dwelling in the moments,

the clock and I are friends,

no more mad-dogging, no time to lose.

Time is with me till the end,

it is not the death of me;

it’s the time of my 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

Clocks

May 24

CLOCKS

When the clock stops, I wind it up or replace the battery.  I have to; time doesn’t end because the arms grow slow.  The device wears down but the day is not over.  Even if my internal metronome is bollixed, the planets keep revolving.  I can’t step off the world; it doesn’t stop turning for me.  I don’t always have to keep my head up but I must always go on.  There is no going back.  I can only remember yesterday.  I can’t return to it though it’s so close the flowers are still fresh.  Sometimes I struggle to keep my hands off of the past.  Those are the days I secure my future and wind the clocks.

Create a map to your own happiness.

*

Princess No More

Decent is less obvious than accent

and so it is with dethroning;

those who put you upon the gilt alter with much aplomb

feel no qualm in taking you down

with not as much as a word or a grunt.

The wind has changed and your reign is over,

the poor startled girl is suddenly in the street.

For a scepter is not a club and why fight for a throne,

which is proven to be nothing more than a straight backed chair

once separated from its right relationships.

The horror of unexpected common status

is for the young bride an issue of safety and trust

not of ego or presumption.

Who is she without the Prince, the Knight,

she is Princess 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

The Regulator

July 29

The Regulator

Face to face the clock stares me down.  I nearly dare the mismatched hands to beat me at my part.  Their never-ending round-house drops me to the ground.  My foot work is no equal for eternity.  Fancy days and star lit nights distract me from the fight I’m losing, directing my thoughts to what I gain.  If I turn with the hours dwelling in the moments the clock and I are friends, no more mad-dogging, no time to lose.  Time is with me till the end, it is not the death of me; it’s the time of my life.  

Smuggle your sweetness out from under your cynicism

*

PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS

There is a penny in the bathtub.

I wonder who stood in there with loose change

Possibly confused it for a wishing well the penny was tossed in.

The stories I could tell, the hopes that tantalize my mind

Elves and leprechauns, dreamers and optimists,

All trundle through my thinking.

When I don’t know the answers

At least now I can look for the best,

The sweetest thoughts.

I don’t run to the dark and threatening disasters

I have lost the lease to my personal black cloud

The one which used to follow wherever I went.

I can smile now

And think of pennies from Heaven

The first drop landed in my tub.

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

No Stone Left Behind

May 14

No Stone Left Behind

An anchor attaches at the lower extremities stabilizing me, an albatross is the thing weighing me down from the top, it tips me, throws me to the ground.  I must remember to choose ferrous instruments over long necked birds.  Often it’s not the amount of drag, but where it’s affixed.  There are so many variables, so much to think through, yet I often react and pick up what seems as harmless as a flock of sea gulls and turns out to be worse than an iron maiden. Leaving no tern unstoned is bad, but do I really have the time to do it the other way around?

Visualize the vapor trails from your words as they fly away from you

*

CLOCKS

When the clock stops

I wind it up or replace the battery

I have to-----time doesn’t end

Because the arms grow slow.

The device wears down

But the day is not over

Even if my internal metronome is bollixed

The planets keep revolving.

I can’t step off the world

It doesn’t stop turning for me

I don’t always have to keep my head up

But I must always go on.

There is no going back

I can only remember yesterday

I can’t return to it though it’s so close

The flowers are still fresh.

Sometimes I struggle

To keep my hands off the past

Those are the days I secure my future

And wind the clocks

Clock and Calendar Girl

April 2

Clock and Calendar Girl

I depend on the count and measure of time to get me through.  The swing of the pendulum carries me from moment to moment and the divisions between days are like the rungs on a ladder; I climb from month to month and age to age.  When I hold my breath I count the tic, tic, tic till the difficult time passes and I can inhale once more.  Harder things require X’s in their numbered boxes to help me transverse the larger distance and rockier terrain.  Take away my clock and I go deaf, remove my calendar and I go blind.  Tools are tools even if they only aid sight and sound.

Address your future

*

THE SCULPTOR

Stuck in a block, my sponsor chips away at me
I struggle to hold still
With surgical precision she cuts through the debris
With which I have surrounded myself

After my sponsor frees my hand and arm
She places a hammer in my open fingers
When the other arm and hand are rescued
She places a chisel in that hand

This is how before my head showed above the surface
I began to help in my own restoration
I am the sculptor
The program has made me

Recovery has taught me
I can be anything
If I keep chipping away
At the things which hold me hostage

As time travels on I am a new shape
With each turn through the steps
And have an ever lustrous finish
With every application of the traditions

2 Chairs

July 29

2 CHAIRS

Math is the language that moves closest to the speed of my brain.  The language of recovery slows my thinking so I am more than numbers and clicks.  I need not race my mind in an effort to win.  I am my prize; the victory is mine if I can embrace who I am.  I can use numbers to figure whether I am more or less, but owning who I am must be given to the talk of the soul and heart.  My nashamah is not an astral projection to be theorized but the seat of my emotions.  The only way to discover myself is through deep and loving conversation, so I had best pull up two chairs.

Play colors like music.

*

The Regulator

Face to face the clock stares me down.

I nearly dare the mismatched hands

to beat me at my part.

Their never-ending round-house

drops me to the ground.

My foot work is no equal for eternity.

Fancy days and star lit nights distract me

from the fight I’m losing,

directing my thoughts to what I gain.

If I turn with the hours,

dwelling in the moments,

the clock and I are friends,

no more mad-dogging, no time to lose.

Time is with me till the end,

it is not the death of me;

it’s the time of my life.

Clocks

May 24

CLOCKS

When the clock stops, I wind it up or replace the battery.  I have to; time doesn’t end because the arms grow slow.  The device wears down but the day is not over.  Even if my internal metronome is bollixed, the planets keep revolving.  I can’t step off the world; it doesn’t stop turning for me.  I don’t always have to keep my head up but I must always go on.  There is no going back.  I can only remember yesterday.  I can’t return to it though it’s so close the flowers are still fresh.  Sometimes I struggle to keep my hands off of the past.  Those are the days I secure my future and wind the clocks.

Create a map to your own happiness.

*

Princess No More

Decent is less obvious than accent

and so it is with dethroning;

those who put you upon the gilt alter with much aplomb

feel no qualm in taking you down

with not as much as a word or a grunt.

The wind has changed and your reign is over,

the poor startled girl is suddenly in the street.

For a scepter is not a club and why fight for a throne,

which is proven to be nothing more than a straight backed chair

once separated from its right relationships.

The horror of unexpected common status

is for the young bride an issue of safety and trust

not of ego or presumption.

Who is she without the Prince, the Knight,

she is Princess No More.

Rain

April 1

RAIN

The rain makes shadows of water. It spills onto the ground like tiny worlds. What had been airborne and mist is now earthbound and integral, feeding, cutting, learning the world. Once I contemplated theories and mystery. Now, washing dishes is a spiritual service. The view was lovely when I was above it all but now I course through the veins of life. There may come a time when I am untouchable again but by then I will have been a part of it all. I will carry the world with me always, an orbiting servant not just above but through.

Engrave compliments in your mind.

*

Clock and Calendar Girl

I depend on the count and measure of time to get me through.

The swing of the pendulum carries me from moment to moment

and the divisions between days are like the rungs on a ladder;

I climb from month to month and age to age.

When I hold my breath I count the tic, tic, tic

till the difficult time passes and I can inhale once more.

Harder things require X’s in their numbered boxes

to help me transverse the larger distance and rockier terrain.

Take away my clock and I go deaf,

remove my calendar and I go blind.

Tools are tools even if they only aid sight and sound.

No Stone Left Behind

May 14

No Stone Left Behind

An anchor attaches at the lower extremities stabilizing me, an albatross is the thing weighing me down from the top, it tips me, throws me to the ground. I must remember to choose ferrous instruments over long necked birds. Often it’s not the amount of drag, but where it’s affixed. There are so many variables, so much to think through, yet I often react and pick up what seems as harmless as a flock of sea gulls and turns out to be worse than an iron maiden. Leaving no tern unstoned is bad, but do I really have the time to do it the other way around?

Visualize the vapor trails from your words as they fly away from you

*

CLOCKS

When the clock stops

I wind it up or replace the battery

I have to-----time doesn’t end

Because the arms grow slow.

The device wears down

But the day is not over

Even if my internal metronome is bollixed

The planets keep revolving.

I can’t step off the world

It doesn’t stop turning for me

I don’t always have to keep my head up

But I must always go on.

There is no going back

I can only remember yesterday

I can’t return to it though it’s so close

The flowers are still fresh.

Sometimes I struggle

To keep my hands off the past

Those are the days I secure my future

And wind the clocks

Clock and Calendar Girl

April 2

Clock and Calendar Girl

I depend on the count and measure of time to get me through. The swing of the pendulum carries me from moment to moment and the divisions between days are like the rungs on a ladder; I climb from month to month and age to age. When I hold my breath I count the tic, tic, tic till the difficult time passes and I can inhale once more. Harder things require X’s in their numbered boxes to help me transverse the larger distance and rockier terrain. Take away my clock and I go deaf, remove my calendar and I go blind. Tools are tools even if they only aid sight and sound.

Address your future

*

THE SCULPTOR

Stuck in a block, my sponsor chips away at me
I struggle to hold still
With surgical precision she cuts through the debris
With which I have surrounded myself

After my sponsor frees my hand and arm
She places a hammer in my open fingers
When the other arm and hand are rescued
She places a chisel in that hand

This is how before my head showed above the surface
I began to help in my own restoration
I am the sculptor
The program has made me

Recovery has taught me
I can be anything
If I keep chipping away
At the things which hold me hostage

As time travels on I am a new shape
With each turn through the steps
And have an ever lustrous finish
With every application of the traditions

The Regulator

July 29

The Regulator

Face to face the clock stares me down. I nearly dare the mismatched hands to beat me at my part. Their never-ending round-house drops me to the ground. My foot work is no equal for eternity. Fancy days and star lit nights distract me from the fight I’m losing, directing my thoughts to what I gain. If I turn with the hours dwelling in the moments the clock and I are friends, no more mad-dogging, no time to lose. Time is with me till the end, it is not the death of me; it’s the time of my life.

Smuggle your sweetness out from under your cynicism

*

PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS

There is a penny in the bathtub.

I wonder who stood in there with loose change

Possibly confused it for a wishing well the penny was tossed in.

The stories I could tell, the hopes that tantalize my mind

Elves and leprechauns, dreamers and optimists,

All trundle through my thinking.

When I don’t know the answers

At least now I can look for the best,

The sweetest thoughts.

I don’t run to the dark and threatening disasters

I have lost the lease to my personal black cloud

The one which used to follow wherever I went.

I can smile now

And think of pennies from Heaven

The first drop landed in my tub.