How Red is Red

August 13

HOW RED IS RED

I check my color and contrast; I paint the setting sun.  Add a bit of yellow and fill to the edge burgeoning poppies.  Add more blue and paint the blood which pools around my mind, the equalizer of all my mental conversations.  Too much is never enough.  As the story goes, I pursue my shades and signatures.  Too much for the fingers and not enough for the toes, I disregard fraudulent crimson. I scale the mountains of intention looking for perfection.  The leach of my addiction drains the other colors from my rainbow.  My sponsor asks only one question.

“How red is red?”

Allow your thoughts to be neighborly with your feelings.

*

Phillips Head

What’s stuck in makes the thing.

What sticks out is all that’s seen.

I can tell so much from what is left out,

yet there is much I will never know, can never tell.

The twist, the give, the opening to variation

is known, but never acknowledged.

Somehow indecent if spoken

or thought of too loudly, insinuation is ignored

Society allows us to focus on

what is held after or due to this act.

We have built the whole world

on what we can screw together.

But we will merely hallow this,

never embrace the fact until it falls apart.

Then we exclaim over the rawness

of how it caused us to be turned around,

The risk and wrongness,

ignoring just how much good

can come from just a simple screw.

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

Suddenly

March 23

Suddenly

Creeping realization has never been my experience with G-d’s handy work in my kitchen.  I start out making a mess and I find in short order that G-d has made a meal; fit food for apt hunger.  I could throw myself into the kneading and shaping, but without the yeast which is so freely given I have no bread; only a lump that will choke me in the end.  Even my very own abilities are gifts I was incapable of offering to myself and are only found here in my possession through sheer grace.  I have woken up with my face saliva glued to the table top far too often only to discover my Higher Power doing and I am grateful; for without that action I would be un-done.

Learn to live with the shadow of the moon

*

HOW RED IS RED

I check my color and contrast
I paint the setting sun
Add a bit of yellow
And fill to the edge burgeoning poppies

Add more blue and paint the blood
Which pools around my mind
The equalizer of all my mental conversations

Too much is never enough, as the story goes
I pursue my shades and signatures
Too much for the fingers and not enough for the toes
I disregard fraudulent crimson

I scale the mountains of intention looking for perfection
The leach of my addiction drains the other colors from my rainbow
My sponsor asks only one question
"How red is red?"

Personal Dictionary

December 4

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, phrases, which form warmly in the mouth and hang sweetly for the ear.  Other vocabulary is exotic, pungent, occasionally with a strong aftertaste 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, meanings 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.

Write on scraps then tape them together.

*

Night Spaces

When it gets dark it gets dark fast.

They say, night falls,

though sometimes it feels like it falls down.

What is little realized is there is a lifting

when the light has gone away, the sky raises

its roof and there is more air to breathe.

Long lost is the pink wisp

that heralded this night

and far ahead is the next wisp

of pink singing of the moon.