Why not home?

September 12

WHY NOT HOME?

Power is not production and production is not art.  I have to keep pulling the car over to the side of the road so I don’t miss the train of words sent to me from out of the dark blue life I am on the edge of living.  But I still want to go home.  I will never give up these roadside excursions into the river of thought, though I do wonder why the cable shoved into my house never gets this channel?  Why is the connection so strong on the bus not the bed?  The minefields of thought explosions seem seeded anywhere as long as it’s at least five miles away.  Power is not production and production is not art.  I let it pour through me; it’s not mine to sort.

Learn to read God’s handwriting.

*

Hypothetical

Is my inability to understand what creates mystery?

If I were brighter, swifter, keener,

would life be free of unknown communion?

Would comprehension eliminate revelation?

Would I lose perceptual apprehension

by arming myself with knowledge of forethought?

Could I end mysticism through education?

Should I even if I could?

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

Shadows of Doubt

September 1

Shadow of Doubt

The long dark cast covers my face, my thoughts, my life; it is the light blocked by my skepticism.  To tear down the obstruction means a profound change of my internal architecture; walls will have to be knocked down, windows installed.  The poor mouthed structure takes better to the steamroller than I wish it would.  I fear the loss of my hideout, panic at the thought of a life in the sun.  Skepticism builds a paper world; opaque, weak yet frightening to tear apart.

Rub the place where you land

*

WHY NOT HOME

Power is not production and production is not art.

I have to keep pulling the car to the side of the road

so I don’t miss the train of words sent to me,

from out of the dark blue life I am on the edge of living

but I still want to go home.

I will never give up these roadside excursions

into the river of thought though I do wonder why

the cable shoved into my house never gets this channel?

Why is the connection so strong on the bus not the bed?

The minefields of thought explosions seem seeded anywhere

as long as it’s at least five miles away.

Power is not production and production is not art.

I let it pour through me---it is not mine to sort.

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

Rules

July 21

Rules

There are rules about breaking rules.  You can do it this way, but must not that way.  Cross this line and you get dragons; cross that line you get a good natured slap on the wrist.  Beneath the reflective surface of law I have found many shoals and sandbars; rocks and outcroppings, layer upon layer of blue depth I can only partly chart.  I also find inquiries in this matter meet with the same reaction as asking about: yeti, crop circles, or what was kept in Uncle Author’s spare room.  Those willing to talk about it I often fear to hear from and the reluctant to speak I fear to pursue.  You see this investigation is just another thing from under that sea.

Look before you listen

*

MY BABIES

Too often I have abandoned the infants

Of my creativity to doorways and charities

Having little patience I did not raise them

To their intended station.

Joyful parentage need not stop

At the cutting of the cord.

Down playing the importance of each birth

I leave beauty and art to be foundlings

And the province of others.

I can share the guardianship of these precious gifts

And be more than a broodmare for cunning and craft.

I have neglected things

For the promise of each new conception.

Overpopulation weakens the body of work

And leaves my portfolio listless and immature.

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

Blind Man's Bluff

August 18

Blind Man’s Bluff

Turning your head to see doesn’t help when you have a blind eye. All the rotation in the world won’t restore your sight. Addressing life problems with a solution involving spin is counter productive and sometimes counter clockwise to boot. If I find I just can’t see, then maybe it’s time to listen better and compensate for my shortcoming through some other action. Turning away doesn’t help and walking away is worse. When I am blind in one eye and can’t see out of the other stepping up to the plate may not be an option, but I still need to find a way to stay in the game.

Molt bad ideas

*

PUBLIC PRIVACY

My public privacy is protected

By my smile not my scowl.

Maintaining boundaries as I travel

The common areas of life

Is more readily accomplished

By a pleasant demeanor than a dark stare.

I have used negative attitude

And found myself outside of my own protection.

The buoyancy of my manner keeps surface tension

A natural and acceptable reality.

Hooded behavior drags every interaction

Into suspicion.

When I make part of my business

To put others at ease

It is easier for me to preserve

My business as my own.

My Babies

July 31

MY BABIES


Too often I have abandoned the infants of my creativity to doorways and charities. Having little patience I did not raise them to their intended station. Joyful parentage need not stop at the cutting of the cord. Downplaying the importance of each birth, I would leave beauty and art to be foundlings and the province of others. I can share the guardianship of these precious gifts and be more than a brood mare for cunning and craft. I have neglected things apparent for the promise of each new conception. Overpopulation weakens the body of my work and leaves my portfolio listless and immature.


Touch your finger with your nose.