Good Samaritan Pie

December 16

GOOD SAMARITAN PIE

The meal prepared from my cognition, the bread and jam of humility, salad of expectation, roast of determination and Good Samaritan pie, wait on the table to be devoured.  The courses pass and come dessert my kindly intentions are cut to wedges and pushed from setting to setting.  I can, with dollop after dollop, cover the requisite desires of this tart in an attempt to deny my addiction to fixing or I can serve up the plain truth.  I help and help and wander down roads looking for lost puppies to return to their homes.  I must admit my longing to lend support is sometimes half-baked, and if kept to home and hearth it might serve me better and make a sweeter dish.  Assistance is best in proportion to the meal.  I must live my life and save my pie till last.

Hold each other's hands but explore.

*

Touch Your Toes

Funny how we deal with feet.

I have seen a woman cradle hers

and treat it like the dearest babe.

I know some folks who shun their feet;

can barely stand to think of them,

let alone to touch them.

There are the Mani-Pedi people

who leave it in the hands of others.

I met a guy who soaks them soft

and tucks little bits of cotton

under the corners of his nails.

I know too,

the woman with the snarling crusty dogs

that serve to others as a warning.

My grandma warns me

not complain about my shoes

lest I meet the man who has no feet,

but I doubt I would fit in his.

Vlog:  http://youtu.be/7eUgwQQ5ZPI

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

Touch Your Toes

December 20

Touch Your Toes

Funny how we deal with feet.  I have seen a woman cradle hers and treat it like the dearest babe. I know some folks who shun their feet; can barely stand to think of them, let alone to touch them.  There are the Mani-Pedi people who leave it in the hands of others.  I met a guy who soaks them soft and tucks little bits of cotton under the corners of his nails.  I know too, the woman with the snarling crusty dogs that serve to others as a warning.  My grandma warns me not complain about my shoes lest I meet the man who has no feet, but I doubt I would fit in his.

Borrow brilliance

*

MUD PIES

Mud pies and retro-childhood
Are for the hurt ones, small and angry inside me.
They require care and special attention
But I can’t stop with them.

Saving children to starve the adolescents is a sad fate
Or abandoning adults after bringing them all this way
Is indescribably cruel.

I cannot work on healing
All the while waiting for some ice flow
To shove myself off on.

There is never a time I am not the responsible party
For the people who inhabit my interior life
I live their reflections every day.

There is no one-way mirror
With which to hide unresolved issues
No rug to sweep them under
They flow through me like a river

I must return them to breed new health
As a salmon swims back to the waters
Of its birth to bring new life.

I must brave the complexities of maturity
I cannot just sit in the mud

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

Good Samaritan Pie

December 16

GOOD SAMARITAN PIE

The meal prepared from my cognition, the bread and jam of humility, salad of expectation, roast of determination and Good Samaritan pie, wait on the table to be devoured.  The courses pass and come dessert my kindly intentions are cut to wedges and pushed from setting to setting.  I can, with dollop after dollop, cover the requisite desires of this tart in an attempt to deny my addiction to fixing or I can serve up the plain truth.  I help and help and wander down roads looking for lost puppies to return to their homes.  I must admit my longing to lend support is sometimes half-baked, and if kept to home and hearth it might serve me better and make a sweeter dish.  Assistance is best in proportion to the meal.  I must live my life and save my pie till last.

Hold each other's hands but explore.

*

Touch Your Toes

Funny how we deal with feet.

I have seen a woman cradle hers

and treat it like the dearest babe.

I know some folks who shun their feet;

can barely stand to think of them,

let alone to touch them.

There are the Mani-Pedi people

who leave it in the hands of others.

I met a guy who soaks them soft

and tucks little bits of cotton

under the corners of his nails.

I know too,

the woman with the snarling crusty dogs

that serve to others as a warning.

My grandma warns me

not complain about my shoes

lest I meet the man who has no feet,

but I doubt I would fit in his.

Touch Your Toes

December 20

Touch Your Toes

Funny how we deal with feet. I have seen a woman cradle hers and treat it like the dearest babe. I know some folks who shun their feet; can barely stand to think of them, let alone to touch them. There are the Mani-Pedi people who leave it in the hands of others. I met a guy who soaks them soft and tucks little bits of cotton under the corners of his nails. I know too, the woman with the snarling crusty dogs that serve to others as a warning. My grandma warns me not complain about my shoes lest I meet the man who has no feet, but I doubt I would fit in his.

Borrow brilliance

*

MUD PIES

Mud pies and retro-childhood
Are for the hurt ones, small and angry inside me.
They require care and special attention
But I can’t stop with them.

Saving children to starve the adolescents is a sad fate
Or abandoning adults after bringing them all this way
Is indescribably cruel.

I cannot work on healing
All the while waiting for some ice flow
To shove myself off on.

There is never a time I am not the responsible party
For the people who inhabit my interior life
I live their reflections everyday.

There is no one-way mirror
With which to hide unresolved issues
No rug to sweep them under
They flow through me like a river

I must return them to breed new health
As a salmon swims back to the waters
Of its birth to bring new life.

I must brave the complexities of maturity
I cannot just sit in the mud