Speak!

July 24

Speak!

Are there songs a bird must not sing while communing with the flock?  Do fish learn to restrain their expressions while schooling?  Or are we the only animal versed in the language of taboo?  I wonder when I hear the cows lowing in the night are they giving whispered voice to things they longed to moo about all day.  I know what to keep inside, things too flamboyant for out of doors.  I understand to keep body and soul together I must keep down and hush, but when I complain to my pup does she comprehend or is it just blah, blah, blah; in her world of speak maybe it is like it is?

If your pallet is limited broaden your ideas

*

SHARING

Please take a bite of my PB&J,

I made it myself, it is fine as it is

I slathered the bread and cut it neatly

Still I can’t help but want to offer some to you.

I know to stand and smile next to you

Watch you lick the peanut butter from the roof of your mouth

Have you dab jelly from the corner of my lips

Will make this sandwich even better.

You bring so much to this meal

Something bright and clever --you bring you.

I can pull things together and set it all up

But somehow my creation is never quite complete

Until I share it with you.

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

The Landscape of Words

July 22

The Landscape of Words

Paint takes time to dry; I work with words.  I say azure and you are there with me, even if I am far from this mortal coil, my pigments stay fresh as long as you know blue, as long as you can hear me, read me, see me.  I paint 6X8 cell and we are imprisoned together, trapped, til I tell you of the key I slipped into your shoe.  I love the flow of watercolor, adore the mushy paste of oil, but nothing beats the world we paint and repaint here on this page.

Explain why frogs don’t have wings

*

GAME PLAYING

My Higher Power doesn’t play me like a board game.

Doesn’t monopolize my time or put me in jeopardy.

My trouble is my own.

I pursue trivia at my discretion.

I take or reject risk at will.

I scrabble my thoughts and am sorry when I make mistakes

.

But don’t expect to live in a candy land.

When I stick my hand in a mouse trap

Or fall down shoots and need to climb up ladders.

I know the game may not be over

But it is far too late to play let’s make a deal.

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

Who to Ask

April 14

Who to Ask

“You ask good questions and you ask the right people,” said my sponsor.

“I ask questions because I need answers,” my reply.

“Do you know how many people need answers and never ask?” she quipped.

“I ask my friends, no stroke of genius there,” I continue.

“You ask your playmates, you ask the people you trust enough to have fun with.  You don’t realize how clever that is.  You know lots of folks who work hard and you could ask your questions of these, but instead you save them for those diligent ones who still know how to play and that, Sweetie Pie is proof that you are no dummy.”

You may mute your horn, but don’t soap your bow

*

CRUMPLED PETALS IN MY POCKET

I can't bring back the bloom

Cohesion, lost ripeness

Is left only to memory

I carry home the parts

Folded, petite, fragrant bedding

For my wistful desires

I put these colored remnants into a jar of salt

I make an aromatic rub

For the sweetest wounds

Transforming the parts to useful duty

Doesn't restore the flower

It doesn't pay tribute to the past, it is survival

I have a mind filled with roses but I must make hay

Today I live, today the rose is dead

Its pieces in my pocket

I don't die with the blossom

Though my head blows in the wind

The rose runs its course, I run mine.

Taking the Field

July 20

Taking the Field

Humor is an illustration; a joke, an explanation. I learn far more from the smiles than the jeers. Laughter carries me; an action, which tears can’t always accomplish. It is hard to live with constant descent, but wit is a quick impassioned friend. Thoughtless conformity is an evil companion I prefer the company of those who play. Life is too hard from the sidelines; I would rather take the field.

Find a pit crew before you crash

*

DEFINITIONS

I am close to my Higher Power

But I have no words to describe It.

I have found it best to say nothing unless asked.

When I do speak it is always the path I took

Or the way I held my face.

I know the things, which changed

And the wind, which blew.

This is not the sketch most people seek.

My skin is brown and my smile broad.

This is not from over exposure to beams of light.

Closeness warms me, I glow from standing near.

I know the face and form is different for everyday

I must not stop for definitions.

Special

July 10

Special

Is it the wiring between my ears, the size of the pump in my chest? The difference which can be seen when you look from me to the neighbors? I know that you feel me to be special. I feel me to be special, too, just like you. Defining that thing, that combination which unlocks the mundane is more than just an attempt to point a finger; it’s a search for that little light. Close and closer we pull together and that is special but now I will whisper it, tell you the secret truth is my ability to play. Come play with me!

Whistle with the tune the wind brings you

*

IT’S MY PARTY

The party I was throwing myself in addiction

Was nothing but a very long wake.

There were no smiles, only murmurs of what might have been.

I was filled with tears I couldn’t cry

And mourned my death as I caused it.

When I took off my little black dress

And stepped from this shroud

I closed the bar, clicked the switch and the dirge stopped.

The funeral ended prematurely

I walked into AA where I learned to be the life of the party.

Game Playing

August 1

GAME PLAYING



My Higher Power doesn’t play me like a board game, doesn’t monopolize my time or put me in jeopardy. My trouble is my own. I pursue trivia at my discretion. I take or reject risk at will. I scrabble my thoughts and am sorry when I make mistakes but don’t expect to live in a candyland. When I stick my hand in the mouse trap, or fall down the shoots and need to climb the ladders, I know the game may not be over, but it is far too late to play let’s make a deal.


Keep a game with you.

Game Playing

August 1

GAME PLAYING



My Higher Power doesn’t play me like a board game, doesn’t monopolize my time or put me in jeopardy. My trouble is my own. I pursue trivia at my discretion. I take or reject risk at will. I scrabble my thoughts and am sorry when I make mistakes but don’t expect to live in a candyland. When I stick my hand in the mouse trap, or fall down the shoots and need to climb the ladders, I know the game may not be over, but it is far too late to play let’s make a deal.


Keep a game with you.