Mail Fraud

November 18

MAIL FRAUD

The open envelope betrays the tampering I suspect.  Too bad my critics are snooping, not my supporters.  When they are finished tearing open my mail, they tear me apart as well.  Shredded, I feel unable to handle further correspondence.  I shut down communications.  There is no channel for benefactors to travel.  My champions are at a loss to defend me from my opponents; the struggle flounders.  Misunderstanding the meaning of messages, I have been mocked and enslaved.  I would love to vanquish my foes, but you see I am opening my own mail.

Ask often all the questions.

*

The Story as a Stowaway

I want to tell you a story,

but I want to tell it to you quickly,

so I can give it to you and then you can carry it

on your way, for what good is my story to you

if you must leave it where it lay?

Your need to be elsewhere presses on us both

and I wish to give you what you can take rather than

to try to stall you here for an epic you might never lift

and certainly not dream of dragging along.

I want you to be on your way

and take a part of me with you.

I wish to sew myself in your mind;

tether my tale to your soul.

I believe in forward motion and the need to carry on.

Where you’re going I can’t go on my own

but I know that if I am funny, quick and lite,

part of me goes even to the end of your world

and my hope is to help you make it bright.

Vlog: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uLoOa_Mx-CQ

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

Generational River

November 22

Generational River

The history in my genes have cut a channel in the rock of existence; I pour through it everyday. I too change the face of life one grain at a time, though I rarely recognize my affect I am so busy running. Damns, ponding, acts of G-d leave their marks for future readings, but I keep moving. The water is never the same twice; it changes even more than the mineral face and yet its liquid life looks more than unchanged from a distance and is a world filled with variety up close. Circle the globe, the sun, the sands of time, the river of life flows from here to there and back again.

Bake pies to warm the crisp apples

*

CARGO LOST, CARGO FOUND

I fill the pallet of a New Years sobriety
And when it has been accomplished
Make a manifest and strap this pallet
With the others on the flatbed of my life.

The cargo is secure and weighty
And there is ample pressure
Where the rubber meets the road.
I maneuver my rig carefully.

I feel assured as I stream
With the traffic on the byways.
The power and magnitude of my transport
Prompts in me over confidence.

I fail to realize variation
In weather or road conditions
Can jeopardize my journey.
Eighteen wheels make for poor cantilever
When traction is lost and top heavy wins out.

In losing the battle of gravity,
Inertia and control, I realize the past
Is not a weight I need to haul.
All that is necessary is the inventory.

I slip the pages into my pocket
And walk the rest of the way.
I am my only freight.

What is Dear?

September 24

What is Dear?

I am angry that I was taught I must hold on for dear life instead of being taught that life is dear, but they couldn’t teach me what they didn’t know and couldn’t know what they had not discovered for themselves. I wish I had learned earlier to love the life I was taught to cling to, but I am grateful I have been bound to life long enough to find the joy in it. I have found that knowing joy causes me to cling all the more, cling in sweetness to what was once such a bitter task. I am angry for what I wasn’t taught, but sadder still for what they didn’t know and all that is lost in their lives to ignorance and tradition. I wanted better for them and they wanted better for me and this is the circle which closes around the dear that I hold onto.

Make room for running starts

*

FRUSTRATING IMPROVEMENT

Improvement is frustrating, lonely and yet exhilarating.

It somehow starts with moths in the stomach

And ends with warm soup satisfaction.

Struggling, waiting, followed by further struggle

Progress made by tugging one string then the other.

It is hard to accept scaling the ropes alone

But tottering assent is always this way.

Once at the top I realize how easily I could slide to the bottom

Sometimes friction is all that keeps me up.

Establishing a new altitude is challenging.

I must ground myself in a new way.

My talents hinder and aid me.

I must open the correct doors in my mind

And avoid the traps in the floor.

Stuttering through requirements and obligations

I transform but only slowly.

Earning each drop of comfort from a job just done.