Helping Hands?

September 8

Helping Hands?

Why would you go to a rattler for a snakebite remedy?  It feels so much like the hair of the dog that bit me.  The truth is I must, must stay away from the quick answers.  I am a slow healer, but I do heal if I allow myself to do so unencumbered by poison or untruth.  When I am returning to the vomit of my past it is incumbent upon me to search for the old lies and/or the new ones, either or both will get me drunk; do I even need the help of a prescription pad? 

Never cage harbingers

*

SELF-SEEKING IS A DEBIT

Trying to get credit for everything I do

Has run me into debt in my anonymity account

Which draws directly from my humility bank.

I cannot expend my resources seeking acknowledgement

And expect to retain much dignity or class.

How can I build within, while constantly grasping,

For nods and smiles from scenery and landscaping?

I want approval so much that I have lost my center.

In an attempt to top the charts I forgot my song.

My ego writes checks that my soul can’t cover.

I run my potential into the red

Looking to get my name in black and white.

If I keep my name out of lights

I have a chance of building up my dignity.

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.