Hoarfrost

January 10

Hoarfrost

On balmy evenings dew forms in my life and moistens my extremities.  This friendly act requires the maintenance of temperature.  If I become suddenly cool the landscape changes and the once welcoming vapor is now a show of crystalline rigidity.  Cold to the morning light I am brittle and snap at even a tentative touch.  For want of passion I have replaced it with definition and structure I can not absorb.  I am outlined clearly but no longer myself.  I am frozen, formally changed within and without.  Warmth is necessary, but how to start my own fire?  Learn, I must and quickly lest frostbite set in.

Wear your mantle don’t leave it to the fireplace

*

LONELINESS EATS MY LUNCH

There are days loneliness eats my lunch
And I can't fight back.
How can I stand it,
How can it still be this bad?

I pull out the old chestnuts.
If I'm not happy with what I have
How could I be happier with more?
Even tickets on the 50 yard line don't interest me, I came to play.

I think of other slogans, the tidbits, the smiles and hugs.
I roll them around.
Still, there are days my lunch is gulped down
And I sit with my plate empty.

Pickle juice, coleslaw drool is small comfort
Actually, it's a jeer.
I stare at my empty plate
I turn and twist it, stick my tongue out at it.

"Your good company," says my sponsor
Then why am I alone, if I'm so good
If my company is worthwhile
Why do I sit here hungry and desperate?

"Are you sure you are?"
It sure feels that way.
"Well, it might be true and it might not."

I get it.
I am unhooked from myself
I am ignoring the multitude at my elbow
While looking for someone in my lap
I'm holding out for old terms from a new contract

I am loved by people
Who aren't trying to consume me
And I am letting my expectations
Dine for free.

Vlog: http://youtu.be/drAZwaQK31A

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

Loneliness Eats My Lunch

January 11

LONELINESS EATS MY LUNCH

There are days loneliness eats my lunch and I can’t fight back.  How can I stand it?  How can it still be this bad?  I pull out the old chestnuts:  If I’m not happy with what I have, how could I be happier with more?   And, Even tickets on the fifty yard line don’t interest me; I came to play!  I roll them around.  I think of the other slogans, the tidbits, the smiles and hugs.  Still, there are days my lunch is gulped down and I sit with my plate empty.  Pickle juice, coleslaw drool is small comfort.  Actually, it’s a jeer.  I stare at my empty plate.  I turn it and twist it.  I stick out my tongue at it.

“You're good company,” says my sponsor.

Then why am I alone?  If I’m so good, if my company is worthwhile, why do I sit here hungry and desperate?

“Are you sure you are?”

It sure feels that way.

“Well it might be true.”

And it might not.  I get it.  I am unhooked from myself; I’m ignoring the multitude at my elbow, looking for someone in my lap.  I’m holding out for old terms from a new contract.  I am loved by people who aren’t trying to consume me and I am letting my expectations dine for free.

Imagine who the wind visited before you and who it is on its way to visit now.

*

Pepo

My father used to destroy a perfectly good watermelon

by cutting a triangle in the top

and pouring a bottle of vodka into it.

I used to destroy my perfectly good melon the same way.

Emulating bad ideas in new ways

was a onetime pastime of mine.

Giving it up was harder than I had expected.

Flawed thinking blends so freely with my mental landscape

I have trouble distinguishing it.

Condemning the action and not the man

is not usually my preferred method.

I would rather condemn the man.

But this leaves me with the actions in place

and him long gone and though I prefer him gone

I will recreate him within myself

if I don’t flush his actions as well.

I have a good pumpkin on my shoulders

but it is my job to keep it intact.

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

Hoarfrost

January 10

Hoarfrost

On balmy evenings dew forms in my life and moistens my extremities.  This friendly act requires the maintenance of temperature.  If I become suddenly cool the landscape changes and the once welcoming vapor is now a show of crystalline rigidity.  Cold to the morning light I am brittle and snap at even a tentative touch.  For want of passion I have replaced it with definition and structure I can not absorb.  I am outlined clearly but no longer myself.  I am frozen, formally changed within and without.  Warmth is necessary, but how to start my own fire?  Learn, I must and quickly lest frostbite set in.

Wear your mantle don’t leave it to the fireplace

*

LONELINESS EATS MY LUNCH

There are days loneliness eats my lunch
And I can't fight back.
How can I stand it,
How can it still be this bad?

I pull out the old chestnuts.
If I'm not happy with what I have
How could I be happier with more?
Even tickets on the 50 yard line don't interest me, I came to play.

I think of other slogans, the tidbits, the smiles and hugs.
I roll them around.
Still, there are days my lunch is gulped down
And I sit with my plate empty.

Pickle juice, coleslaw drool is small comfort
Actually, it's a jeer.
I stare at my empty plate
I turn and twist it, stick my tongue out at it.

"Your good company." Says my sponsor
Then why am I alone, if I'm so good
If my company is worthwhile
Why do I sit her hungry and desperate?

"Are you sure you are?"
It sure feels that way.
"Well, it might be true and it might not."
I get it.

I am unhooked from myself
I am ignoring the multitude at my elbow
While looking for someone in my lap
I'm holding out for old terms from a new contract

I am loved by people
Who aren't trying to consume me
And I am letting my expectations
Dine for free.

Time Table

July 17

TIME TABLES

I know the train is coming and I want to read the schedule.  I hear rumors that the convoy going to Feelings will arrive in two years.  The five-year expedition to Getting My Brains Back seems unlikely but is often commented on in meetings.  Excursions to far off destinations such as Functional and Reasonable have me on my feet in gleeful anticipation.  Still I wish for a clear mapping of time.  I feel I could leave off worrying about the how of it if only I could be sure of the when.  This cavalcade of adventure would be so much more palatable with a well written itinerary.

Sell yourself but not short.

*

Horse Play

The sequestered equestrian rides alone through the night;

the wood is as quiet as she.

Passing no one;

speaking not a word,

she slips into the paddock without a nicker or a neigh.

I long to be just as she,

not silent sentinel,

but living a whist fleet life,

a power unto myself.

What stands between are my hurt feelings

and my longing to be loved.

I can’t blame myself for either,

but work to heal and grow.

Nagging need is a pestilence I will be well rid of;

the irredeemable past is luggage for a catalog,

not for hauling on my back.

I will mount up and ride my great round stead,

the night is mine when I am ready

the path is there I know.

Loneliness Eats My Lunch

January 11

LONELINESS EATS MY LUNCH

There are days loneliness eats my lunch and I can’t fight back. How can I stand it? How can it still be this bad? I pull out the old chestnuts: If I’m not happy with what I have, how could I be happier with more? And, Even tickets on the fifty yard line don’t interest me; I came to play! I roll them around. I think of the other slogans, the tidbits, the smiles and hugs. Still, there are days my lunch is gulped down and I sit with my plate empty. Pickle juice, coleslaw drool is small comfort. Actually, it’s a jeer. I stare at my empty plate. I turn it and twist it. I stick out my tongue at it.

“You're good company,” says my sponsor.

Then why am I alone? If I’m so good, if my company is worthwhile, why do I sit here hungry and desperate?

“Are you sure you are?”

It sure feels that way.

“Well it might be true.”

And it might not. I get it. I am unhooked from myself; I’m ignoring the multitude at my elbow, looking for someone in my lap. I’m holding out for old terms from a new contract. I am loved by people who aren’t trying to consume me and I am letting my expectations dine for free.

Imagine who the wind visited before you and who it is on its way to visit now.

*

Pepo

My father used to destroy a perfectly good watermelon

by cutting a triangle in the top

and pouring a bottle of vodka into it.

I used to destroy my perfectly good melon the same way.

Emulating bad ideas in new ways

was a onetime pastime of mine.

Giving it up was harder than I had expected.

Flawed thinking blends so freely with my mental landscape

I have trouble distinguishing it.

Condemning the action and not the man

is not usually my preferred method.

I would rather condemn the man.

But this leaves me with the actions in place

and him long gone and though I prefer him gone

I will recreate him within myself

if I don’t flush his actions as well.

I have a good pumpkin on my shoulders

but it is my job to keep it intact.

I Beg

August 7

I Beg

The embarrassment of need is a haunting guest who will not leave. I turn in a tight circle trying to find a way to detach this wart and move gracefully from the site of devastation, but it looms large and overshadows today’s possibilities and robs tomorrows gold. What I cannot do for myself, the magic I cannot yet perform, stands between me and contentment, stands there wearing your face; touching my mind with your fingertips. I pray that you are not the answer for I cannot depend on you, but I think of you and the little bell rings and I am hungry. Desire is a gift. Desiring you is the burden whose shadow I can’t escape. I close my eyes to the light you emit; I cannot close my heart. All that’s left is pleading; please come home and fill me or leave and lock the door and let me grieve in peace.

Treat your health like your job, treat your health like your investment, treat your health like your life; it is

*

ROCK BOTTOM PRICES

Marble topped dressers, dry sinks and wardrobes,

Stand in the auctioneer’s warehouse

Showing loving use and obvious value.

The hungry consumers peruse the merchandise

Looking for the perfect pieces

To fit their need.

Old men eating ice cream sandwiches pick their way through

The rows of tidbits laid out on the lawn,

Bargains to fill odd spaces and little desires.

So like out meeting places, people trying to refurnish their lives.

The cost to arrive may have been high

But once in the market is more than fair.

We reclaim relics and we use them as road signs and warnings.

There is always someone around to carry large truths home

And no one has to go away empty handed.

We bid on our own survival by buying someone else a break.

Time passes easily as the one at the podium

Recounts the rock bottom prices.

Alone in a New Way

June 25

ALONE IN A NEW WAY


I am restored. I have my sanity like a spring coat. I am not sure I need it but it’s nice to have nevertheless. I prayed for this state of reason believing it would give me entry to a world where I was a late arrival. Much to my chagrin I have found myself obscenely early to a party I am no longer sure will ever take place. I stand in the entrance hall and practice new dance steps. I search the space for prospective partners but rarely see anyone who is swaying to the same beat. I am grateful for my sanity even if I have to enjoy it alone.


Write a sassy letter and let it dance.