Birds & Bees

April 11

BIRDS & BEES

Birds and bees can get me drunk.  I have to watch the amount of envy which pours through me as I watch their wondrous bliss.  When others make a bee-line to the hive, I must head to a meeting and save myself despair if my spiritual condition is not sound.  When other couples are weaving their nests, I have to be careful not to weave my way back to the bar.  The mating dance is so sweet and seductive; I have to make sure I don’t end up doing the two step.  For as much as I hate to admit it, if steps one and twelve where enough to keep me sober, the rest would not have needed to be written.

Pad barefoot through intention.

*

Neither Frog nor Fish

I was falling

and my Higher Power caught me

in a net called AA,

all of which was a pretty neat trick,

But the strangest consequence of this

is now I somehow think it shouldn’t be possible

for me to drown.

Defying gravity 24 hours at a time

doesn’t make me aquatic

or even amphibious for that matter.

I still have all the corollary restrictions

of anyone who is me.

I still need sleep and water,

food and warmth just like a mere mortal.

How silly I am.

I dodge a bullet

and suddenly I think I am waterproof.

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

Malaria

March 18

Malaria

Flailing, reaching, screaming; hiding, avoiding, misdirecting, theses are subsets in a list of extremes whose commonality is lacking, lacking humility. I fall to pieces just thinking of standing exposed, imperfect and unprotected. I’m not sure what I think will happen to me in this posture; instantaneous death? Couldn’t be, I’m not that lucky, nor am I foolish enough to think that I am that lucky. Possibly, I fear rancorous humiliation, but really who is powerful enough to do that to me? I know and like myself well enough to deflect obvious flying nonsense, so what is it that I do flee? I think it is the endless grinding inelegance of life, the stinging nettled nature of things, my inability to weave my way around my weakness and slip into the open unpoisoned. I fear exchanging peace for failure. Humility is when I know I cannot fail.

Be conscience of judgment and try not to react to it

*

WET BLANKET

I have carried this sodden thing with me all my life.
It's weight a burden for numerous years,
I have never been able to explain my continuing drag of this pitiful thing
Though it has been commended on by many.

My fidelity is boundless
In spite of inner questions and doubts.
Now that the fire is here I am glad to have it.
I pull it over me and step into the fray.

Thick and moist, I somehow struggle under its influence
And am able to do what others, bare of my encumbrance, cannot
I don't believe I can quench all the flames but I hope to help some to safety
And bat down the encroaching inferno a bit.

Heartfelt

September 14

Heartfelt

Boab trees litter my dreams; gossipy like old women in the late afternoon sun, I wonder at the tales they tell though I am far too young to understand. The Australian Kimberly shelters these mysteries in life; they shelter me in the far off wilderness of my mind. Coming to age seems merely a step when in the presence of the ancient beauty of long endured life. Too long drought, too deep rain, are places I can pick my face up from, stand my ground or be on my way. The leaves may fall, but they will return in my dreams and I will return to my life.

Chime in

*

HOME TO HOPE

Shadows of doubt fall across my face on dark days

And I have trouble finding my way home to hope.

Reliance on sunshine fails me come dusk.

Twinkling stars bare their souls to little avail.

I am lost.

Absurdity and obsession plague me for time and attention.

I wander deeper into a dismal wood.

How can I chop my way free?

Dejection dulls my senses, I am blind to solemn assurance.

I must reevaluate the shimmering enthusiasm from the night sky

Skepticism passes like storm clouds.

I may feel the rain for a time.

Necessity reigns on both sides of every street

But still I can crawl into my bed

Morning will come and I will fear less the coming night.

My Babies

July 31

MY BABIES


Too often I have abandoned the infants of my creativity to doorways and charities. Having little patience I did not raise them to their intended station. Joyful parentage need not stop at the cutting of the cord. Downplaying the importance of each birth, I would leave beauty and art to be foundlings and the province of others. I can share the guardianship of these precious gifts and be more than a brood mare for cunning and craft. I have neglected things apparent for the promise of each new conception. Overpopulation weakens the body of my work and leaves my portfolio listless and immature.


Touch your finger with your nose.