Mythic Adult

June 2

MYTHIC ADULT

My mythic adult is seen by the crowds around me; never is the charade exposed.  Close inspection has been suspended so we can keep each other’s secrets.  Circulating through the crowd, these children are impoverished from carrying this load of pretense.  Dropping this burden is a risk far too great.  Exposure invites attack.  Stand tall; act brave.  Unreasonable expectations are the water that moves the wheel, the power that generates this ongoing play.  Hamlet is dead, yet I reprise the part daily.  Daily I watch my fellows do the same.  I mimic a ghost I never knew in life.  Did it ever live?  Or is it only a mythic adult?

Plant some things for their flower and others for their fruit.

*

Head Wringing

I have my say, though my fear is

that I constantly repeat myself;

very much the way a crow calls the same thing endlessly,

but it all has different meanings to the crow.

I would offer code keys to my readers

if I could lay my hands on one.

My mind whispers that the soothing

people get from my work is like the calm

induced by chanting monks.

Possibly it is more the actor’s trick of reading repetitive lines

each time putting the emphasis on a different word;

a way of squeezing all the juice from nonsense.

I jot ideas swearing these lines are to be found somewhere

in my previous work, perhaps whole pages are redundant.

Finally I stop this fight reminding myself I have but one voice

and what I accuse myself of as similarity might merely be my style.

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

Flower Power

December 6

Flower Power

The man with the chrysanthemum on his head walks up and down the aisle.  Do I look like that, I wonder to myself?  Have I taken personal style to the point of caricature?  What is the boundary by which the embarrassment is kept at bay?  Is there a point at which I can overcome who I present myself as, and represent the best of who I can be?  Who I might be if only I can manage not to get carried away by impressionism?  I am given this dwelling and it suits me quite well, when I treat it as a temple and not simply as a shrine.

Do without some things not everything

*

ALMOST TWINS

You and I are more alike than different
Yet we cannot get along
Though I ponder why this surprises me so.

A cloud and a watermelon are 98 % the same
And no one would mistake them in a crowd
Or expect them to be companionable
Except in the way of two things existing in the universe.

My expectation of liking you for our similarities
Is set up by my fear that I don’t like myself
But the joke is on me.

My dislike of you is not a reflection
Of anything but time and space
My friends are the people who like me
Not necessarily the ones who are like me.

The president didn’t like broccoli
Without slurring its good name
And I can dislike you
Without inferring you are a vegetable

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

Head Wringing

June 4

Head Wringing

I have my say, though my fear is that I constantly repeat myself; very much the way a crow calls the same thing endlessly, but it all has different meanings to the crow.  I would offer a code key to my readers if I could lay my hands on one.  My mind whispers that the soothing people get from my work is like the calm induced by chanting monks.  Possibly it is more the actor’s trick of reading repetitive lines each time putting the emphasis on a different word; a way of squeezing all the juice from nonsense. I jot ideas swearing these lines are to be found somewhere in my previous work, perhaps whole pages are redundant.  Finally I stop this fight reminding myself I have but one voice and what I accuse myself of as similarity might merely be my style.

Find satisfaction in the middle, too

*

OPEN WINDOWS

I roll down the window in the rain

Hoping reality will soak in with the droplets

I tilt my face as I leave the car

And let the water shower my features.

The downpour is the jolt to living for which I have prayed

I stand on my lawn and rinse the day out of my hair

I clear my brain in the fresh rainwater.

The driving rain pounds the house and trees

But I feel massaged and cared for

My skin reflexive, teaches my mind to absorb and hydrate

I turn my thoughts to Greater Powers.

Even if the doors have been closed

I can open the windows

And let the rain come in.

Arrested Development

December 1

ARRESTED DEVELOPMENT

Arrested development was bad enough; the living death sentence it imposes is completely unacceptable.  My childhood ran down the hill away from the mountain of confusion that is life in this society.  My ability to mature was damaged and what I learned to do was mutate.  I could move laterally but never grow up.  I became the goose being grown for its liver.  All the honk and squawk in the world couldn’t change my plight.  I don’t have to understand how I was let out of the prison of addiction.  As long as I don’t go back I’ll never fear breaking out in handcuffs or getting locked in my crib.

Effort is already made, just add your hand.

*

Flower Power

The man with the chrysanthemum on his head

walks up and down the isle.

Do I look like that, I wonder to myself?

Have I taken personal style to the point of caricature?

What is the boundary by which

the embarrassment is kept at bay?

Is there a point at which I can overcome

who I present myself as,

and represent the best of who I can be?

Who I might be if only I can manage

not to get carried away by impressionism?

I am given this dwelling and it suits me quite well,

when I treat it as a temple and not simply as a shrine.

Flower Power

December 6

Flower Power

The man with the chrysanthemum on his head walks up and down the aisle. Do I look like that, I wonder to myself? Have I taken personal style to the point of caricature? What is the boundary by which the embarrassment is kept at bay? Is there a point at which I can overcome who I present myself as, and represent the best of who I can be? Who I might be if only I can manage not to get carried away by impressionism? I am given this dwelling and it suits me quite well, when I treat it as a temple and not simply as a shrine.

Do without some things not everything

*

ALMOST TWINS

You and I are more alike than different
Yet we cannot get along
Though I ponder why this surprises me so.

A cloud and a watermelon are 98 % the same
And no one would mistake them in a crowd
Or expect them to be companionable
Except in the way of two things existing in the universe.

My expectation of liking you for our similarities
Is set up by my fear that I don’t like myself
But the joke is on me.

My dislike of you is not a reflection
Of anything but time and space
My friends are the people who like me
Not necessarily the ones who are like me.

The president didn’t like broccoli
Without slurring its good name
And I can dislike you
Without inferring you are a vegetable