Openhearted Grief

October 31

OPENHEARTED GRIEF

Tell a tale of openhearted grief and closed-minded terror.  Bend the limits of misery.  Pour over the damned feelings and tired excuses.  Level the cupful of measured tyranny and wipe the drooling face of denial.  The children will not dance tonight; the grass is wet with their tears.  The dogs circle the encampment of desire and come to sleep when we are settled.  Silly ruffled whimsy won’t carry the freight but the bus pulls into the drowsy station filled with tea-lites and pantomime.  This story will close with a hand on the doorknob of hope, an eye on the jelly sandwich of contentment.  Whisper the lullaby to the ones who stay to hear it.  Morning cracks the shell to daytime.  Shattered pieces litter the night; tremors shake my peace of mind.  Sum up the analogies of broken hearts and twisted minds.

Draw from your toes, fingers and memory.

*

Desert Island

When I am left to amuse myself,

more often than not I turn my wicked wit

to redress those whose neglect I sorely feel.

This is childish, this is pointless

and yet I do it and do it well.

I am, too good at being alone and I resent it

and resent every necessity for honing that skill set.

When in the past I have made my mind up

to accept seclusion each overture is a slashing intrusion.

I am not a happy medium,

though I do doubt if such a thing exists.

I am an attention seeker

and when I am not I am an isolation monger.

The wavering nature of human interaction

is an uncertain sea for me, alternating downing me

or leaving me washed- up on some remote shore.

Even amid those I love the most,

I am a skinless writhing neonate,

hyper-reactive and living on the edge.

I somehow know the answer is self-esteem

or spiritual development,

but when in the midst of this imprudent reaction

the paths to these are lost.

I try to hold my breath when underwater,

when on the beach I try not to breathe the sand.

If I survive today I may grow out of this tomorrow.

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

Charmed by Snow

July 31

Charmed by Snow

Warm weather snow falls in fat full flakes; I am living in a world of dreams and sweet peas.  Sudden dustings sparkle and surprise leaving as quickly as they came; yet the world is kinder now.  Beauty is an ambush of the heart.  My breath alters, accelerates, speeding me to a smile, an illustration of joy.  Crows walk the edge of the hedgerow, prattling on as they do; snow to their ankles and food on their minds.  I drive over the mountains discovering myself as the recipient, the receiver of all this great gift, this life.

Trek to the edge of your comfort zone and map it out

*

MORTIFICATION

Lime with envy I built a wall around.

Love and hate are enclosed, brick and stone.

Rigor of extremities, the discipline of ages falls so short.

I make no in-depth connections

I coat externals with glue

Stack reaction and let the bombs fly.

I mix and crush old habits and bad ideas, make a paste.

I am setting myself up again.

Abstinence becomes the pestle of bludgeoning and abasement.

I am hard and I am hollow

Wounded pride, I subjugate my soul

My life is reduced to a powder, I am mortified.

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

Pearly Whites

May 18

Pearly Whites

Reaction is a separation, a polarization; it cuts you from me and God from we.  Response is a connection, an inclusion; threading a line from you to me and stitching G-d into our pockets.  I realize now that any positive connection is an instantaneous link to my Higher Power and can’t help but bring us closer.  Tiny feet carry beauty and kindness; tiny teeth tear the fabric of the world to bits.  I must let my footwork conduct my life’s work and seal my lips and reserve the dentistry. 

If you take the cake don’t take it far

*

DRIVEWAY TIME

Layer after layer of blue stack the sky

The moon risen and the sun dipping away

I wait for the twin lights, the constellation of headlights

My ride to the meeting.

It will be the entry vehicle to a world of population

Leaving behind the galaxy of me, the single star

I stand silent and the feeling of fellowship carries the miles

Laughter flies the winds of memory

And all the old jokes of truth and tribute are fresh

And abide with me until the car arrives

And we make it all new again.

Don't Bite

December 28

DON’T BITE

Desperation jumps up, runs around, then drops.  If I don’t feed it, desperation burns out fast.  I used to buy the advertising, the Horror, the Humanity.  The acorn falling on my head convinced me easily.  I grew this nut into terrifying despair never realizing if I had left it alone how quickly it would pass.  When tragedy comes there is no time for a performance.  The whirling splendor itself proves the farce.  If I learn to recognize these triggers I might keep from shooting myself in the foot.  If I let desperation wear itself out I can stay with the pack.  Despondence splinters me and separates me from anything rational but quiet resolve lets me watch the wind twist while I keep my feet on the ground.

Pay your friends in consideration and truth.

*

Winter is upon Us

Spending time away from my clothes reminds me how much I love and hate something which only serves to protect and decorate me.  Struggle with necessity, mad opinions about requirements, these are things I lost months and years to in my past and now only find as a sad footnote to the strangeness that is me.  I have so much control over how hard I make things and no control over how hard things are.  I can not set the weather but I can easily don my hat.  Putting on a big pout over needing a hat, ah, well here is where acceptance plays a major role.  I do however find comfort in the fact that I am not alone in this, I watch my poodle fret when her hair grows too long and shiver when it is shorn too short on cold crisp days.  It’s good to have a fellow quibbler as I pull a blanket over her and slip on my hat.

Mail

May 16

MAIL

I form my query, fold my mind and mail it off to God with a stamp of approval from my sponsor.  The questions sent are of no great interest but the responses are a spellbinding group.  What is returned unopened is a wide array.  The circuitous route taken by some is a charm of elucidation.  I rub my fingertip over the intact seals and marvel at the travels of the wax.  I mourn over the defunked gods and their public relations organizations.  Slow is my resolve to pore over the replies.  I get easily caught in lackings and shy from true contact.  The equations embedded in my heart read the letters and sing the notes; these songs are just for me.  I know them like my name.  I turn the envelope and see how old the postmark is.

Remember your comfort needs a life of its own.

*

Pearly Whites

Reaction is a separation, a polarization;

it cuts you from me and God from we.

Response is a connection, an inclusion;

threading a line from you to me

and stitching God into our pockets.

I realize now that any positive connection

is an instantaneous link to my Higher Power

and can’t help but bring us closer.

Tiny feet carry beauty and kindness;

tiny teeth tear the fabric of the world to bits.

I must let my footwork conduct my life’s work

and seal my lips and reserve the dentistry.