Also a Gift

October 10

ALSO A GIFT

Sadness is as life affirming as joy, but in the same way that people eat together but defecate alone, joy is encouraged in public and sadness is a private matter.  Happiness is embraced and discouragement relegated, even though personal experience shows disappointment is often a point of growth.  What beauty and change stem from disillusion, but still it is hard to look directly at grief and not flinch away.  The temptation to feign pleasure and leave sadness swept under the carpet is strong.  It is an unwelcome job to be the defender of grief, a job that should be unnecessary, in the same way that the valley between the mountains is unnecessary to defend.  We are not giants who can step from one mountaintop to the next.

Try a new game for body, mind and laughs.

*

Ping Pong Balls and Possession

I keep an aquarium with a goldfish on my counter

and sometimes he splashes my work

proving to me that the thing I think I have contained

often has a mind of its own.

I have heard that goldfish don’t remember much,

but mine always knows which side of the tank

provides him a view of me.

Memory may be reflexive.

Assumption possibly is as well.

I must keep a fresh account of what is within my grasp

and what can swim away.

I have heard the many fish tales

from the part of me that likes to lie.

The scales shimmer and lure me to pretend control

when in truth it is all just a game of chance.

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

Scalene

December 24

Scalene

Strangeness is attracting, I don’t try to deny it.  I have looked longingly at oddness and every skewed thing.  Though I try to divert my gaze the acute angles draw me back to peer again and again.  Strange attractors have an unexplainable beauty to me.  The wane charisma digs its hooks into my soul and I carry it off like a burr stuck to my hide.  What does this say of me, I am not sure?  What does it say of the sidelong loves of mine?  Volumes, I think it speaks volumes, all of it unknown to me.

Collect friendly faces

*

WHAT’S LEFT AFTER HOPE RUNS AWAY

shoes and socks

old post cards

tennis balls with no more bounce

memories that have lost their fun

dreams left in the box

earrings with the clasp askew

things I’ve said

dead thoughts, too

stacks of books

letters written

tender feelings

wonder---smitten

the pain is left

and runs around wildly

my face is stained

and left untidy

I can never fill the space

Which hope leaves behind it

The stage is dark

And everything quiet

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

Picture Window

November 11

Picture Window

When G-d sticks His face in my window it brightens my day.  What that shining face looks like in other windows I do not know, but I try to memorize the eyes, the brow, the winning smile before my time is up and the wind shifts.  The flash of a friendly face lights up the house, my yard, the corners of my soul.  I imbibe the rich glow before it moves on, letting my core charge with incandescence, warming my mettle.  I am long and longing for this happy countenance and only when the blocks tumble in my mind do I realize that it is two- way glass in that window and stick my face in it and offer it to G-d.  

Today treat oddity as a pearl not a pebble

*

LIKE PEACE

Peace like an elephant on my chest
I can’t breathe but at least we are not fighting.
The rigid air hangs like sheets on the line
Stiff but dry.

Plastered smiles and short salutations
Get us through until bedtime.
But what can hold in standing up
Pours out lying down.

Tender feelings are compressed
And come out only as water
Anger bubbles and brews.

Disappointment lives down deep
And sours the milk of love
There are things worse than cross words.

Moldering, festering, frozen words
Pound spikes in a relationship
Fraught with apprehension.

The truth is I would let these pent up things out
But I don’t trust you and I don’t trust me.

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

One Street off Amory

September 27

One Street off Amory

Apology holds change at arms length.  Apology is the thing I was taught to wait for as a sign that things will improve, but apology is not a harbinger of change it is quite the opposite it is the guarantor of business as usual; no amendment need occur, apology has been made and life goes on with no alteration.  Without variation we all stay sick and apologizing for that won’t get us better.  Restitution, amends, revelation, revolution these are the things which make the world bright, apology is just a scrap with which to wipe your ass.

Put down your bat, skip your rope

*

ALSO A GIFT

Sadness is as life affirming as joy

But in the same way that people eat together

But defecate alone, joy is encouraged in public

And sadness is a private matter.

Happiness is embraced and discouragement relegated

Even though personal experience shows disappointment

Is often a point of growth.

What beauty and change stem from disillusion

But still it is hard to look directly

At grief and not flinch away.

The temptation to fain pleasure

And leave sadness swept under the carpet is strong.

It is an unwelcome job to be the defender of grief

A job which should be unnecessary to defend

We are not giants who can step

From one mountaintop to the next.

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

Also a Gift

October 10

ALSO A GIFT

Sadness is as life affirming as joy, but in the same way that people eat together but defecate alone, joy is encouraged in public and sadness is a private matter.  Happiness is embraced and discouragement relegated, even though personal experience shows disappointment is often a point of growth.  What beauty and change stem from disillusion, but still it is hard to look directly at grief and not flinch away.  The temptation to feign pleasure and leave sadness swept under the carpet is strong.  It is an unwelcome job to be the defender of grief, a job that should be unnecessary, in the same way that the valley between the mountains is unnecessary to defend.  We are not giants who can step from one mountaintop to the next.

Try a new game for body, mind and laughs.

*

Ping Pong Balls and Possession

I keep an aquarium with a goldfish on my counter

and sometimes he splashes my work

proving to me that the thing I think I have contained

often has a mind of its own.

I have heard that goldfish don’t remember much,

but mine always knows which side of the tank

provides him a view of me.

Memory may be reflexive.

Assumption possibly is as well.

I must keep a fresh account of what is within my grasp

and what can swim away.

I have heard the many fish tales

from the part of me that likes to lie.

The scales shimmer and lure me to pretend control

when in truth it is all just a game of chance.

One Street off Armory

September 27

One Street off Amory

Apology holds change at arms length. Apology is the thing I was taught to wait for as a sign that things will improve, but apology is not a harbinger of change it is quite the opposite it is the guarantor of business as usual; no amendment need occur, apology has been made and life goes on with no alteration. Without variation we all stay sick and apologizing for that won’t get us better. Restitution, amends, revelation, revolution these are the things which make the world bright, apology is just a scrap with which to wipe your ass.

Put down your bat, skip your rope

*

ALSO A GIFT

Sadness is as life affirming as joy

But in the same way that people eat together

But defecate alone, joy is encouraged in public

And sadness is a private matter.

Happiness is embraced and discouragement relegated

Even though personal experience shows disappointment

Is often a point of growth.

What beauty and change stem from disillusion

But still it is hard to look directly

At grief and not flinch away.

The temptation to fain pleasure

And leave sadness swept under the carpet is strong.

It is an unwelcome job to be the defender of grief

A job which should be unnecessary to defend

We are not giants who can step

From one mountaintop to the next.

No Dialing Tonight

September 25

No Dialing Tonight.

When it is late at night and I can’t sleep I wander and putter and plan my dreams. I hold out hopes and wash their faces; pray for rain and clean all traces. Thunderstorms rumble and lightning strikes; I tune up the plumbing and wipe down the pipes. All the paint and promises in the world won’t change me; I’m still lost in the dark without you. Tear stains are friendly till I wash them away leaving blotchy eyes that can’t be explained; an aching heart that keeps on ticking and wishes that can’t come true. Sunday morning is here, too soon and life rolls on whether you think it should. Tiny thoughts come out to play and sad, sad fears keep them at bay. But the dog is curled up under the covers without a care; I long to disturb her but do not dare. She is the queen here and I’m but the naïve; I’ll tend to my writing and try to be brave. For the dawn will follow this endless nocturne; the whole world will be safe once more. I will cry but it’s all too late; though you are merely a phone call away.

Find the place where noise and music intersect

*

ALARM CLOCK

The dream killer plays its harsh tones.

I pull my lids, so unwilling to wake.

The tip of my tongue dry to leather

Welcomes the wet of my toothbrush

I grin a foaming smile.

I run through my night travels

I mentally wonder the highlights

Ponder the implications and meanings.

Dressed, with open door breeze in my face

I leave nighttime escapades

For daytime pandemonium.

The only thing I won’t leave behind

Is the last image before the gong sounded.

Princess No More

May 25

Princess No More

Decent is less obvious than accent and so it is with dethroning; those who put you upon the gilt alter with much aplomb feel no qualm in taking you down with not as much as a word or a grunt. The wind has changed and your reign is over, the poor startled girl is suddenly in the street. For a scepter is not a club and why fight for a throne, which is proven to be nothing more than a straight backed chair once separated from its right relationships. The horror of unexpected common status is for the young bride an issue of safety and trust not of ego or presumption. Who is she without the Prince, the Knight, she is Princess No More.

Take time to wipe unshed tears

*

NO GOLD STARS

I look at my chart

Then my chest

There are no gold stars

I long for the affirmation

Of my Great

And seemingly endless struggle

I watch the movements of those shiny shoes

And hope to be awarded

With the gummed insignia

When I hang by a thread I desire corroboration

Of foil cutouts to assure me I have done the right

I have stayed alive

Punishment I fear less than lack of consolation

But no one truly knows my bravery

And if I want these paper emblems

I can just go and buy my own.

Behind Closed Doors

October 25

Behind Closed Doors

The children of happy fathers make no sense to me. I have known no such peace. What is it to live in a world where there is a man who likes you, someone who approves? I feel like my chin would have always been out there to see, no ducking, no need to hide, had there been a good man to whom I could turn. The dark circles under the eyes of my soul make me old, old and different from those kids, mere children, safe in a home with a happy man whose joy it is to be their Dad.

Dance cheek to cheek with your muse when you can

*

DETAIL DAYS

Detail days seem like lost soulless days.
I sort the piles of endless junk mail
Catch up on bills, letters, laundry.
I don’t leave the house but in someway
I feel like I’m not in my home.

It’s like a day of pulling out all the needles,
Splinters and thorns which accumulate
Under my skin from rough weeks and road rash.
I steel myself to the pain of relief and rescue.

Cleared counters, emptied baskets, finished worry list
Leave me with that newly moved in feel.
Piles overwhelm me but sometimes details define me.

No Dialing Tonight

September 25

No Dialing Tonight.

When it is late at night and I can’t sleep I wander and putter and plan my dreams. I hold out hopes and wash their faces; pray for rain and clean all traces. Thunderstorms rumble and lightning strikes; I tune up the plumbing and wipe down the pipes. All the paint and promises in the world won’t change me; I’m still lost in the dark without you. Tear stains are friendly till I wash them away leaving blotchy eyes that can’t be explained; an aching heart that keeps on ticking and wishes that can’t come true. Sunday morning is here, too, soon and life rolls on whether you think it should. Tiny thoughts come out to play and sad, sad fears keep them at bay. But the dog is curled up under the covers without a care; I long to disturb her but do not dare. She is the queen here and I’m but the naïve; I’ll tend to my writing and try to be brave. For the dawn will follow this endless nocturne; the whole world will be safe once more. I will cry but it’s all too late; though you are merely a phone call away.

Find the place where noise and music intersect

*

ALARM CLOCK

The dream killer plays its harsh tones.

I pull my lids, so unwilling to wake.

The tip of my tongue dry to leather

Welcomes the wet of my toothbrush

I grin a foaming smile.

I run through my night travels

I mentally wonder the highlights

Ponder the implications and meanings.

Dressed, with open door breeze in my face

I leave nighttime escapades

For daytime pandemonium.

The only thing I won’t leave behind

Is the last image before the gong sounded.

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.

Cicatrix and Love

July 18

Cicatrix and Love

The mark left by injury is indelible though it may heal, the consequence remains. This is also true of love. I am branded and changed by your affection. The improvement wrought in me does not leave when you do. If you stop loving me, can you no longer remember my name, my face, my sigh; I am better for having had your love if only for a short time. Good medicine offers lasting results; the miracle of your love is my health. The blush in my cheek, the revitalization I feel is traceable to you, to the days you held me in your heart and the nights you held me in your arms. And though I want you back in my world the best of you lives on in my life.

Slice time with your thoughts and peer through the pieces

*

JUXTAPOSITION

Right next to this world is the globe that I came from.

The landmarks are similar but these spheres have little in common

The angle of refraction illuminates the place of my origin

The source of this light is legend.

On my home planet, the existence of sobriety is cast off as myth.

I held onto this tale with my heart.

I slipped the gravitational bonds of crazy one night

By the glow of the ready button on the coffee pot.

Here and there intersect at only one point

A room with some chairs and a circle with a triangle.

The meeting was on step one

And it was a good place to jump in.