Einstein's Apple

December 30

Einstein’s Apple

Time is a player in every play, forever running forward even as I try to claw my way into the past.  If I don’t provide a role, time writes itself in without regard for my intended plotline.  Like the weather, time is by turns gentle and fierce. I must pay attention lest I run afoul of it and lose my life and limb.  Though time is an arc I see swinging in my mind it is still the arrow shot and I am simply the fool with the apple.

Take a vacation from your expectations

*

Talk to me before I sleep

Talk to me before I sleep

Lay your hand upon my cheek

Talk to me before I sleep

All the years are yours to keep

Talk to me before I sleep

Fold me deep within your speech

Talk to me before I sleep

Hold me tight when I start to reach

Talk to me before I sleep

Never let me touch the sheet

Talk to me before I sleep

Warm me with your wondrous heat

Talk to me before I sleep

Precious are the things you teach

Talk to me before I sleep

Love and kindness is how you greet

Talk to me before I sleep

Into darkness let me seep

Talk to me before I sleep

In my dreams it’s you I seek

Talk to me before I sleep

I fear that I am in too deep

Talk to me before I sleep

Wake me to the morning dew

Talk to me before I sleep

Let me know it’s always you

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

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 wander 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.

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

Bleating Formality

December 12

BLEATING FORMALITY

Stupidity stalks me when I am tired, hijacking my mouth.  I can put this off to pilot error or interruption of service on my neurologic pipeline, but truly I have been captured by senseless, irrational muttonness.  I would love to say it was pigheadedness but, alas, I am not self-determined, I am a sheep.  I open my lips and out pours the same plaintive cry as the surrounding herd.  In addition, once begun, the wail is unending; it’s as if the bellows works on its own carrying a tune which blends with the entire wool-coated world.  I shift and run with my position according to the movements at large.  I am following the reactionary breed, dropping the specifics of my personality as one of the crowd; my brain is switched off and a quick veneer grows over my eyes.  I can’t see, think, or speak for myself and yet it doesn’t occur to me to hit the hay.  When as a petulant three year old I do fall to sleep in my tracks, I wake as myself with many bleating apologies to be made.

Put morbidity on a leash and never walk it alone.

*

Peter and I

This flight is not filled

with the giggling cherubs of my westerly flight,

but among the solemn children on this flight

is Peter, the oldest of four,

who is reading Tolkien

and marking his place with a two page wish list.

Christmas is coming and Peter seems confident.

I wonder if we are what we read

and ponder if I am what I write.

Poetry, stories, novels, declarations,

it all feels like arms and legs,

things I cannot move right without.

I live better when they are out and free.

I am free too, when they live on their own

and I am not their soul residence.

I have to rededicate myself

to the work entrusted to me

for so much living depend upon it.

Walking Joy Home

October 20

WALKING JOY HOME

I make sure to walk joy home not because I doubt her ability to find it alone, rather because it gives me extra time with her.  I used to fear joy, that I would be intoxicated by her presence and lose my well-hardened grasp on realism.  Now I see that without joy in my life there is no realism, that it was only cynicism masquerading in its place.  Joy is simple and unassuming.  I often confuse her with ecstasy and scoot away in shy terror.  Joy is nice to have around.  She is not just a party animal; sometimes I invite her over for a cup of tea.  When we are done I take the winding path to savor every step up to her door.

If you can’t lay down your burden move it from hand to hand.

*

Resilience

When I experience trauma or drama

my heart and soul return to the toddler state;

I feel the urge to stay up and push forward.

I resist help and rest.

I try to override animal need in favor of intellectual prowess.

Bleary eyed and red-faced, I soldier on,

only managing to make my life  into a ceaseless fight.

My charm and wit wear thin; then wear out.

I need to recharge my batteries,

need to hit reset and restore my default settings.

It is hard for me to accept that I must lie down

in order to get up again.

Restoration is impossible to achieve from my battle stance.

Resilience is a bouncing ball.

What I want to rise I must first throw down.

Sleep Tight

August 4

Sleep Tight

Did you dream? Sleep the sleep of faultless souls? Or twist the sheets as in that Gilbert & Sullivan treatment? Are night time wrestlings an indication of decadent day- time activity? Or is it all simply a matter of happenstance? Possibly something I ate? Thought? Wished for? I think to myself I should not have gotten into that unmade bed, should have made it up; the bed and my mind, should have straighten out the crumpled mass of discarded dreams from yesterday and started fresh, but instead I climbed in with it all tumbled and tossed, lumpy and coarse, no smooth sailing in this tangled sea. What time I save by leveling the playing field and plumping the pillows. All is not lost, there is always tonight. Sweet dreams straight ahead.

Throw the ball even if you can’t pitch it

*

NEVER LET GO

When it grows dark on one side of transparency

The other becomes reflective.

When addiction doesn’t hold a flame for me

I see the true face of its results.

Because I know now the destructive possibilities

I must print the picture and post it on the wall.

For one day may come when addiction appears

As a light for me and the mirror will be gone.

I need to keep clear the truth even when my eyes lie to me

And my sensibilities catch on fire.

The glass can be the boundary or the tumbler,

The glare of day can be harsh or bright.

Light is forever shifting

I cannot count on shadows for predictions.

I must know it when I see it, chant it to remember

And hold hands and never let go.