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

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.

K-turns

May 7

K-TURNS

I do not believe in a universe that makes complete sense.  I often find myself trapped because the things I pull into no longer feel firm.  I attempt K-turns in alleys far too narrow for the maneuver.  I can’t back myself through the passages I plunged into willingly.  My faith doesn’t compute in reverse and I find this disconcerting.  I may walk into the face of fire but find it impossible to turn my back on the flames.  Today, a one-way faith is fine as long as I am moving forward.

Allow talents to unfold like spring leaves.

*

The Little Black Dress

The holes in my pockets cause me to feel naked.

Though it is an inside pocket

and no one can see I still feel exposed,

My thinking changed and for that matter chained,

one link looped through the next.

I start with a hole in my pocket

so I know I can’t stay in this dress all day.

I know I will need the storage later as time wears on

but I can’t change now

and I don’t want to waste time putting on my tights.

My legs are cold.  I fly from room to room.

I gather my keys, but forget my phone.

I am bare legged and unreachable,

overexposed due to a hole in my pocket.

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.