Slipstream

October 27

SLIPSTREAM

I look in the rearview mirror; I see the headliner and a river of road flowing out behind me.  Dual viewing is the kind gift of hindsight.  I can see my internal workings and the past laid bare.  The beauty and sadness can transfix me.  I will lose my way if I keep looking back.  I catch glimpses and move my eyes forward.  I can’t advance without a full vision so I remain grateful for the mirror.  Awareness and cognition, the brakes and gas, I have the full package; I just have to make sure to steer.

Tell a joke to a cat.

*

Picard

The little tin whistle I yearn to play

squeaks in my head

warning that I have no time to learn

and a tin whistle though slender is not easy.

I think if I had a magic wrinkler for time I might learn,

I remember characters that have, but I rethink this

and remember I don’t want to win the lottery again.

I am too good at too many things

and have no time to enjoy their full round pleasure.

I have no need for additional longing or extended guilt.

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

John Grisham

November 29

John Grisham

My time hovering low over the ocean has filled me until I am ready to drop.  The weight of what is inside me bears down; I know with the slightest cooperation I will become a rainmaker.  I am mostly fine with this; I know from whence the rain was derived and I can let it fall in peace.  What I don’t know how to handle is the acknowledgement.  The difference between what I know and what you might think is vast and if I try to dissuade you I sound disingenuous or fraudulent.  I have to get my head around the part I play and accept the roses when they come.  I don’t understand how this looks from offstage or what it means to those who watch.  I hope they will enjoy the work but never mistake me for the playwright.

Greet the day with open eyes

*

BLEATING FORMALITY

Stupidity stalks me when I’m tired
Hi-jacking my mouth and my mind
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 mutinous.

I would love to say it was pig headedness
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 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 fall asleep in my tract, I awake as myself,
With many bleating apologies to be made.

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

Picard

October 28

Picard

The little tin whistle I yearn to play squeaks in my head warning that I have no time to learn and a tin whistle though slender is not easy.  I think if I had a magic wrinkler for time I might learn, I remember characters that have, but I rethink this and remember I don’t want to win the lottery again.  I am too good at too many things and have no time to enjoy their full round pleasure.  I have no need for additional longing or extended guilt.

Print your fingers

*

I DON’T SEE HOW

This is the smallest of the fragile excuses I use
To keep from doing things to make me happy.
Petty in a way I would never be with others
I rake my desires and tiny hopes over the coals.

Tired platitudes are plated up as first serves
By my short order short sightedness
Protecting crusted over nonsense
And living the life of a lockout
Not even a squatter on the fringes of my dreams.

I stumble in my efforts
To see hope, joy or my purpose,
Ignoring the fact that I must step from the box
Before I can see the horizon or more.

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