Do We See

December 14

DO WE SEE

The old man walked down the road to see the end; I followed to glimpse the fruit of his pursuit.  Does the highway come to rest or like the river just feed a greater sea?  And time; will the clock stop him? Can he win the treasure hunt as the seconds tick away on the metronome?  Will the slowing of his steps and the advancing of his age create a curve, which will prevent his accomplishment?  Does this tag-along I am doing make me a part of his project?  The road is long and its end may never come, only ours.  When we take the road the road takes us.  More and less is what we are and so too the road.  I follow the contour of the ground, which curves around the world, spinning in our sky so we can all see the stars.

Reality builds contentment, fantasy disappointment.

*

Calm, Peaceful, On

Once I center my mind I can type in the dark.

All it takes is me present and willing to flow.

Limber up the learning curve,

press my fingers to the keys,

Let the story tell its tale.

Cease the interjections lest it all go stale.

There is nothing much to know,

It’s all inside, I just let it go.

Emptying this crowded vault,

I open up to prevent assault.

What to do when it hits the page;

marketing is all the rage,

but for this task I need a light.

To sell myself I must be bright.

Vlog:  http://youtu.be/QpbtJlNkWto

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

Before the End of the Road

November 5

BEFORE THE END OF THE ROAD

Before the end of the road tiny stone lay on the side, freshly painted lines glimmer in this twilight trance.  Walking the macadam, the crunch underfoot changes my perspective.  No steering wheel or accelerator, this is ankle express all the way.  Walking the road step by step, on my own, I am part of the soft and growing world progressing on a plan of separate integrity.  Moist, lush wonder is missed by the motor speedway I let rule my life.  Honeyed sweetness covers the vegetation swaying in the undulating airborne pulse.  I am tempted to lie down and have a roll, but my role tonight is to reach the end of the road.  When my goal is achieved I may choose a woodland life or an urban endeavor.  Seeing the end of this path is job enough for now.  Decisions anticipated prior to arrival are foolish diversions.  I need to stay, not stray, with the dancers in the wind.

Execute the detractors in your mind.

*

Let the Groundhog Sing It

Mistakes and poor choices save me

from attempting to climb out onto moral high ground.

Moral ambiguity keeps me protected

from the illusion of relentless righteousness.

Lopsided living is a fate I am spared

due to my flawed execution of perfection;

all in a day’s work for a functional human.

Left by the wayside is the fantasy that I am all right.

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

The Landing

June 19

THE LANDING

Risers and runners lift from where I stand.  Here I make my decision.  I climb and face the challenges of my life.  Each new test returns me to this square; the steps ascend in every direction.  No matter how many times I have scaled this set of twelve, I must start anew with even the slightest change of direction.  Like facets on a diamond’s base, the flights emerge from the tiny base and hold the world of possibilities within their meticulous surface.  I look into these precious mirrors to see who I am and where to go, though none of this would be possible without a place to stand.

Chart the constellation of your features.

*

In the Beginning is the End

I wonder if the road would show the reflection

of its end would I walk down it still.

I always decide that I wouldn't want to miss anything,

not even the most painful things,

yet this may simply be a flaw in my upbringing.

An overvaluing of survival.

What of you?

If the knowledge of beginning and end

were within your grasp would you begin?

Would you flee the end?

This end or every end?

Or is it the beginning that you fear?

And why not, for doesn’t every beginning

hold within it every end?

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

Poorly Chirping

December 1

Poorly Chirping

She writes poetry like fusion jazz, more fun to make than to listen to.  She stands at the podium serving as a bad example.  I pray as she reads, “Lord, please don’t let me get sucked into the self-importance of bad poetry for the sake of peering peers, and forgetting to write what is there for the world, the readers, the things which bring the word pictures and sets them before me.  Lord, remind me that the writing is not done for me, but done as Billy Collins quotes, for the love of strangers.”

Tops spin, do you?

*

DO WE SEE

The old man walked down the road to see the end,
I followed to glimpse the fruit of his pursuit.
Does the highway come to rest
Or like the river just feed a greater sea?

And time, will the clock stop him?
Can he win the treasure hunt
As the seconds tick away on the metronome?

Will the slowing of his steps
And the advancing of his age
Create a curve which will prevent his accomplishment?

Does this tag-along I am doing
Make me a part of his project?
The road is long and its end may never come, only ours.

When we take the road the road takes us.
More and less is what we are and so too the road.
I follow the contour of the ground
Which curves around the world
Spinning in our sky so we can all see the stars.

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

Poorly Chirping

December 1

Poorly Chirping

She writes poetry like fusion jazz, more fun to make than to listen to. She stands at the podium serving as a bad example. I pray as she reads, “Lord, please don’t let me get sucked into the self-importance of bad poetry for the sake of peering peers, and forgetting to write what is there for the world, the readers, the things which bring the word pictures and sets them before me. Lord, remind me that the writing is not done for me, but done as Billy Collins quotes, for the love of strangers.”

Tops spin, do you?

*

DO WE SEE

The old man walked down the road to see the end,
I followed to glimpse the fruit of his pursuit.
Does the highway come to rest
Or like the river just feed a greater sea?

And time, will the clock stop him?
Can he win the treasure hunt
As the seconds tick away on the metronome?

Will the slowing of his steps
And the advancing of his age
Create a curve which will prevent his accomplishment?

Does this tag-along I am doing
Make me a part of his project?
The road is long and its end may never come, only ours.

When we take the road the road takes us.
More and less is what we are and so too the road.
I follow the contour of the ground
Which curves around the world
Spinning in our sky so we can all see the stars.