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.

Vlog:  http://youtu.be/pIxhPgXDifU

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

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.

Ovoid

September 17

Ovoid

I can pretend at this normal life for a period of time then the plaster starts to crack on this white picket fence and it’s all down hill from there. I am better than I was; I am happier and more well adjusted, yet I am still far from fitting with the standard fittings, I am an off size, my threads run counter to the average fixture, I spent too much time on the rack to resemble anything from off the rack. It’s not that I am so special; it is just that I am Special Ed. Performance anxiety and paranoia regularly take me out of round though even with these kept at bay I am not your normal nut. I assure you that you can dress me up and take me out, just don’t try to take me home.

Remind yourself of your friends

*

WEE HOURS

In the wee hours I hear the high pitched wail

the tiny pest whining in my ear

the onset of my thin stretched nerves reaching their end.

A few more hours are required of me tonight

I rally my spirit and lift the edges of my willing resolve.

Long slow nights carry me to far corners of my mind.

I am more average than I had imagined or hoped for.

The commonness of four AM brings base to disclosure

the charmed exposure of predawn wakefulness.

The fuzzy vibrations in my brain make me feel deep and real

Vulnerable to all the normal limitations of nature and caprice.

The sun will rise, ending this night.

My sentry over I will fall to earth, and rest, and bed.