Cargo Lost, Cargo Found

December 30

CARGO LOST, CARGO FOUND

I fill the pallet of a new year's sobriety and, when it has been accomplished, make a manifest and strap this pallet with the others on the flatbed of my life.  The cargo is secure and weighty; there is ample pressure where the rubber meets the road.  I maneuver my rig carefully.  I feel assured as I stream with the traffic on the byways.  The power and magnitude of my transport prompts in me overconfidence.  I fail to realize variation in weather or road conditions can jeopardize my journey. Eighteen wheels make for a poor cantilever when traction is lost and top-heavy wins out.  In losing the battle of gravity, inertia and control I realize the past is not a weight I need to haul; all that is necessary is the inventory.  I slip the pages into my pocket and walk the rest of the way.  I am my only freight.

Medicate with laughter and tears.

*

Can’t Walk Back

I chase my reading list, lose my place, fall down, can’t find my page; suddenly there is a whole library beyond my grasp.  I write as fast as I can and so do my fellows the result is more than I can read in three lifetimes.  The glory and pain of freedom is the constriction of time.  I claw at the minutes but the days slip quickly out of reach.  How can I get the great work poured into my mind while still allowing original thought to flow from me? I ask God if I can be reincarnated with my backlist intact but there is no reply.  I know in my heart this life is like hang-gliding on the beach; my shoes and socks are left behind and I fly off over open sea.  So if we are friends now that is surely grand, but if you want to be my friend later, just take a walk in my shoes. 

Vlog: http://youtu.be/24UpEacsxX4

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

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

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

There are only 23 days left till my nervous break down

December 2

There are only 23 more shopping days left till my nervous break down

Shoppers beware: I have a careful plan!  I can juggle these thirty things, keep these twenty people happy, dig around in the dirt at these three excavation sites and hold on to my sanity for twenty-three more days.  

My sponsor says having a plan like that means I’m already crazy.  My sponsor says I don’t have to please anyone but myself, my Higher Power and her.  That can’t be right.  What is the point of sobriety if I can’t do it all? 

She says I don’t even have to please her or myself.  What does that mean?  How can I tell if I’m pleasing my Higher Power? 

She says, “Shut up and you’ll find out.” Great!  What a plan.  I like my countdown better.  Of course I do, it’s mine.  My countdown, my life, mine, mine, mine. 

Maybe my sponsor is not all wrong.  OK, quiet......da,da,da.....da,da.  OK, quiet for real.  Hmmm.  I don’t, don’t know.  This isn’t working.  I can’t do this.  Why would I need to stop being me in order to get better?

“Who are you?” she asks.  She thinks she’s so smart.  I’m the one in the middle.  She says the eye of the storm is empty and I need to get a life of my own.

Endurance lets you live in the house you built.

*

Anti-Forfeit Activity

I don’t want to write

bad, forced, poor, weak, care-worn poems,

but I won’t write any good ones if I don’t lift this pen.

The embarrassment I might feel for lackluster lines

is far less than the shame of empty notebooks.

I don’t always like what flows when I open the gates,

but I am sure glad the current is live and so am I.

Vlog: http://youtu.be/1K9UEf2__xk

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

Assurances of Gulliver

November 26

ASSURANCES OF GULLIVER

Poor Lilliputians and my egg shaped conundrum!  At least they have the strength of their convictions when I have only pondering to share the space between my ears.  What sense could the world make if there is no one right way and each person is free to open the egg from either end or leave the thing intact, having instead maybe a bagel? I have been looking for the combinations to unlock the universe when possibly it’s an egg shaped thing with no doors or locks and all that’s left is to break in or out.

Believe what you can do.

*

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,

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 for as Billy Collins quotes,

for the love of strangers.”

Vlog: http://youtu.be/ded-ZwPisXo

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 Flying Mind

November 25

THE FLYING MIND

When my brain flies out my ear, destination unknown, I am left mentally bereft.  I feel intellectual convolution and show no affliction other than my inability to fulfill my assignments.  I stare out sure a ring of blue birds circle my head, or maybe stars like any other cartoon patsy.  What to do?  These parodied wingdings ridicule me privately leaving the impression of idiocy with onlookers and supervisors.  My focus and perceptions quaver and I lose my place.  I have to find a way to spot and keep my emotional balance, the same way I stay upright during pirouettes by watching one doorframe or light switch.  I need an unmoving object in a sea of swimming thoughts.  I still need to make the mental turns but this should be much easier if I stop landing on my face.

Work with yourself.

*

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.

Vlog:  http://youtu.be/VePH0r1p3_M

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

Smog

June 30

SMOG

When I burn out, the smoke affects everyone in the surrounding area.  I forget to keep my wick trimmed and lamp full; I empty out and my light grows dim. I am responsible for maintenance and upkeep.  If I don’t protect my own radiance I will lose it and the darkness will be felt throughout the neighborhood.  I can’t risk the death of illumination or incur smoldering haze.  Fortification of my sobriety is a simple task if I make proper use of resources.  When I turn energy to obligation I am distracted and separated from my source, then the source I am to others is extinguished.  I can only light the darkness where I am; I can’t illuminate someone else’s path.  Nor should I pollute the way with smoke and vapor due to a lapse in my spiritual condition. 

Place the period then write to it.

*

From Mind to Pen to Paper

What a relief to have exteriorized all the swirl of thought,

which normally swarms my mind,

waiting to take the stage and run through their numbers.

Then like deciphering a code

I was able to cross out all the irrelevant and redundant information,

leaving me with a clear answer.

Once there standing on its own;

it was obvious and easily explained

how two plus three is five.

I just love anything that can be explained all on one hand

and there it was tidy and neatly fitted in the nest of my palm,

easy to grasp hold of with my fingers or my mind.

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.

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

Calm, Peaceful, On

December 18

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.

Paste pictures on your mental partitions

*

FAILED SOUP AND DISTRUST OF BURGUNDY

What keeps me coming back to meetings and step work
Is an abiding mistrust of booze.
Despite promises and advertisement, hope and folklore
I couldn’t rely on drinking to take me where I wanted to go.
And surely couldn’t depend on it to keep me there.

The struggle is great; the attempt to cling to salvation
Though decanter is mighty but in the end
This joining of my chemistry to another failed miserably.

No matter how I held my mouth
Held my head, held my liquor
Satisfaction escaped without me and I was left here
In the soup of my disillusion and disappointment.

I may not always succeed in my recovery
But I can draw dividends on every deposit
And use this to build a path to my desires.

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

Peter and I

December 16

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 many lives depend upon it.

Treat a book to a day out

*

RELAPSE IS NOT REQUIRED

Relapse is not required - said my sponsor
Though at some meetings they make it seem appealing
All that ‘prodigal drunk’ treatment.

Well so far I’m living in the blessing
Of being convinced the first time- I told her
Plus what could possibly be out there
That’s better than what’s in here?

That is the point
There is so much out there that is faster and bigger
More dramatic and extreme
But I sure have never see anything better.

She patted my head and I grinned
Since I am winning the first time
Why would I want to lose?
I add just to overstate her point.

This is the perfect place for those who want it
And all the rest get drunk
But drinking is not required
Any more than Santa has to come on Christmas.

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

What I Give You

December 13

What I give you

If I give you a piece of my mind, a piece of my heart, a piece of my liver, how do I go on in its absence?  Or does it ever leave me?  Is this more like an excision than segmentation?  Is it similar to how I carry you with me when I catch a resentment; only in a good way?  I don’t know that I can be truly divided up, but I do know that parts of me don’t belong exclusively to me anymore and I believe this is all for the better. 

Zoom up to anticipation

*

HEART HANDED

I pick up the pen in my heart hand
And the blood of my soul pours onto the page.
The words coalesce and clot into binding phrases
Sealed deals with my spirits punctuation.

Some days it is hard for my mind to keep up.
The current is swift and deeper than I expect.
The pulse of energy is amazing even to the mind it feeds
.
Like clouds racing the sky this power
Brings shade to some and rain to others.
The reaction of the moistened varies.
Some pull up hoods and scurry away

Others with up turned faces form a friendship with me.
At the level of electrons, we have a molecular bonding.
We are forever changed because I have picked up the pen
And they have picked up the page.

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

Anti-Forfeit Activity

December 7

Anti-Forfeit Activity

I don’t want to write bad, forced, poor, weak, care-worn poems, but I won’t write any good ones if I don’t lift this pen.  The embarrassment I might feel for lackluster lines is far less than the shame of empty notebooks.  I don’t always like what flows when I open the gates, but I am sure glad the current is live and so am I.

Tie a knot

*

COOCOO’S NEST

I ran away to join the zoo
Hoping a life contained would calm me.
The segregation hit me first
Isolated exclusively with those of my stripe
Drove my thirst for diverse scents and opinion.

Next the monotony of the landscape bore into my brain
The well-meaning efforts of the keepers
Bears the mark of folks who go home at night.

The blandness of the food and music
Lent nothing to the experience
And antiseptic could drive anyone wild.

The final blow, the one which struck constantly and coldly
Was the steady stream of observers
Just waiting to be entertained.

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

At the Dodge

December 2

At The Dodge

I remember so long ago when I would come and sit and listen; soak in the poets and the Consort, sop it all into the sponge that listened and sat.  I did not know exactly what they were doing and I didn’t know why I was there, but I went and had a soak.  Now so many years hence I am the writer I never knew and I know just what they do because, I do it too!

Write a poem on your foot

*

GOOSE

I round this corner nearly every day.
There in the field stand a flock of problems,
Pecking the ground and flopping their wings.

Uniform and regular, the honking and squawking
Is undistinguishable from yesterday.

I ponder and squint, are these the same
Or yet another gaggle making their way
Along the migratory path?

Trouble is feral, skulking the edges of the field
But never sheltering in the yard.
I must leave my hands off
Knowing these are not mine.

The feathers fly and I gather the strays
Acutely aware of the ticklish nature of this.

Awkwardly I face the truth
No matter how much of a perplexity this is to me
Or others, it is only geese.

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

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

Shadows of Doubt

September 1

Shadow of Doubt

The long dark cast covers my face, my thoughts, my life; it is the light blocked by my skepticism.  To tear down the obstruction means a profound change of my internal architecture; walls will have to be knocked down, windows installed.  The poor mouthed structure takes better to the steamroller than I wish it would.  I fear the loss of my hideout, panic at the thought of a life in the sun.  Skepticism builds a paper world; opaque, weak yet frightening to tear apart.

Rub the place where you land

*

WHY NOT HOME

Power is not production and production is not art.

I have to keep pulling the car to the side of the road

so I don’t miss the train of words sent to me,

from out of the dark blue life I am on the edge of living

but I still want to go home.

I will never give up these roadside excursions

into the river of thought though I do wonder why

the cable shoved into my house never gets this channel?

Why is the connection so strong on the bus not the bed?

The minefields of thought explosions seem seeded anywhere

as long as it’s at least five miles away.

Power is not production and production is not art.

I let it pour through me---it is not mine to sort.

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

Dear G-d

July 25

Dear G-d

I need help.  I need help availing myself of the help you have provided me.  I am embarrassed to lack the ability to complete all the steps necessary for achieving the goals you have set before me.  I see now that it is always my turn with you and I can stop standing aside believing that I have had your attention and must now do without.  I do not want to ask for more; I don’t want to seem greedy.  I forget that you know my heart and that you trust me.  I am going to make that a two-way street, maybe a four-lane highway.  I need help, thank you for being help full.

Love,

Sherrie

The obvious is sometimes invisible

*

ACCESS

Writing to you my Sweet,

Allows me to give what I have available

At the moment it comes into my possession.

You reading lets you invite me in,

When you are ready or willing

Possibly both.

I can store succulent treasure for you

Without the least consideration of

Freezer burn or apathy.

You are here when I want you,

Yearning and prepared

I am yours for the taking

In the classroom, the bedroom

Or even in your bath

I can whisper or shout to you.

I can rant or tell jokes to you

You can embrace or ignore me

Introduce me to your friends

Or keep me your own personal province.

We are intimates

Because I bare my soul to you

And you take me into yours.

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

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.

Give me a Goose Any Day

April 4

Give Me a Goose Any Day

The geese breaking wind resistance, the close ones, the far ones, the ones behind trumpeting, this is the gang who gets me sober and keeps me that way.  Maybe you think that G-d is not a flock of geese, but it has been my experience and the honking and the mess are part of it all.  I spend my days making sure I am one of them.   Sometimes I am even in the lead, which may seem like a place of honor and prestige, but is actually a lot of hard work.  Sometime I am the cheering squawker who makes my encouragement heard.  Other times I am the one waddling around leaving an untidiness behind me.  All of this just makes me part of the flock.  I am especially fond of my nest mates though they are often the ones I chase and bluster at the most.  I feel a sense of identity and pride when I see any goose flying high and know that because we don’t do it alone we are able to do it together.

Pet inspiration

*

FINE PRINT

I can scrawl the wall with everything I know
I can fill my books chapter and verse
With pure and honest hope
But let me begin the precision of language and watch.

My once open face becomes tight
My associations peek regularly around each corner
Neatly painted lines are a trap with teeth laid bare

Serrations of careful craft sever my umbilical
And God floats off untethered
Truth returns when I am shouting my prayers
Scrupulous observance never advances my sails

I must meet life with an open hand
The devil may not always be in the details
But check the fine print to be sure.

Lie

January 1

Lie

Yes, a lie is just a lie, but the truth also has problems.  I relay the facts and the words take on a life of their own, leave out the backdoor and walk on down the road. They move to another town and never find time to come back for a visit even though, I am their mother.  And woe to the woman who grows attached to credit or recognition for her ideas.  These kidnapped prodigies are never ransomed but sold outright and their DNA not questioned or tested.

So, my advice is to love your words in secret and raise your notions behind high walls.  If you are ever called upon to share your wisdom, lie.  For even if you’re caught the risk is tolerable.  Exposure is awkward but then again no one is looking, so, what is there to lose.  A lie is just a lie but it stays home with you at night.

Tie a string to the moon

~

THE COWS ARE HIGHER THAN THE HOUSE

I got sober only to end up living in a house
where the cows are higher than the house.
I mean next to my house there is a hill
The hill is surrounded by a fence
The cows are pastured inside the fence
Standing on the hill the cows are taller than the house.

I didn't expect to live in a house where the cows were higher.
I expected normal
I didn't expect the cows at all.
I expected the house but not this house
It's at the end of the lane
It's the one with the rose colored shutters.

My sponsor wants to know why rose colored shutters
Are OK but cows overlooking the house aren't?
I can't answer her
It's just wrong - that's all!
I don't know why she can't understand this
It seems perfectly clear to me.

My sponsor says I am powerless over the cows
And my life is not unmanageable but my thinking is.
She tells me to paint purple cows.
To write stories about worse places for the cows to be
I tell her the tub.
She says write it down.
She's no fun.

I heard in a meeting I should pray for the people
And things I am upset about.
I pray for the cows
My sponsor says the cows see how I live my life
And she is sure the cows pray for me.

Cargo Lost, Cargo Found

December 30

CARGO LOST, CARGO FOUND

I fill the pallet of a new year's sobriety and, when it has been accomplished, make a manifest and strap this pallet with the others on the flatbed of my life.  The cargo is secure and weighty; there is ample pressure where the rubber meets the road.  I maneuver my rig carefully.  I feel assured as I stream with the traffic on the byways.  The power and magnitude of my transport prompts in me overconfidence.  I fail to realize variation in weather or road conditions can jeopardize my journey. Eighteen wheels make for a poor cantilever when traction is lost and top-heavy wins out.  In losing the battle of gravity, inertia and control I realize the past is not a weight I need to haul; all that is necessary is the inventory.  I slip the pages into my pocket and walk the rest of the way.  I am my only freight.

Medicate with laughter and tears.

*

Can’t Walk Back

I chase my reading list, lose my place, fall down, can’t find my page; suddenly there is a whole library beyond my grasp.  I write as fast as I can and so do my fellows the result is more than I can read in three lifetimes.  The glory and pain of freedom is the constriction of time.  I claw at the minutes but the days slip quickly out of reach.  How can I get the great work poured into my mind while still allowing original thought to flow from me? I ask God if I can be reincarnated with my backlist intact but there is no reply.  I know in my heart this life is like hang-gliding on the beach; my shoes and socks are left behind and I fly off over open sea.  So if we are friends now that is surely grand, but if you want to be my friend later, just take a walk in my shoes.