Rules

July 21

Rules

There are rules about breaking rules.  You can do it this way, but must not that way.  Cross this line and you get dragons; cross that line you get a good natured slap on the wrist.  Beneath the reflective surface of law I have found many shoals and sandbars; rocks and outcroppings, layer upon layer of blue depth I can only partly chart.  I also find inquiries in this matter meet with the same reaction as asking about: yeti, crop circles, or what was kept in Uncle Author’s spare room.  Those willing to talk about it I often fear to hear from and the reluctant to speak I fear to pursue.  You see this investigation is just another thing from under that sea.

Look before you listen

*

MY BABIES

Too often I have abandoned the infants

Of my creativity to doorways and charities

Having little patience I did not raise them

To their intended station.

Joyful parentage need not stop

At the cutting of the cord.

Down playing the importance of each birth

I leave beauty and art to be foundlings

And the province of others.

I can share the guardianship of these precious gifts

And be more than a broodmare for cunning and craft.

I have neglected things

For the promise of each new conception.

Overpopulation weakens the body of work

And leaves my portfolio listless and immature.

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

Taking the Field

July 20

Taking the Field

Humor is an illustration; a joke, an explanation.  I learn far more from the smiles than the jeers.  Laughter carries me; an action, which tears can’t always accomplish.  It is hard to live with constant descent, but wit is a quick impassioned friend.  Thoughtless conformity is an evil companion I prefer the company of those who play.  Life is too hard from the sidelines; I would rather take the field.

Find a pit crew before you crash

*

DEFINITIONS

I am close to my Higher Power

But I have no words to describe It.

I have found it best to say nothing unless asked.

When I do speak it is always the path I took

Or the way I held my face.

I know the things, which changed

And the wind, which blew.

This is not the sketch most people seek.

My skin is brown and my smile broad.

This is not from over exposure to beams of light.

Closeness warms me, I glow from standing near.

I know the face and form is different for everyday

I must not stop for definitions.

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

Rings of Color against Butterflies

July 19

Rings of Color against Butterflies

Resistance I can accomplish directly; impedance requires magnetism from an alternating world.  I can drag my heels and live life in a sandpaper shack making everything a chore, but what it takes to throw furniture in the path of progress, slamming doors and turning off the lights that is more than I can do on my own.  This takes the cooperation of my disease and me, the monkey-hoop, which is effort and clever repartee.  Look how well we do it, too.  Distracting possibilities, staving off humanity and the humane, may not sound like much, but it takes up our whole day; goodness is such a persistent little grub.  It takes a concerted effort to prevent it from chrysalis and failing that, still more determination to make sure it doesn’t fly.   

Listen to music the way you walk through a garden

*

2 CHAIRS

Math is the language which moves

Closest to the speed of my brain.

The language of recovery slows my thinking

So I am more than numbers and clicks.

I need not race my mind in an effort to win.

I am my prize.

The victory is mine if I can embrace who I am.

I can use numbers to figure whether I am more or less

But owning who I am must be given

To the talk of the soul and heart.

My nashamah is not an astral projection

To be theorized but the seat of my emotions.

The only way to discover myself

Is through deep and loving conversation

So I had best pull up two chairs.

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

Cicatrix and Love

July 18

Cicatrix and Love

The mark left by injury is indelible though it may heal, the consequence remains.  This is also true of love.  I am branded and changed by your affection.  The improvement wrought in me does not leave when you do.  If you stop loving me, can no longer remember my name, my face, my sigh; I am better for having had your love if only for a short time.  Good medicine offers lasting results; the miracle of your love is my health.  The blush in my cheek, the revitalization I feel is traceable to you, to the days you held me in your heart and the nights you held me in your arms.  And though I want you back in my world the best of you lives on in my life.

Slice time with your thoughts and peer through the pieces

*

JUXTAPOSITION

Right next to this world is the globe that I came from.

The landmarks are similar but these spheres have little in common

The angle of refraction illuminates the place of my origin

The source of this light is legend.

On my home planet, the existence of sobriety is cast off as myth.

I held onto this tale with my heart.

I slipped the gravitational bonds of Crazy one night

By the glow of the ready button on the coffee pot.

Here and there intersect at only one point

A room with some chairs and a circle with a triangle.

The meeting was on step one

And it was a good place to jump in.

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

Horse Play

July 17

Horse Play

The sequestered equestrian rides alone through the night; the wood is as quiet as she.  Passing no one; speaking not a word, she slips into the paddock without a nicker or a neigh. I long to be just as she, not silent sentinel, but living a whist fleet life, a power unto myself.  What stands between are my hurt feelings and my longing to be loved.  I can’t blame myself for either, but work to heal and grow.  Nagging need is a pestilence I will be well rid of; the irredeemable past is luggage for a catalog, not for hauling on my back.  I will mount up and ride my great round stead, the night is mine when I am ready the path is there I know.

Imagine an ostrich in flight

*

GRAFT

The bottom has been cut out

My underpinnings stripped from me..

Budding ambition whittled down, transplanted,

Saddled onto the rock like stock of other peoples sobriety.

Taped to the leg of my sponsor I heal and grow.

I splice my thinking with the rich ideas of improved living

I cling to the cleft, divisions made from the people,

Places and things of my past leave me split,

Primed for fresh growth and opportunity.

Never again do I need return to the sordid

Acquisition of power or control

There is no gain when I am bolted to position and influence

Graft is graft for good or bad

I don’t have to grow where I was planted.

Rounder

July 16

Rounder

Back again, yes, that I see, but change is not the same as return.  What I know of you is your past.  I believe the past because I know it.  If there is a new you to meet that remains to be seen.  Even a chameleon sheds its skin, though I doubt its intrinsic nature is altered much in the process.  So flash your smile and wind your words into the thoughts of those with whom you have no history.  I’ve been exposed before, the virus doesn’t conquer me, I am immune.  Once bitten makes me wary when you come around again.

Pick a color and let it find you all day

*

TO SLOOP

When I was a tanker- I carried such a heavy load.

The diesel cycle ran at regular intervals

And my internal temperature was terrific.

The fuel sprayed and things went round and round

The cost was high.

Now my principal means of propulsion

Is the wind in my sails.

Conversion was difficult

Though I found the rigging and mast a fascination

The ballast was a heavy load to bear.

Cargo is something short lived

To be cast off at the next port.

Incumbent discretion is welded to my keel

And will go with me to every harbor.

As a tankard, liquid was transported or consumed.

As a cutter, dependability keeps me tacking into the wind.

Now my outlay is low and my rewards are high

I carry only what I need, I am free, a sloop upon the sea.

Sympathetic Strings

July 15

Sympathetic Strings

A guitar with 28 strings generates much sympathy from the cords which were not strummed.  Pluck is contagious and inspires much harmony and verve in the vicinity in which it shows face.  Sympathetic strings vibrate in response to the jangling around them but are tuned to their own notes.  Much distortion adds to the depth of the sound created by this throng.  Can you hear my life?  How a disturbance in my life rings in the lives which surround me?  How I twitch and chime when things are twanged in the lives of my neighbors, my friends, my kin.  We make the music of care, the discord of reaction.  To every move there is a sound to every sympathy a harmony. 

Surprise yourself with the light in your own eyes

*

THE LIVING DREAM

Throwing yourself into the river in pieces

Drowns you as crumbs.

Casting aside love and longing

makes you less in your heart

and your soul stops beating.

Pitching your tent with critics and complainers

Leaves you out in the cold on warm summer evenings.

Crest the hill to meet the rising sun

Orbit the constellations without hesitation.

Petit point the pictures in your mind

Then set them to music.

The world is your dream

Live it into reality.