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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. |
December 14
What’s that in the Pool? Parts of the Rocky Mountains look like algae bloom out in the Indian Ocean. Parts of me look like parts of you and here we go with oneness being nothing more than pattern recognition and optical illusion; though I hope there is more to it than that. My hurt might not be your hurt, but I have a sense of it. Likewise your hope may not resemble mine, but it cheers you just the same and we are all better for it. We needn’t replicate each other or attempt imitation, but recognition is a kind thing and art is what we all have to share. Stain your napkin * SIZING GOD UP God doesn’t need to be Big. I only look for a Big God when I feel very small. I turn to God as compensation for my feelings As some sort of bolster to brace myself with. I have found when I am diminished in anyway God is tucked in a corner or pocket or drawer. I flee to the great out-of-doors And find earth, nature and wind. The God of my understanding Is proportionate to my mental state. My partner is with me Near enough to hear the fear pour off my skin. God doesn’t run from me to adventures in the wild. I want to escape regularly But this is not my Higher Powers defect. I come back to God when I stop running from me. I face my reflection and recognize I am not towered over by a Giant God. I am yoked with a power to share the load. |
December 15
Whose Oxygen Mask goes on First? Desperation is the fuel which forges my resentments. When I fear for my survival, physical, emotional or financial this will turn my response to your behavior into tinder, sometimes gasoline and set our interaction ablaze. Melt all which is steel strong between us and create a molten mess from which it will be a struggle to recover. This is why, me taking good care of me, attending to my life, and quelling my fears is the very best way for me to protect you from my attitude and save me from a negative balance sheet during my 10th step. Ask the questions * DON’T BITE Desperation jumps up--runs around--then drops. If I don’t feed it-- desperation burns out fast. I used to buy the advertising--the Horror--the Humanity. The acorn falling on my head convinced me easily. I grew this nut into terrifying despair. Never realizing if I had left it alone How quickly it would pass. When tragedy comes there is no time for a performance. The whirling splendor itself proves the farce. If I learn to recognize these triggers I might keep from shooting myself in the foot. If I let desperation wear itself out I can stay with the pack. Despondence splinters me And separates me from anything rational. But quiet resolve lets me watch the wind twist While I keep my feet on the ground. |
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. |
December 17
Pretty Girls Pretty girls seem to live by separate rules, but I don’t know why. The world is filled with people and rules, crazy circumstances and the uniformity of exception. The where and what for, of arbitrary allowance to be regulated based on symmetry or fashion strikes me as odd, beyond survival and this may explain so very much. Gravity pulls down equally; discriminates for nothing. Orbital rotation continues in spite of the fairness of an eye. The universe supports us without end but prejudice is our failing and I blame it on the pretty girls Sift the silt for treasure * MARIAN Even if the whole world was created in a cipher And whirls off into nothingness This is still not a commentary on the existence of God. We have today---for this moment of sobriety There is a Power Greater then my despair, My apprehension and it builds with me a home From the bricks of my optimism. Partnership is no prevention of inhospitable endings But is a temporary relief from desperate loneliness. The tired struggle of guaranteeing niceness spills my energy Scraping from each 24 the marrow so necessary. My open palm saves me from grasping, My open mind from grappling I rid myself of tiny gods in tiny heavens Where I do not reside. Let the blades of grass probe between my toes There is beauty for me to see, Love to hold, hope to float. Where this train originated and whatever its destination It’s in my station now and I am grateful to be on board. |
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, its 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. |
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, its 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. |
December 19
Crazy Time Picking the right time to be crazy seems to be the key to getting away with it. Wanting to get away with it slants the field a tad. What crazy is changes from place to place, which puts all the more emphasis on the timing. The surrounding company and barometric pressure play parts and put on airs. Lighting, lighting must also be involved, I assure you I don’t know how and can’t calculate the Ohms, but I flip the switches in case it helps. I have mapped for you a fair amount more than I know. I wish you well on your attempt, for crazy is a kindred club, I would hate for you to feel inept. Admire your friends * THE FIRST FATHER The rest of what I have to say I will slip under your gravestone. If I have time after I buy the red dress. To say I hate you is an overstatement. I only detest what I know of you The rest I leave to other people Who might have the misfortune to cross your path. Your unavailability can protect you From anything I could ever do to you. Your hurt and arrogance is far worse punishment. If I thought you were worth the energy of an attempt. Having to be you everyday must make it hard To leave the bed in the morning. I know I couldn’t do it if I had to Drag your baggage around all day. The sad part is I’m not sure you know it’s baggage. You might think it’s armor But your misnaming of everything Is just another of the things I never miss about you. Which is why although I pray every day For your wellbeing for the sake of mine If I never see you again It might just be long enough. |
December 19
Crazy Time Picking the right time to be crazy seems to be the key to getting away with it. Wanting to get away with it slants the field a tad. What crazy is changes from place to place, which puts all the more emphasis on the timing. The surrounding company and barometric pressure play parts and put on airs. Lighting, lighting must also be involved, I assure you I don’t know how and can’t calculate the Ohms, but I flip the switches in case it helps. I have mapped for you a fair amount more than I know. I wish you well on your attempt, for crazy is a kindred club, I would hate for you to feel inept. Admire your friends * THE FIRST FATHER The rest of what I have to say I will slip under your gravestone. If I have time after I buy the red dress. To say I hate you is an overstatement. I only detest what I know of you The rest I leave to other people Who might have the misfortune to cross your path. Your unavailability can protect you From anything I could ever do to you. Your hurt and arrogance is far worse punishment. If I thought you were worth the energy of an attempt. Having to be you everyday must make it hard To leave the bed in the morning. I know I couldn’t do it if I had to Drag your baggage around all day. The sad part is I’m not sure you know it’s baggage. You might think it’s armor But your misnaming of everything Is just another of the things I never miss about you. Which is why although I pray every day For your wellbeing for the sake of mine If I never see you again It might just be long enough. |
December 20
Touch Your Toes Funny how we deal with feet. I have seen a woman cradle hers and treat it like the dearest babe. I know some folks who shun their feet; can barely stand to think of them, let alone to touch them. There are the Mani-Pedi people who leave it in the hands of others. I met a guy who soaks them soft and tucks little bits of cotton under the corners of his nails. I know too, the woman with the snarling crusty dogs that serve to others as a warning. My grandma warns me not complain about my shoes lest I meet the man who has no feet, but I doubt I would fit in his. Borrow brilliance * MUD PIES Mud pies and retro-childhood Are for the hurt ones, small and angry inside me. They require care and special attention But I can’t stop with them. Saving children to starve the adolescents is a sad fate Or abandoning adults after bringing them all this way Is indescribably cruel. I cannot work on healing All the while waiting for some ice flow To shove myself off on. There is never a time I am not the responsible party For the people who inhabit my interior life I live their reflections everyday. There is no one-way mirror With which to hide unresolved issues No rug to sweep them under They flow through me like a river I must return them to breed new health As a salmon swims back to the waters Of its birth to bring new life. I must brave the complexities of maturity I cannot just sit in the mud |
December 20
Touch Your Toes Funny how we deal with feet. I have seen a woman cradle hers and treat it like the dearest babe. I know some folks who shun their feet; can barely stand to think of them, let alone to touch them. There are the Mani-Pedi people who leave it in the hands of others. I met a guy who soaks them soft and tucks little bits of cotton under the corners of his nails. I know too, the woman with the snarling crusty dogs that serve to others as a warning. My grandma warns me not complain about my shoes lest I meet the man who has no feet, but I doubt I would fit in his. Borrow brilliance * MUD PIES Mud pies and retro-childhood Are for the hurt ones, small and angry inside me. They require care and special attention But I can’t stop with them. Saving children to starve the adolescents is a sad fate Or abandoning adults after bringing them all this way Is indescribably cruel. I cannot work on healing All the while waiting for some ice flow To shove myself off on. There is never a time I am not the responsible party For the people who inhabit my interior life I live their reflections everyday. There is no one-way mirror With which to hide unresolved issues No rug to sweep them under They flow through me like a river I must return them to breed new health As a salmon swims back to the waters Of its birth to bring new life. I must brave the complexities of maturity I cannot just sit in the mud |
December 21
Not My Best Friend No matter how tightly I hug a lump of coal I will not prevail in turning it into a diamond. Somedays I accept this better than others. My desire may affect the coal, but this affect is not diamond producing; though it is stress producing. I know it stresses me and chills me to the bone. I had thought of coal as warming, but the disparate love of coal proves to be anything but. I have pinned my hopes on what this lump had the potential to become rather than acceptance of what it is and now I see I must light my own fire and know the coal is not mine. Close the window on harsh winds * AND THIS IS FOR WHAT? I smiled down on God and said---- This is pretty and what is it for? Oh, that’s you life. It is a surprisingly useful thing to have. My Higher Power, like my sponsor Thinks she’s funny but she is not. What am I suppose to do with it? Who do you think I am, your Mother, Your Grandpa Joe, your guidance counselor? I put all the possibilities in you, Then I let the wind blow. What would be the fun of coming here If I gave it to you all mapped out? Did it occur to you the reason people say-- You are right where you are suppose to be Is because you did the things That brought you here, not me. And if you don’t like it here You are the one who needs the motivation To change it. Take my life------Please You are such a comedian! No that’s your department. Could you stop tending your garden For five minutes and give me your attention? I don’t need to give you that kind of attention You bloom on your own. |
December 22
Age and Death When death was young It did its job cleanly no mincing about Now the uncertainty and old age tremble Leave the world filled with half dead zombies Living is less for the faltering of death I would rather be struck down swiftly with a scythe Than bludgeoned endlessly with a butter knife Sing with the wind * Before Pearls You must stop crying You must The endless tears will poison you Your teeth and soul, the life of you Just because you don’t know how you can go on Doesn’t mean the world will stop to let you off The raw red rough of it will drag you to its lair Doing what it will with you, there is no hope to spare Unloved child you must go on Lied to and misguided doesn’t change the time There is nowhere to lie down and sleep No safe and sheltered home So dry your face, pick up your pack Carry all your freight Close your eyes to beauty Close your ears to lies You are the only oyster The sand your only prize |
December 23
Lame I easily identify the big mistakes of my life, but fail to recognize or report the little mistakes that I make, mistakes, which cost me so much. Repetitive irresponsibility has the effect of water torture; drip, drip, drip and my peace of mind is worn away. What can I say of what I refuse to see? It was there all along like the view covered by the shade. Who is to blame for not raising the curtain? It may be me. may not, but I am the one who suffers, I am the one who misses out. Missing the opportunity to grow out of these small deficiencies leaves me with a lifelong handicap and I am not just speaking of my blindness, but also how they make me lame. Protest ignorance * Beginning and End She stepped through my window and the clock stopped. The shock of her arrival heart pounding fun and fury. Forever I felt as if she weren’t there. Fear lurked in my eyes. Smile enchanting. Exit at hand. Good- Bye. |
December 24
Scalene Strangeness is attracting, I don’t try to deny it. I have looked longingly at oddness and every skewed thing. Though I try to divert my gaze the acute angles draw me back to peer again and again. Strange attractors have an unexplainable beauty to me. The wane charisma digs its hooks into my soul and I carry it off like a burr stuck to my hide. What does this say of me, I am not sure? What does it say of the sidelong loves of mine? Volumes, I think it speaks volumes, all of it unknown to me. Collect friendly faces * WHAT’S LEFT AFTER HOPE RUNS AWAY shoes and socks old post cards tennis balls with no more bounce memories that have lost their fun dreams left in the box earrings with the clasp askew things I’ve said dead thoughts, too stacks of books letters written tender feelings wonder---smitten the pain is left and runs around wildly my face is stained and left untidy I can never fill the space Which hope leaves behind it The stage is dark And everything quiet |
December 25
Home Fires Burning I have trouble living with myself that is why I live with you. It takes my mind off the things I don’t wish to face. What I can busy myself within your service lightens the load of expectation heaped in my DNA by my Higher Power and Fate. Worry is time consuming and I wile away hours fretting over you and all your unresolved trifles while turning my back entirely on my life. I couldn’t be happier to have you, though from the corner of my eye I glimpse G-d packing your bags. Wash like you matter to yourself * FOR THIS TIME Your desire is an ephemeral gift I treasure A snowflake on my fingertip, a raindrop on my tongue Your passion is a savory treat in season for this moment Pomegranate seeds and rich truffles tempt and delight me Your kind touch brands me flush, anticipation spreads like flame Wind whips the breath of my wish to the four corners Your acuity plucked me from the page and slipped me in your pocket I nestle quiet with the lint and the cookie remnants |
December 26
A Thousand Windowed House I am like a house with a thousand windows. When I am lit up inside you can see all the way through; when I go dark the reflection of the world around me is all that is visible when you look my way. My sprawling mind is what creates this effigy of me. A tribute when I am well tended and a fire trap when I neglect my duties. If I learn to celebrate in all the rooms this house is my home, so I must practice; dance and sing in the hallways so I can pirouette into the rooms with full voice. For what is the point of being a house with a thousand windows, if I don’t live there? Host sympathy * Love Lets Love melts the icicles in my heart Allows the oxygen to my brain Lets me work unfettered Love pours the warm bath Heats my bones Lets my breath come easy Love wakes me to sunrise Beds me at dusk Lets my body unfurl Love builds me a pantry Fills it with goods Lets me eat my fill Love rights my boat Bails my bilge Lets me sail on home Love dresses me in safety Undresses me in secret Lets me see myself Love opens doors Closes windows Lets me go my way Love puts a penny in my hand A dollar in my pocket Lets me save the fare Love burns your image in my brain Holds you tight within my heart Lets me dream of you |
December 27
Harriet Powers Like a creature with a long tale told in a hushed voice. The whispers tell the story with inflection and innuendo. I slink away from the mirror and the disembodied voices it engenders. Thirty versions of my past spin away from me in the eddies of time gone and misremembered. I gather my fragments and tatters; I thread my needle and sit to quilt me into the present. The odd assortment left from all which has worn out or been pulled apart fit in a pinwheel pattern and turn toward a better day. The night is warmer for now I have it covered, settled and safe, perhaps now I might even sleep. Use a crutch if you have to but move * Best so Far Being the best so far doesn’t mean so awful much Makes you the current standard bearer is all Not even keeper of the watch. I can’t give you a torch to hold Certainly not a title either of Daddy or of Din You will find your way through this morass Keep your courage if not your cast But this is a hard thing my dear, dear friend Because the old tricks they don’t work no more And the new tools ain’t broke in. And lest I should forget Just because you say you have a sense of humor about yourself Doesn’t mean you have it And when you try to take me to hand It doesn’t mean you ken it And all the days that dreams drift by It doesn’t mean they’re yours and mine For time must play its evil trick And leave good things to pass by us But this doesn’t mean that hope is lost Or even that I’ve found it Only that peace is a thing which seeps And pressing will confound it So maybe when you are pushing seventy And are sober nearly as I am now I will read this to you And we will laugh For by then being the best so far Will matter a little more and hurt a little less. |
December 28
Entrée Entrée I am not one to order an appetizer, I prefer the main meal. Even if I carry the majority of the entrée home I like to have it all there before me. Knowing there is enough, might I want it, means peace of mind and I can relax and eat what I wish. That’s how much I fear. Fear opening my mouth to ask for more. Fear not anticipating my actual appetite. Fear of having nothing to show for my evening out. What could it all be like had I felt free of rules and public policy that must be carried out in private? I might never know, but what I do know is that I need to overcome this. Not because of starving children near or far, not to eliminate the science experiments of mold growth and wilted lettuce in my frig, but in order that I have a chance to have my desert and eat it too and leave the rest unordered. Lubricate the places where you get stuck * Burying the Impossible Dream I didn’t waken it and twist it in a shroud I propped it in a corner and attempted to play house. I didn’t face the truth and love the loss that goes along I clung tighter than tight and buried my face in the back of its shirt. I didn’t stand and look in the mirror I stared into space and played the film strips of futurity. I didn’t breathe in and out keeping my heart aloft I held it all with empty lungs and pallid pulseless bosom I didn’t do the things I could not do I did the things I had to do I didn’t think I could ever let it go I know now that I must |
December 29
Hey Little Sister Who pulls the trigger, you or I, in this Shotgun relationship? Is it more to the point if you slit my throat or if I slit my own? I only ask for the sake of expedience, rudeness was never my intent. I know we both wish this dilemma resolved with due speed and precision where possible. I am not as concerned with my survival as much as neatness all around. I hate to leave you with a mess and I would tuck my tail and go, but I have tried that before and still we end up here, so lets end this shall we and hope that there are better worlds than this to find after we have shattered the sugar egg we used to live in. Tend your human ivory * I AM I am unloved though most everyone loves me I am unwanted though there are those who stand in line I am unknown though people who’ve met me never forget I am unconscious though I seem awake Because today it is about how I feel not what is real |
December 30
Einstein’s Apple Time is a player in every play, forever running forward even as I try to claw my way into the past. If I don’t provide a role, time writes itself in without regard for my intended plotline. Like the weather, time is by turns gentle and fierce. I must pay attention lest I run afoul of it and lose my life and limb. Though time is an arc I see swinging in my mind it is still the arrow shot and I am simply the fool with the apple. Take a vacation from your expectations * Talk to me before I sleep Talk to me before I sleep Lay your hand upon my cheek Talk to me before I sleep All the years are yours to keep Talk to me before I sleep Fold me deep within your speech Talk to me before I sleep Hold me tight when I start to reach Talk to me before I sleep Never let me touch the sheet Talk to me before I sleep Warm me with your wondrous heat Talk to me before I sleep Precious are the things you teach Talk to me before I sleep Love and kindness is how you greet Talk to me before I sleep Into darkness let me seep Talk to me before I sleep In my dreams it’s you I seek Talk to me before I sleep I fear that I am in too deep Talk to me before I sleep Wake me to the morning dew Talk to me before I sleep Let me know it’s always you |
December 31
Again Truth Not wanting to speak the truth doesn’t change the truth, truth is funny that way, it is not affected by my cold shoulder. I snub it and it stands just the same. I am the one who bends and withers. Truth withstands the pressure that I never have, the force of other people’s disappointment and regret. I have sympathy or is it cowardice? I tremble at the power of emotion and truth just carries on. I do not want to be the truth or stand in its place; for truth is not a beating heart and I am too much a feeling creature, but I will learn to keep the company of honesty and right. And stand under the arching bough of truth, because it is a shelter from the winds of change and I need all the help I can get. When I am tempted to shun truth in favor of expedience I will try to remember that life is longer than I think and if I don’t face the truth now it is going to be in my face later when I might be less prepared. Make the bed so that it is an invitation at the end of the day * Essentials What is essential....is the correct amount of pressure as I press my lips to yours. What is essential....is the way I slide my arms around your neck and slip my fingers through your hair. What is essential....is the scent that rises from the nape of my neck as you kiss it. What is essential....is the moan you illicit from my soul What is essential....beyond the toe curl and the secret smile is well founded trust, also admiration. |
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. |
January 2
GOOD AS GOLD Just because I’m as good as gold doesn’t mean that I win the prize. Doesn’t mean I get my way. Doesn’t mean I gain your heart. Being ‘extra special sweetness and light girl’ doesn’t secure my future. It does prevent me from living my life as someone I don’t like. It contents me to keep my own company. It is a huge improvement over living as the raging fury I once was. Any destination I desire is more readily assessable from this amiable posture; in spite of inexpert yearning. I can breathe past you if must be, walk down the road holding my own hand instead of holding a lung full of air. But I am the treasure. You must earn me never capture me. Appreciate me not devalue me. I’m good as gold. And please know that I am the prize. Remember yourself as you would an old friend ~ THERE ARE ONLY 23 MORE SHOPPING DAYS LEFT TILL MY NERVOUS BREAKDOWN Shoppers beware: I have a careful plan I can juggle these thirty things and keep these twenty people happy Dig around in the dirt at these three excavation sites And hold onto 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 isn't all wrong. OK, quiet....da, da, da, ...da, da, OK quiet for real Hmmmm, 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. |
January 3
Maniacs on Pogo Sticks I fear maniacs on pogo sticks peeping through my rural second story windows as the smoke of paranoia curls between my ears. Overestimating my interest to others causes me as much harm as the underestimation. Attributing super powers to onlookers is a parlor trick my ego plays to keep me occupied while my life passes by. I sacrifice all my possibilities for fear of what could be stolen through my keyhole. I cut off my face to spite my poor lonely nose. I must move forward in spite of my disquietude for the future lay ahead, yet I do console myself that it is harder to hit a moving target. Use honey to get the peas to stick to your knife ~ DIDN'T KNOW I WAS GOING TO THE CIRCUS I show up at a meeting I didn't know the circus was in town I expected calm, demure, sober behavior My expectations were dashed, my bubble burst. There were people streaming back and forth in front of the speaker There were kids playing among the chairs Smokers worked the meeting in shifts Hustling out the back door and smoldering back in. The side conversations rivaled the main attraction People dressed for the street not the meeting, the bibby shirt, tights and no shirt Was more of a high-wire act then I had ever seen before Shock cannot even begin to describe the state of my mind. "But for the grace of God" said my sponsor "No" I said "It's a choice, they're sober now." "Oh yes" she remarked "Weren't you sober when you took on Every man with time, looking for a fight with each of them?" "I was cutting my chops. They understood." "Some of them didn't." said she "Weren't you sober when you dyed your hair red - but only half?" " I was afraid I'd dye my scalp, so I started lower." "Yes, but aren't you the one who says sudden hair color change Is a sign of instability in sobriety?" "Yes, I do." I replied "I think you would have fit in well with the circus." "You and your two tone hair but you didn't hear it from me." "You're mean." "And what are you being?" "Judgmental." "That's my girl, what are we going to do about it?" "Be grateful, grateful I got in quick enough" "Grateful people let me work things out in these rooms." "Grateful I still have something to learn from everyone. GRATEFUL." |
"I sacrifice all my possibilities for fear of what could be stolen through my keyhole."
(quoting LeftWriteFemme above) Sherry, this line you wrote is so powerful! Love it! I would like to take this time to thank you for being here, sharing your recovery, your writings with us. You sure help me. :) Brock |
Brock,
It is my pleasure! I appreciate you taking the time to come in here and read! Means so much! I hope you are well and had a great holiday! How are the puppies?? Sherrie |
*I spelled your name wrong AGAIN. What is that ... the 2nd or 3rd time? I am embarrassed - so sorry. I have an AA friend from my group named Sherry and she does the "y" thingy. The two of you are the only friends I have with that name and I am accustomed to seeing her name written on the board for various service work, etc. Still, no excuse.*
Sherrie, I love coming and reading your posts. And your "Sober on the Way to Sane" book is excellent too. That book is part of my morning meditation. Your work and your writings inspire me. Kelly and Kevin are doing great. Thanks for asking about my canine children. :) They both are power-chewers so I just have to make sure I keep something for them to chew on. I would be afraid to leave work and come home if I didn't keep them in chewie toys. It would be unsettling to pull into my driveway and see the whole side of the house had been knawed out. LOL! Not to mention the vet bill for having to get her to pluck the splinters out of their gums. It is never a dull moment around here with these two clowns. How is your dog doing? I bet she doesn't like to go outside in the cold, does she? Alright, my friend ... talk later. Take care. :) |
January 4
One Singular Crowd Isolation among the isolators is replete with metaphor and theme. Expectation blithers loudly but is drown by the palpable inevitability of the outcome. I pirouette in a room filled with dancers but we do not touch, we just spin near one another full view but little contact. Yet I hear my heart beating in my ear and know that I am alive. The flush of neighboring cheeks attests to duplicate conditions there. We are moving together sometimes in harmony but other times in antipathy, dependant all the same. We are the army of independent meanings. Individual cases sharing one slender goal but that’s all that we need. If you can’t find the grape try some jelly. ~ THE BOAT On my ride home from work there's a boat stuck between two trees In the middle of a horse pasture Next to a riverbed so dry it's filled with grass. I think the boat is me. I feel for the boat every time I see it. Turned on edge, waiting for a river which doesn't exist anymore And may never exist again Placed on edge for protection, not comfort. Although having my bottom rot out Well, let's just say, might be more uncomfortable What good will I be even if the river runs again Since I'm fenced in? If my Higher Power has a plan If it includes a river and a fence If I'm in this plan, me, the row boat I just don't see it. Not seeing my purpose in life is a theme in my life Truth is, I don't want to face the fact, I might float away Even though I'm supported by two big trees Even though there is a tall fence around me. Completely in spite of the fact THERE IS NO WATER My Higher Power loves me. I AM THE BOAT |
January 5
Time’s Temperament Bubbling tides of white water, time roils past me and my protests go unheard. Physic feedback loops revisit raw moments to me with inopportune exactitude. The beautiful droplets of dawn rain down then evaporate leaving another day’s timeline to fan out before me. The alternating fury and jubilation of passing intervals leaves a challenge, first a question of bend or break, second a call to forecast. Can I flex or will I live in pieces? Shall I look at patterns and strive for harmonious waltz or turn my face from the calendar dreading each trice? Bully or benefactor time rolls. I can go with it or be under it that choice is mine. Orbit order ~ THE FLOCK Today I came to a place in the road covered with birds The nearby field - covered in birds - the trees covered. As I approached the birds took wing The flock responded to my presence Each bird flew - the sky darkened with their flight. Wave upon wave, boundaries intact Taking action in the face of obstacle. The gift of instinct displayed for me as I fly to my meeting My instinct rehab, I am learning my intuition My sponsor spoons it to me from the steps. I suck it down never knowing what it is about the process That makes me better Anymore then I know how grain and bugs make birds fly. I have theories, things I roll in my fingers when I'm nervous. I get glimmers. Things my Higher Power sparkles in my eyes for a treat. In truth, I don't know how, I don't need to know Anymore than birds need to know lift to weight ratios. When I respond to life events When I spend less time self-concerned I am closer to self. "Aren't we spiritually centered?" Quips my sponsor "Yes" I reply "One day in a row." "I'm going for the record." "That's all the birds have." "You're doing as well as they." she smiles and pats my back |
My bio birthday and 33 years , 11 months and 29 days ago.
Quote:
I have loved "The Boat" for years. And seeing the actual boat that promted it in NJ was amazing. Thanks for keeping the light on. Getting close to my other celebration of Jan. 7 and being around other program members last night, young and old, I know how precious this One Day At a Time is. I remember getting sober 12,416 days ago one day at a time like it was yesterday. 33 years , 11 months and 29 days later, I am the same person, but with a soul that's healthy, alive and well. So glad to be sober, and a beacon for those stlll out there and a lifesaver to those hanging on by that slim rope. |
January 6
Hand Me Down Pain You have sent a cold thing into my heart it causes my feet to move me away from you. It need not be spoken of this is a thing of ice and lead. Words are no help here action is the only cure. Eternity can be spent with a soul bisected by slivers. Stepping the willing way to joy and freedom seems so unlikely from this frosty local. Make my mind up I must. Close my eyes and move forward. I will leave your pain behind me I hope not to have to leave you. Kiss tiny pebbles and roll them away ~ HELP FROM STRANGE SOURCES I cannot get my mind wrapped around the places I find help. I struggle with believing I have been helped. I struggle with disbelief at my own resistance. I am helped daily by many tiny things seen and unseen. I realize now I was injured by the same tiny things. When I was misaligned with my Higher Power The sun rising, the tiny star I circle in this great nothingness It makes my whole day. The air hanging around just in case I need it, Which I often do. The people who live with me, a mean feat. The people who work with me. Those who exist here with me keep my ship on course, How sweet of them to do mostly right everyday of their lives, What a help that is. The whole ecosystem and all the weather What would I do without it? But this is on a good day, On a bad day, the sun is in my eyes and scorching my skin, The air is too still, or well, the wind is always a problem. And people, people are an endless plight, People do things to hurt, annoy and irritate me, Full intent, targeted to me, my life, my wants destroyed. Bugs seek me and I am followed by the darkest cloud, Everyday, all day, lurking. I AM SO THANKFUL FOR A SPONSOR AND A TENTH STEP |
34 years ago my Daddy found an alternate route home by passing the plan hys addiction had for hym. I am so fortunate to have met hym on this path!!!!
My Daddy is the coolest ever!! http://www.woodenurecover.com/assets...ker-button.jpg http://www.flhsmv.gov/fhp/misc/images/SafeSober.jpg Happy Sober Birthday!!! http://rlv.zcache.com/12_step_cards_...32q6ay_400.jpg all my love, the girl |
January 7
Dion Everything in the world happened before I was born and the cinders sift through my fingers. Accomplishing cohesion of the ashes is a goal I have not yet achieved. Cremains precious but meager are a difficult building material, shifting due to emotions and wind, I find they stick too well to my lungs and not well enough to anything else. Tears help, but I will not cry forever. I must draw from a fresh water source and wet the powdery scratch I have inherited and form the world anew. Use caution when interacting with the crème de la crème this may trigger intolerance * OLD GOLDFISH I got them when my sobriety was new. They were tiny little guys, ten cent feeders. I wanted my stepson to sleep soundly In our strange jumble of a home, fresh from purchase. The tank sat on a dresser under his elevated bed Space to fit my hand to feed them No space for baby boy to climb in I loved my goldfish. There is never a NO with goldfish Feed them as often as you want Let the water get cold Put them in a big space, small place, plants, no plants. NO was so hard, I hate and fear No. I am hard, fish are easy. Tears and mesmerizing aquarium Meetings and steps. I could not keep myself alive I don't know how I kept the fish fed. The program kept me going, Kept hope flowing and the fish swam. In this century when we are finally outliving wild goldfish We are sober together, By the grace of Higher Power, in this century. It's been a wonderful time. I am grateful to be here with the goldfish. I am grateful the goldfish are here for me. Expecting so little Maybe I could return the favor |
34 years later and My cup runneth over...with coffee or Diet Coke.
What it was like: What a sobering thought. I did ride those dangerous bikes, I did chase with the CHP on the LA Freeways. I did dance and fuck the years away with girls I never knew , but for that fucking experience, another high.
My biggest excursions from the past I used to have SOME memory of. It did not scare me to wake up and not remember the night or day before. Did not care about the headaches, or what people told me. Did not care if I went to work dizzy, if I went at all. I didn't care that my Mother and I , and her girlfriend were homeless and lived in a park near Disneyland. Didn't care that I made money from spending time...with older women in the Hollywood Hills. It did not concern me that hanging and retching over some filthy stinking toilet bowl in any dirty bar I could get to, if I was fortunate to make it that was not a normal thing when I drank. It just seemed to give me more room to drink again, when I woke up. At those times, I was the party animal, the social bad boy who could leap tall girls in a single bound. I was loved and I loved, or ...so I thought. The startling pictures of me trapped beside a porcelain throne and the wall is one of my startling wake up photo's. They told me they wera about to call the fire department, because i was so stuck. They did not, but took the time to take pictures, and let me sleep it off right there. I never recalled it, but looked at the ugly pictures of a drunk and realized THAT WAS ME, and I did not look like I was having a good time. I did care about the holes punched in walls, the wrath when i turned on those I loved, who took the blunt of the unhappy drunk. I did care about the money I wasted over many years, over many people. I did care when I caught my partner cheating on me and almost killed that other person. I moved out and left the house to her. I did care after another nasty breakup, that I had to file bankruptcy and I left her keep the house. Signed a Quit Claim deed for a dollar. What it is like now: Since then, the sober walk taught me, I can dance...even better, because I don't fall. I choose the time and place to crash. The memory isn't affected by alcohol and drugs, but..where DID I PARK my car, is a common thing I hear. Where my keys are is important..and what I had for dinner two days ago don't matter. If I forget your name, I may remember where we were, and what you were wearing. and as for the Love/s in my life. I remember all the loving beautiful, and sexual creatures I have been blessed to be with. I found my bio-family to be accepting of who the sober me is. I found my chosen family to be the best people on the Planet, whether or not they are sober or not, and I get to be surrounded by those I choose. My Ex of 21 years, and I raised a beautiful daughter, who had a small wonderful wedding , and now 5 years later, I have two amazing, Grandkids. I was able to go back to school and work, and back to school while I worked 3 jobs, and and, I loved school, so ..well two Master's Degrees later, I now enjoy the career path started after the USAF. I was helped by the strong character of a mother who got sober the same time I did. I had the help of loved ones that knew I could make it. Have healthy relationships with Ex's and my family/s. Now, I just do the fun stuff, travel, do photgraphy, plant a garden, and mow the lawn, and move the rocks, and take fun sculpting and art classes for the fun of using the kiln and racks, and being with other artists. I have a career that gives me joy, pleasure and helps others as I have been helped. Security of a job which I will choose the date when I leave. My own home in the safest city in America for the past 6 years, and many people in my life that are pure and sound, and loving. I have a girl I met on-line that adores me, loves writing and art too, accepts this LDR, and I adore in my own sobering selfish way-Plus she has been sober for over twenty years. She posts here, and other places every day in her giving back service to those that may join her on the path. I am thrilled to be the designated driver. I am uplifted to travel and attend an AA meeting with total strangers , and feel at home, and who for that time are not picking up, offering hugs with no strings attached, and of course drink a cup of that famous AA coffee. Tonight, I will take my chip from someone who is probably new to the program, and doing service because they were told it is good to do. Who is probably younger than the years I have been sober. They will be scared of someone with so many years, and don't know if they could ever do it. I will tell them. Just For Today, we are sober together, and hope to see them again as we trudge this road of happy destiny. My God has blessed me in many ways, and for 12, 418 days, or 1072949261. 62 , 63 hearbeats i have been one of millions doing it One Day at a Time..... Check yours out here-> |
January 8
Lathe Turning into a spin, the edge cuts into my misconceptions, the point sharp and accurate to a fault digs into the excess I carry around, keeping me from my useful purpose. A good eye and steady hand are needed lest breakthrough ruin me. Not that all is ever lost for a spoon with a hole in the bowl will stir a soup smooth. Relinquishing my burdens and trusting the carvers tools and methods takes great commitment. I am carved commitment or no, but things turn out better when I don’t flinch. If you can’t make hay then mow the lawn * IN A BACKWATER There is a place so removed, uninspired, ignorance flourishes I hate to go there. I avoid it when I can Today I could not avoid it. Today I saw the gable end of a small barn Half hidden in the scrub trees. On the face of the gable end are two plywood cutouts They are large, taking up the major portion of the space. The first is a budgie, a bright blue parakeet, 7 or 8 feet tall. It is tilted to it's side, it looks dyslexic but intriguing Above it is a cutout of a black guitar, similar in length. Hanging long ways across the top, almost from eve to eve. I don't know what it means. Why they are there. Who could have put them there. A story is there, Just sticking it's tongue out at me. I can hardly bear it. I think of God and laugh. If my God has nothing better to do then tease me, I need a better God. I think of my Higher Power and wonder if the power is curious too. Am I overlapping a layer of consciousness I have no part in? Is this subliminal previews of my future? Am I too nosey for my own good? I just don't know It could be something all together different I have only time. Time will tell in the end it always does. I hate to wait |
January 9
Crestfallen “Whoa is me, I have crested the rise only to slide down the other side. Hard work and determination culminated in victory but alas it was short lived. Success is barely meaningful if it is permanent. Poor, poor dear, I will have to strive once more at the face of a new challenge or even worse might have to make another run at this one. How shall I ever bear it?” I lament, my sponsor smiles. “Are you learning to be amused at yourself or hoping to bring back melodrama to the everyman?” She queries. “A little of both I think, whining is a consolation to me,” I reply. “It’s nice that you’re not doing it at me, but even nicer that you have let your achievements teach you to laugh at your mishaps,” says my sponsor with a kiss to my forehead. Butter both sides of your intentions * BREAKING MY OWN GLASS The police of a small town caught a serial glass breaker today. The man who owned a plate glass repair shop Was breaking store front windows. I break my own. I go through my life, I slash my own tires And break my own glass. I fear continuity, stability, success. I love damage control, making arts and craft from my slivers and shards "Think what you could do with undamaged goods." Says my sponsor I don't know how to do anything with undamaged goods Except damage them or give them to others. "Saddest thing I've ever heard." she counters I can make a quilt from discarded clothes, mosaics from shattered dishes A collage from junk mail and rescue every stray on the block, See the potential in every person in a crowded hall And hold your hand and cheer you on. "What have you done for you lately?" my sponsor taunts She is making my point, what can I do for me? Search and destroy? Live outside myself? I have to be sober to be me, I can't go around making a mess Just so I have something familiar to wallow in. What if I can't do anything fresh? "Learn to market the retreads.' she says |
January 10
Hoarfrost On balmy evenings dew forms in my life and moistens my extremities. This friendly act requires the maintenance of temperature. If I become suddenly cool the landscape changes and the once welcoming vapor is now a show of crystalline rigidity. Cold to the morning light I am brittle and snap at even a tentative touch. For want of passion I have replaced it with definition and structure I can not absorb. I am outlined clearly but no longer myself. I am frozen, formally changed within and without. Warmth is necessary, but how to start my own fire? Learn, I must and quickly lest frostbite set in. Wear your mantle don’t leave it to the fireplace * LONELINESS EATS MY LUNCH There are days loneliness eats my lunch And I can't fight back. How can I stand it, How can it still be this bad? I pull out the old chestnuts. If I'm not happy with what I have How could I be happier with more? Even tickets on the 50 yard line don't interest me, I came to play. I think of other slogans, the tidbits, the smiles and hugs. I roll them around. Still, there are days my lunch is gulped down And I sit with my plate empty. Pickle juice, coleslaw drool is small comfort Actually, it's a jeer. I stare at my empty plate I turn and twist it, stick my tongue out at it. "Your good company." Says my sponsor Then why am I alone, if I'm so good If my company is worthwhile Why do I sit her hungry and desperate? "Are you sure you are?" It sure feels that way. "Well, it might be true and it might not." I get it. I am unhooked from myself I am ignoring the multitude at my elbow While looking for someone in my lap I'm holding out for old terms from a new contract I am loved by people Who aren't trying to consume me And I am letting my expectations Dine for free. |
January 11
Pepo My father used to destroy a perfectly good watermelon by cutting a triangle in the top and pouring a bottle of vodka into it. I used to destroy my perfectly good melon the same way. Emulating bad ideas in new ways was a onetime pastime of mine. Giving it up was harder than I had expected. Flawed thinking blends so freely with my mental landscape I have trouble distinguishing it. Condemning the action and not the man is not usually my preferred method. I would rather condemn the man, but this leaves me with the actions in place and him long gone. And though I prefer him gone I will recreate him within myself if I don’t flush his actions as well. I have a good pumpkin on my shoulders but it is my job to keep it intact. No need to wait for joy, jump when you please * LIFE IS TOO GOOD I know it sounds crazy, is crazy But I hate having the fear, the gnawing gut, of WHAT IF WHAT IF I can't maintain this, the sober life I live. WHAT IF I get struck, unable to connect to my Higher Power? I had a spiritual awaking WHAT IF I get spiritual narcolepsy? My spiritual cord was cut when I was young, not by my choosing WHAT IF it gets cut again? "WHAT IF this line of thinking cuts it?" Asks my sponsor I hate when she's right. WHAT IF this is a test? Be like them or not. Follow the path of the twelve steps When there is no weight of need pushing me When everything is going in my direction I have to keep my eye on the ball for myself. I am still not God This is the lesson The abusers never learned The one I have to. What went wrong was not bad people Making bad choices, in bad circumstances It was disconnected people Making decisions without help. I have to stay in your pocket Never be a free bird I have to remember what true freedom is It's not being cut loose. I have had that And it never felt free Keep your eye on the ball And hold onto my hand. |
January 12
Live Bait Is being a taunt to others really a life? Dangling as the cover for a hook, luring intended and unintended to their deaths, is that living? Or if I draw you with my attack rather than my appeal is that a worthwhile existence? If I carry myself filled with poison praying for a strike is that anything other than a march to an unhappy grave for two, or more? Hidden under an avalanche of harassment strips me of my vital quality and my soul loses its true nature. I am allowed to transcend the setup of competition and social strife. It’s alright to be tempting with no agenda. I could be an appetizer if only I removed the barbs or better yet I could be dessert. Tuck tiny wishes between your toes. * JOY IS NOT ENOUGH I was driving around in my car Eating a meltingly ripe persimmon On the radio came a fiddle playing band Performing their rendition of In The White Room I was traveling with the three drafts of my first step Version one consisted of 690-some words And the final had only four, JOY IS NOT ENOUGH That's it, the whole thing. Today my life is unmanageable Due to the fact that having a balanced life Feeling my wide range of feelings, including joy, Is not sufficient to eliminate the pain and damage of the past. My horrific childhood has not healed Has not mended seamlessly I have joy today, everyday, at some point In proportion to my sober choices. I fail to realize the promise doesn't say, Heal the past It says, I will not regret the past. I don't, at least not any of the choices I made, Other peoples choices are not mine to regret. I will not wish to shut the door on the past And I don't wish to. I want it Healed I may not get my wish Just because I am doing my part to heal the past Doesn't make anyone else do it I can't strong-arm the perpetrators into recovery The way they strong-armed me into the abuse JOY IS NOT ENOUGH but it's a hell of a start. |
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