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April 21
Bound The reason the sleeves of my disease wrap around and tie in the back is so that I will struggle with change. Alcoholism is my straightjacket and my goal is that ‘loose garment life’ I’ve heard so much about. The sweat I work up from railing against my confining existence causes petulance. Frothing and enervated, defeat is the landing on which I collapse, acceptance a flight of steps away. My ailment leads me to believe I have nothing to hold onto as I adjust; and though this isn’t true, the fact remains that this is still a process of letting go. Have a parenthetical lunch with a friend * PINK CLOUD When the pink cloud lands in my valley My task is to walk The pleasure of its presence can never outweigh The practice this cloud affords me. Walking in a haze of cherry blossom lightness The future is a blur I do not fear Forward motion seeds my inertia I will keep on. When the test begins And I must proceed in the obscurity of night The lively steps of pink-cloud days Will cheer and empower me. I can imbed my future with right action And bank the confidence I feel today Saving it for the rain swept days which come to everyone Progress is positive even when made in bliss. |
April 22
Bummed I accept change like coins slipped into a cup that sits beside me on the curb; never did it occur to me that I look in need of pity or alms from strangers; which is to say I don’t accept much these days, yet I do not fight it either. I keep my head down when I can no longer fend off the inevitable. I may not win control or compliance, might not remain strong enough to fight another day, but this too is a blessing somehow. A laying down of arms and money in my pocket makes the world a funny place to endure when I’m living in the tiny room in my head. What good news it would be if I learned to throw the windows open and let the day take me, though this time it’s G-d that needs to wear the ear muffs and lead me through the coldness of change. On my own I just walk further down the blind alleys and fold myself on this sidewalk in exhaustion. I don’t like the tea or the sympathy, but I don’t think I would mind if G-d took me in. Alphabetize your expectations * HOLD CARD My bottom pulled my hold card to the tabletop I turned it over and found I have a bit of value Each time I turned over my will My value increased. After many spins, the face cards appear I’m the Jack, the Queen, the King I revel in the times and practice it has taken to get here I play my hand and take my chances I have been privileged to pair with wonderful sober partners Who turn themselves over and transform before my eyes The years raise the anti And I play close to my chest The stakes are high And if I turn in the wrong direction I can be the Joker once again. |
April 23
Exposition Is there a difference between being discerning and being critical? Is it in the direction from whence I came or the destination to which I am driven? Does performance to an audience, even if it is the one in my head, create the line of demarcation or is it all one big bowl of goo? Does putting too fine a point of everything pierce my serenity and prick my skin? Is it the grating unplanned nature of life that bothers me into commentary or is it my in born desire to dissection that pushes me? And where is there room for kindness; is it in my dissertation or could it be in my critique? Bury ideas about nuts * THE MEAL Home cooking is the key I want to order in, Have my life delivered to the door The takeout menus entice me From three courses on china To burgers handed through sliding windows. It all sounds good and I request all for take home But this is not the way I must light the flame and chop the veggies I can’t have a life prepared by others I can share recipes and suggestions This is help not displacement I can stand and cook with others And together make a feast I can not sit and wait to be served. I stand at the range while the sauce simmers And it comes clear I am my own meal. |
April 24
More Better When I take a break from my idyllic life, trading up to paradise, I balk at thoughts of returning to the simply marvelous day to day I have worked so hard to attain. Self accusation floods under the door, but I whimilate it with fact. My reluctance to turn my back on a good thing is an asset which many days keeps me sober. I greedily seize every improvement and hold on for dear life. If reflections of the past even held a glimmer for me I might worry; I turn from all but the highest good. I don’t regret the past but I shall never return to it. Glance at the path you feel lead to * REALLY RAINING Why do people ask if someone is really sober? They’re checking for winners, I guess responded my sponsor But what does that mean? Well, when the clouds roll in And the next thing you know it’s really raining You can clearly discern the difference between that and just a shower The commitment of water saturates the atmosphere And rain is the undeniable certainty That is what people are looking for And they ask to discover if the person even comprehends the concept What do they do if the person is really sober? Stand next to them And soak it all in. |
April 25
Coming Home to Work I have arrived home to a beehive; everyone industrious, everyone filled with purpose, everything buzzing right along. My response to this of course is anger. I have a sting and I want to use it. I have a place it falls into yet I fear falling. The living world is now opened to me, but my destination had been death for so long that the prospect of diligence ignites steel blue fury. I divide my time between gratitude and rage. I want to accuse myself, rescue myself, then I remember everyone in this place has a buzz, a stripe and a stinger. Hum in a foreign language * DESSERT I have to be my own appetizer I have to be the thing which entices and intrigues me I must be the roughage, the salad full of color and variety The entrée must be me, as well. The things which sustain me The meat of my life I have to supply and swallow it down I can be all this. I run to the sweetness of others But this cannot be my source of sustenance The greater part of me Needs to derive from me. I can set the table And fill it with the fullness of who I am I am enough and others are dessert Twinkies will never be sufficient, they can only be a treat. |
April 26
Imperturbable Perfectionism is a cover, a blanket of lead; hard to move and rich with poison. What it tries to hide is my unwillingness to struggle and strive. It’s not a fear of failure, but the horror of success after a long hot pursuit. If I can stall on the intricacies of the first move there is no further movement. If I can fail before I begin there is no sweat, no stain, no stink. Catastrophe is no bother, but skinned knees are my undoing. Winning is not so important to me; my unfortunate goal is to look untroubled. Snap a picture of your beliefs * TRANSITIONS During the months of winter The trees stand tall and leafless Static in their appearance, frozen in direction The insurgence of spring brings to life the truth The buds and flowers show the draw of the their owners The pull of life from the earth and sky. Other trees have begun to restore the gifts so graciously given These leafless giants open themselves As home and sustenance to the surrounding community Returning favors and flavors, coming to terms with wholeness Celebrations of all I have, call for me to give back Even during the time when we all look the same. |
April 27
Blinded Alcoholism hits me like a kind of blindness. I stagger through the living room cursing anyone who changes familiar placement or published timetables. Like every aspect of this disease shocked sightlessness is mine to deal with. I must pick up the white cane, procure the Seeing Eye pup, learn to read clustered braille. When my vision clears in these well worked spaces I am relieved, but I must accept that when I walk into a new room more often then not I will be blind again and must pick up my walking stick once more. Apply a timeframe to misery * STREET SIGNS Hanging out on the corner of Disillusion Boulevard and Grief Road Then returning to that special spot on Despair Avenue Was my daily routine. I made the circle and never looked far afield Widening my circuit Allowed me to find Anticipation Place and Hopeful Terrace I pushed my search and found roads Whose existence I never fathomed intersected Creating areas of intrigue Optimism Court interfacing with Realization Way Is the fairest of my finds But many a fine street corner has me lurking Catching stray sunshine and encouragement I make my home wherever the hospitality is available And return less often to the dark and stifling places of the past Happiness is where you find it Just make sure to read the signs. |
April 28
Perkiomenville Being actually alive does not feel as good as I imagined the relief of being dead would feel and therefore I have anxiety and dread, or is it disappointment. I feel like a failure when I am in the process of trying and I want to throw the pieces in the air and run. Does this mean I’m weak or does it mean I am frightened? Or is there some heavenly host of other reasons why my crêpe paper soul twists and turns in the breeze of the marketplace? Some part of me was auctioned off and its removal left a psychic scar that even equanimity can not ease. I am all things wonderful and yet there is this flaw, this toe tied thread which holds me back, holds me down with painful accurate precision. I look for the knife with which to cut it all the while wondering if this will turn it into a toe tag or a price tag. Police your self destruction * K-TURNS I do not believe in a universe that makes complete sense I often find myself trapped Because the things I pull into no longer feel firm. I attempt K-turns in alleys far too narrow for the maneuver I can’t back myself through the passages I plunged into willingly My faith doesn’t compute in reverse and I find this disconcerting I may walk into the face of fire But find it impossible to turn my back on the flame Today a one-way faith is fine As long as I am moving forward. |
Hello to Sherrie and Everyone! Sherry, I knew I would get a lift when I came in and read your writings. Hope things are going well for you and Tommi.
As of lately, my theme has been "ceased fighting" ... I am finding the road much smoother when I practice this. I surprised myself yesterday by not going off on someone at work who desperately needed to hear what I had to say. I found by curbing my tongue, I did not die from it. LOL! I cannot help but notice that recovering alcoholics/addicts are not the only ones with built-in self-sabotaging features. I thought to myself ... "Step aside, let someone else experience the opportunity in handling difficult people who generate the identical reoccurring situations - faulty software which requires recoding." Maybe this person who is pissing off several team members, will eventually one day tire of having to recode this particular piece of work and do it the correct way on the first go at it. Or maybe they won't. The main thing, I can let others point out the flaw today. I remove my software police badge, allow another team member to notice this EXACT cyclic error produced by this same individual in every similar given situation .... the result --- > lighter load for me. When I can remember that I am easily replacable, hold no special talents, no importance and am merely one tiny grain of sand among bazillions ... my ego gets trimmed to right-size and others find me more pleasant to be around. I embrace this easy ride I have been freely given lately and am enjoying the simplest of things. Today I feel right-sized. Hope I can continue to remember the things my program has taught me and maybe, just maybe ... I can be right-sized again tomorrow. We'll see. Wishing everyone goodness today! Buy the ticket. Take the ride. |
April 29
Would You Rather a Lamp? I am a girl filled with expectations. Like a ginger jar filled, stuffed caulker block full, though the filling is the part which is unpredictable; it could be match books, or seashells, acorns or all those pretty capsules. This makes me erratic and sometimes volatile. Are you strong enough or far too sane to stay and help me sort the contents? It’s lonely work without a witness or a spotter. I rather be alone than with you reluctantly, so please try to shuck that husk and remain. Yes, I am sometimes capricious, but I try never to be cruel. I know sometimes you convince yourself that leaving me to my own devices is the wisest of courses, but don’t be fooled; you disappear due to your weakness not strength and the worst part about the price of abandonment is that everyone has to pay it. Design a window that looks out on your dreams * THE SHINY THING The starling stands with the candy wrapper in its beak The cellophane flexes in the breeze Here is my life I have the shiny thing in my possession , What do I do? Do I give up my intended tasks to attempt dominance Or control of the shiny thing? Do I release this thing of intrigue and beauty I am drawn to the shimerance and sparkle But shutter at the price The world is filled with shiny things I can enjoy them But leave them where they lay. |
Quote:
Wow, Brock, that is a huge lesson learned! I am so impressed! It can't be easy working on such intense work and still being able to let people learn or not learn their lessons, wow, hurray you!!!! I hope you have a wonderful day! Take care, Sherrie |
April 30
Jane Street The space between wanting to live and not wanting to hurt is the alley in which I live. This lane is not as narrow as you might think, in some places there is room for parking on one side. Since I reside here more often than not I have filled it with many of the appliances, which allow me to pretend at life. It doesn’t afford a truly clean or cheerful locale, but there are laughs, sometimes flowers in the spring. Finding my way out of this is tricky. When unlocked I find these are backdoors to commerce and though better than being sold wholesale, retail is not what I was hoping to find as I wrest myself from a confined existence. I have heard of those who drive through plate glass ignoring the structure. I think this is less workable from the back. What is left when I can’t bully or climb? I guess I will have to throw my hands up and pray. Acknowledge a myth about yourself * ROLES You don’t have to give up playing God Because it was a bad thing to do. You have to give it up because it doesn’t work Said my sponsor in her most gentle voice. In a world seemingly spinning out of control You, brave child, stepped up to the plate and took a swing That is heroic not demonic But impractical nevertheless You have to be your own full-time job Even when it feels like there are other jobs left unfilled You don’t have to run around finding the feet To fill those empty shoes Maybe those empty shoes are just bait for a bad trap Keep on your journey and you will come to a place where the work Is being accomplished by a surprising cast of characters You will be free to stick to the role ahead of you. |
quick note to Sherrie
I have mentioned this to you before ...
You can come up with the most awesome one-liners!! I totally love this line of yours below. quoting you: "Acknowledge a myth about yourself" I will be seeing my sponsor at some point today and will be sure to share this with her. When I read this, it reminded me ----> Through my recovery literature readings, friends sharing in meetings and a few direct comments by the sponsor lady ... at times I am prone to have somewhat of a warped perception of the world. I think I will keep coming back. I need to be reminded. *grin* Happy weekend, Sherrie! |
May 1
Terry Bradshaw When someone wants to take the easy way out I condemn them for wanting ease and fail to register that they want out. I hear a whine when in fact it’s a cry. A challenge is rarely passed up by the able bodied, but must be foregone by the injured. Carried from the field is no personal victory, not a goal for sure. When I would rather watch than play I need to check for wounds not inflict them. It is not natural for me to sit in the stands, but accusation is never the way to get me on the field. Suit up when I’m whole and hide when I’m not. Absence is a fallback position for the fallen; I have to help myself to get back up. Recognize friends as art * PIGS Talking to a chrysalis about flight Is like talking to a fetus about dry land. Descriptions of future events And possibility are lost in the translation. To the uninitiated these realities sound like gibberish And flight of fancy or foolish dogma Yet I am drawn to talk of these things Imagine and describe them. I am changed by this procedure I am transformed in the details When I can accurately depict it I am taking the stride into living it I am my own pig I have taught myself to sing And have wasted no time at all. |
May 2
Reguess When in my sarcasm I suggested that you ‘guess again’, I realized that you were in fact guessing, guessing about everything, guessing in order to create a process of elimination, a tool on which I now recognize you entirely depend. Guessing as a way of life is a tragedy. I’m not saying that trying to know every last thing in the world is an acceptable alternate goal, but to reach an adult age and not even be able to work your way up to a possible hunch is scary, scarier than even my sarcasm, which at this moment seems interminable, but I’m sure you guessed that. Make a list of your favorite fingers * ON COMING Anticipation of the approaching traffic consumes. The tiny spec grows and develops into the arriving vehicle 50 miles per and the rapid succession of the coming And those leaving eats quickly at my heart. The pain seers me Why are these who travel from the direction of my destination Passing me by? For miles and miles they appear to be greeters The breeze created by their passing chaps my face And questions my goals How can so many abandon my objective? But flee they do. My hunger does not diminish And I press on Of course if we all went this way, we might tip the globe Maybe that’s what they fear. |
May 3
Van and I (Happy cleaning windows) When the fog clears and I still can’t see, I check my optics and wash my windows. The mundane upkeep hones my pursuit. After the weather and housekeeping concerns are managed, eye exercises are next on the agenda. I have to strengthen my equipment, stay fit or fall prey to vagaries of nearsighted limits or farsighted failings. Myopia is an ever presence danger I must guard against as well. A fixed focus is a death trap. I must learn to track a moving target while I wend onward. Nothing in life is stationary; concentration and a decent line of sight are priceless rudiments. Continual practice with the tools and tactics build my confidence and sharpen wit. Burdens are lightened when I see my goal in stark relief; I can chart my path and make my way. Sobriety means if I can see it I can believe it, so I best go get the Windex. Lock your doors when you need to, open windows when you can * MY SOBER HEART The heart I have today Is not the heart I have had all my life Cells age and are replaced I slough off what I can no longer use And rejuvenate with fresh layers My sobriety is the same. Past step work is revamped and approached in innovative ways Yesterdays prayers are replaced with today’s Today’s meditations will be dispelled by tomorrows The function remains the same but it is constructed with brand-new work Service I render is always for my sobriety But I work to strengthen various quadrants My heart is not as young as it used to be And vigorous action remakes it new each day I rebuild my sober heart continually because forever and today I have the mind of an alcoholic. |
May 4
The Wake Up Call I wake early and watch the lazy rain fall in slow fat random drops. I view it with silent awe, only part of my recently somnolent mind bewildered. Dawn advances toward me and I register a new concept: snow, it is snow; the sky had been, too dark to allow me to see the white, all I could comprehend was the fall. The lighter the sky becomes the more the precipitation behaves like snowfall. I muse this to my sponsor and she laughed, “Well, we all misname things in the dark, Sweetie, lighten up and give yourself a break.” Look for the secrets you keep from yourself * QUEEN’S COUNTENANCE I know the 7 P’s of preparation I set the table for those I know The unexpected arrive clothed in time and tradition They seat themselves at the table with the naked They become mute We prattle and pose Rarely glimpsing the goals sitting at the unset seats What we need to become Is far from what we are I can not even call it other It is within when we make room And ether when we won’t I can wait and try But the juice is deep with the pulp I get myself in line for the future And wait for the clothes offered by my guests I sit the emperor and rise the queen |
May 5
With and Without With my sponsor- Without my drinking buddies With my Big Book- Without my contrived dogma With my home group- Without my dysfunctional family With my step work- Without my mental masturbation With my sobriety- Without my insanity With all this I can live Without all that Appreciate the strength of your neck * THE LONG VIEW The long view requires an enduring embrace of the past It requires a great love of people The race and individuals I cannot see what we do and flee I can own what happened, what happens and what is to come If only so I can ratchet improvement into my own behavior I can see and feel change, cringe if I must, but go on The horizon is there to set the stage It hangs long and low It stands guard for the life there is to live I will view it And use it as my gauge Keeping perspective is the key I know it for what it is And that makes me,----me The short sight and the long view My open arms hold it all My sight brings it all into my heart. |
May 6
Yield Don’t Stop If I let amazement stop my progress I will become landlocked instead of becoming free. Picture wagon wheels planted in Kansas when the destination had been California. Yes, the plains are great, but if that was not my aim it is a far cry from heaven. Arriving at any haven is tempting; when it crosses to captivating then to captivation, here is where the problem lay. Steps six and seven changed me and this is good. If I allow this to halt me this is disaster. If the wheels fall off the wagon I walk. If I grow too tired to walk I pant with my friends and we carry each other, we don’t stop. Pickle the pretty fruit from your labors * BRATZLOV If all the world is a narrow bridge, I must broaden my mind. If all the doors are closed to the passage of a hallway, I must exit through the window. Never again can I stay and shelter In a small and confining refuge A womb is a place to come out It is never a place of return. I am not to seek overexposure But I must ever widen the gate The brave face I show is the gift of a tight world Owning me for far too long. Fear is never meant to be larger than life And the world should never collapse Around the sweetness of a smile Today carries us. Tomorrow draws us. The world is a bridge. |
May 7
Pinocchio as a Girl I should be painting today instead of reframing the future, an unnecessary and ephemeral job at best. Kind of like lassoing an unborn colt, I try to put a rope around something that cannot get away. Outcome hasn’t much to do with foregone conclusion and wouldn’t I be better mixing colors and wetting brushes than cutting slices from a pie in the sky? But tomorrow seems more spacious than this crowded present and I con myself into believing this is a harmless trip to the fair. I lose my light, my thought, my sight with these thieving sojourns; leaving me to creak around because all that is left is wood. Nothing gets in the way of something * I form my query Fold my mind And mail it off to God With a stamp of approval from my sponsor The questions sent are of no great interest But the responses are a spellbinding group What is returned unopened Is a wide array The circuitous route taken by some Is a charm of elucidation I rub my finger over the intact seals And marvel at the travels of the wax I mourn over the defunct gods And their public relations organizations Slow is my resolve to pour over the replies I get easily caught in lackings and shy from true contact The equations embedded in my heart read the letters And sing the notes, these songs are just for me I know them like my name I turn the envelope and see how old the postmark is |
May 8
A Good Ship Recently my life has taken on a surreal quality. I stand in front of myself as if I were a business to be run or a project to be undertaken. The intensity, uncertainty and drama seem to be on the wane. There are choices to be made and outcomes to be determined, but this is all work and numbers, nothing at risk below the skin. My heart is secure, true love its protector, faith its inborn light. I am docked in safety harbor; the waves may rock me, but my anchor holds me fast. Follow your lead * ALL- BETTER NOW Mother kissed the booboo And I wait for the admonition to take effect Waiting, I count the problems Like telephone poles on a long journey What will it be like The world all- better? The anticipation nearly breaks me for awhile Until waiting turns to disbelief. A chill fills the space And all- better becomes the cry My sponsor calls for moderation And lowering my expectation The child’s ears ring with the promise to be fulfilled She cannot give herself over to a world Where band -aids are not a cure-all But only a cover for the slow work of internal healing, scars and all. Sheer survival is not sufficient for the screaming toddler Heartbreak from injustice calls for more than endurance But alas, a kiss is all we have. |
May 9
The Little Black Dress The holes in my pockets cause me to feel naked. Though it is an inside pocket and no one can see through I feel exposed, my thinking changed and for that matter chained, one link looped through the next. I start with a hole in my pocket so I know I can’t stay in this dress all day. I know I will need the storage later as time wears on but I can’t change now and I don’t want to waste time putting on my tights. My legs are cold. I fly from room to room. I gather my keys, but forget my phone. I am bare legged and unreachable, overexposed due to a hole in my pocket. Keep in mind that love doesn’t conform to opinion, even well meaning opinion * SLAYING OLD DRAGONS Your roar is Doppler-low And I can feel my steps move the earth As I go forward. Former dominator Scary from every angle I come for you today The scales are falling, I don’t rip them but they fall I can breathe at the heights of you lair I am not shrinking The booming voice you had is gone The power spilling away from you I don’t fly from you Gone is the tremble you once instilled The curtain has parted And you are revealed |
May 10
More Than a Fedora I have no explanations only expletives, I wish I had something to say that you wished to hear, but that is not current events; foul humored broadcasts are what fill the air this day. Bad temper is tempting, but I can no longer be satisfied in this way nor is this a performance that you care to witness. I will play FCC to my ruminations curtailing this colorful darkness for my benefit and the clearing of the air. I have never shied from dramatic vocabulary and I do not now, but throwing out words is waste and I am learning to conserve. I don’t have to leak my power I can cover my head and close my mouth. Know what you are holding on to * URBAN LANDSCAPE I am taking this giraffe to the penthouse, Do you suggest the elevator or the stairs? Why do you chose these complicated tasks To fill your days asked my sponsor? You think this is beyond my abilities? I didn’t say that, I do believe either you or the giraffe Are likely to get bent out of shape But that is the most obvious of observations What if I told you being disproportionate Is both of our natural states, I asked? I know that too, my darling little lamb. You may be a contrast to the multitude But why make it harder? Why not a ranch with a cathedral ceiling Bay doors even? You are taking out the spirit of adventure, I say Baby, you may have confused frustration With excitement, says my sponsor Yes, but you have forgotten the view. |
May 11
Out Standing in My Field Trying to remove expectations is like trying to unseed a field; it is damn near impossible until something crops up, though when it does I must act swiftly lest things take root. Tedious as it is weeding the fields of unreasonable expectancy saves me from so much frustration later on. I don’t recognize it, but expectations are like little dictators forever ruling me; leaving no room for G-d or direction, not to mention flexibility or change. Tap roots dive for the vein and my life depends on fleet elimination of unsuitable desire. I can want. I can strive. I can not leave expectations to grow in my garden. Screen your comments when you can * STRETCHING Stretching is not equivalent to change Limbering is nice And warms the muscles, body and soul. Over-reaching, over-compensation is trauma It distorts the symmetry And breeds erroneous thinking. Extension beyond the bounds sets me up for a fall I misinterpret touching with finger tips With a firm and able grasp. I don’t step forward because I believe I have a hand on things Failing to see how this is different from an embrace. The sinew tears And the fabric of life is destroyed I lean forward but I go nowhere. |
Gray's First Sober Year
by William Notter This new life is better than a dozen beer-joint romances or a hundred drunks at fishing camp. My habit now is not drinking, and waking up where I belong. I can see colors again, and I don't feel like a turd in the punchbowl whenever I go around people. I'll mow the weeds for Sharon and almost enjoy it. She's even given up checking my breath whenever I come home. I went shopping for our anniversary and wound up crying in the store, but not the kind of tears you cry when your wife catches you lying in the shed with your pistol jabbed up in your mouth and vodka running out your nose. The only thing she could think to do was check me into another detox, and this time it finally took. This year has made me different— vodka could never do that for long. Some days when I wake up early and listen to Sharon lying there breathing, it feels like somebody snuck in while we slept and changed our sheets. |
May 12
Box-a-week Tao I am going through so many changes surrounding the cleaning out and getting rid of process. The flat sided panic that I experience while even attempting the smallest disposal seems impossible. I would deny it if I didn't have the repetition of this experiment to prove it as fact. I have now moved into the part of the illness where I compulsively clean the things that I have emptied in order to avoid facing the next step, the next box, the next mess. This is a two part trap: part 1. If cleaning can absorb all the time I will not be able to do anything else. Part 2. If I can't keep it clean enough then I have an excuse to give up and not empty the next space. I am trying to keep moving without being mean to myself. Because mean is worse than mess. Try not to lose things you never had * CHOICE Growth is my decision I don’t need conflict or catastrophe to bring me to change I choose each day, come what may, to roll out the refuse I am not tempted to leave it in to rot just because the sun is shining Good days are good times to improve How could integrity be retarded by joy? I am not punished into recovery I will never accept a Higher Power who set up a system like that And give wide birth to people who claim their Higher Power did My bottom may have been an inducement to start But choice keeps me coming back. |
May 13
Be That Girl I have tried to protect the investment I made in the past by selling the soul of my future. I arrived self-possessed, a winning girl, but I slid the self from the scene leaving me simply possessed. I gained everything then lost it a piece at a time starting with the parts nearest my heart. I must draw the shards together once more and mend this lovely crystal. The art of living is insured by my action not by grasping at slivers in terror of what slips from my fingers. I am what I have inviolate and all else comes to fruition when I am pleased; when I am myself. Be aware which pens are poison * SOOT I diligently work to remove the soot. The residue from the last time I tried to hot wire my brain When I attempted the short circuit of my safety-thinking I caught my life on fire and flames, though brief, were spectacular. Electric fires are very jarring The burning insulation toxic It leaves bare, stuttering lines crossing and recrossing My stable base, the methods I once used to keep sane, is shot All because I wanted to go joyriding in my thoughts Suspended reality sounds so good but always burst into flame Leaving me with soot removal as a hobby |
May 14
No Stone Left Behind An anchor attaches at the lower extremities stabilizing me, an albatross is the thing weighing me down from the top, it tips me, throws me to the ground. I must remember to choose ferrous instruments over long necked birds. Often it’s not the amount of drag, but where it’s affixed. There are so many variables, so much to think through, yet I often react and pick up what seems as harmless as a flock of sea gulls and turns out to be worse than an iron maiden. Leaving no tern unstoned is bad, but do I really have the time to do it the other way around? Visualize the vapor trails from your words as they fly away from you * CLOCKS When the clock stops I wind it up or replace the battery I have to-----time doesn’t end Because the arms grow slow. The device wears down But the day is not over Even if my internal metronome is bollixed The planets keep revolving. I can’t step off the world It doesn’t stop turning for me I don’t always have to keep my head up But I must always go on. There is no going back I can only remember yesterday I can’t return to it though it’s so close The flowers are still fresh. Sometimes I struggle To keep my hands off the past Those are the days I secure my future And wind the clocks |
May 15
Madame Alexander I am, too naïve; if you show me kindness I will believe you, follow you, obey you, so, I have rules. These rules do not protect me, but they do make a box for me to seal myself inside. Where I will ship myself, stack myself; hide myself so well, that even I do not know. I pull the flaps down and pray not to have to make any real decisions. I fold my arms and close my mind, believing I could never adequately open it enough to safely live in the world outside of this closet. Here I sit wondering what to write on this label in order to be left alone all the while longing for true love, a thing never given to a quivering china doll shut up in a carton at the bottom of a wardrobe. Make a suggestion box for your heart * CELEBRATIONS You wore a wrist corsage to the dump? You said to celebrate every activity I retorted to my sponsor Yes, by doing them with purpose. Not everything needs to be a production number Sometimes just showing up is enough Putting to much energy into preparation Can leave you without resources It’s okay to make an appearance Do the simple act and move on That is a celebration in its own way Don’t squander your vitality on the mundane. Do you know what I mean, asks my sponsor? Don’t waste flowers on trash heaps, I answer Yes, and don’t wipe your bottom with poetry I mention this in case you get any ideas! |
May 16
Life Events in Burlap Two left feet in a gunnysack allows no forward motion and creates only a windmill that screws us into the ground. There is more perspective, front and back, more view, but nothing to do with it, nowhere to go. We are better off as book ends than this awkward foolish pairing. You go your way and I go mine works fine if we are cut lose, if any one person can be free of any other. You offer to change your perspective if I change mine. I smile, almost laugh at the idea of two right feet in a gunnysack and no improvement in sight. This is not grade school, not field day, I must turn to you or you to me and nothing else, no fair is fair, no turn taking. Because my past is not your future and your future is not my past. Face forward on both accounts and then we run the race. Allow your imagination to put on a slideshow for your resistance * THREE ROOSTERS The three roosters came to the meeting To hear themselves crow. The membership purely spectators In the longest, lowest, loudest sobriety competition. Those of us in the fray, we are like picked-on puppies Who learn slowly not to put our heads up To spare our eyes and hearts. The same noise comes repeatedly Suspicion is never aroused The heads nod at all the right places Orchestrated for ego and nothing else. The meeting is closed with a momentary prayer For the still suffering, in and out of the room I pray that will be enough. |
May 17
Underoos Why is it that I store undies I never wear in my panty drawer and leave no room for my favorites? Why is it that I have things in cupboards that have not seen the light of day in years, but they are kept as sacred? I don’t use my storage for me it is saved for obligation to inherited obsession. I live on the fringes of the only life I have; I didn’t question this, didn’t see it for what it really is. I don’t live in my skin only my head. I don’t enjoy today only plan for tomorrow. After years at this address it is time for me to move in. The mortgage is more than paid; it is time to spend my inheritance. Be kind when you win; be kind when you lose * PIROUETTES I turn and spin, the world flashes as I go. I am erect, proud of my self-possession. I can stand the forces of vector rotation Public opinion and gravity. Sobriety has made a dancer out of me. I sprint the stage and take my place. I know the moves and trust, as best I can The choreographer and choreography I feel the wind move on my body as I revolve The blur of existence spreads out before me I can let it pass To spot myself and keep my upright posture The only place that requires my clear and unobstructed view Is the line of sight from my sponsors eyes to mine. |
May 18
Pearly Whites Reaction is a separation, a polarization; it cuts you from me and God from we. Response is a connection, an inclusion; threading a line from you to me and stitching G-d into our pockets. I realize now that any positive connection is an instantaneous link to my Higher Power and can’t help but bring us closer. Tiny feet carry beauty and kindness; tiny teeth tear the fabric of the world to bits. I must let my footwork conduct my life’s work and seal my lips and reserve the dentistry. If you take the cake don’t take it far * DRIVEWAY TIME Layer after layer of blue stack the sky The moon risen and the sun dipping away I wait for the twin lights, the constellation of headlights My ride to the meeting. It will be the entry vehicle to a world of population Leaving behind the galaxy of me, the single star I stand silent and the feeling of fellowship carries the miles Laughter flies the winds of memory And all the old jokes of truth and tribute are fresh And abide with me until the car arrives And we make it all new again. |
May 19
Who Rang? Examine the instillation of your buttons as a process of discovery for disabling them. Pay attention to the wiring but also to the hardware. Sometimes the advertising is the thing which keeps alive something better off put to rest. Many things are rooted in other pots and have a lifeline from outside of the current host. All the connections and housing should be explored as well as what work the mechanism does once pressed. Is there a gong, tinkling bells? Does it release the wolves from their den or tiger from his lair? Information is a tool which never fails to help me in disassembling the traps and their triggers I must not shy from the gathering. If you reframe the past don’t crop reality * NETWORKS Testing my sponsor when I’m hurt Is like probing for gas with a lit cigar in my mouth If I can’t find a way to douse the cheroot before posing my questions It’s guaranteed I will get an explosive response I need a network They follow me with sand Snatch from me my burning pacifier And save me from sticking my smoldering end where it doesn’t belong We all need a little excitement in our lives But don’t have to become an incendiary device to fill the need I forget that boring isn’t the same as death It just feels that way Some days distance prevents disaster A good support system carries me away To face it on another day. |
May 20
Martinizing The price of upkeep scares me, it daunts me even. I pay the initial cost, I have bitten that bullet of required outlay; the continued charges for maintenance push my face in the mud until my ears clog. Avoiding the need of perpetual responsibility to things, relationships, life, doesn’t change the reality; rather it embeds in my skin a slick denial and an indignant retort to the drycleaners and shoe-shiners of the world. Waste and want play tag inside a misunderstanding of what is required of me; of what life requires in general. I must make quietude, draw a map and find my way to this psychic change; unfortunately all the little voices scream “Yes, you paid the price to see the show, but you don’t make enough to stay!” Check your mileage so you know how far you’ve come * POWER When power arrives It comes complete with a blindfold Mask and lullaby I am blinded to what effect I have Others can not see me Only the unchanging masquerade covering my face All my fears and apprehensions are soothed By the melody singing in my ear I am possessed The hard thump of the bottom reaching up to get me Is my sole hope of release I can’t reason my way back from a trip with power The isolation is too far reaching My senses numbed My thinking biased Salvation as a cold smack is the jolt required Fire takes fire Power takes the same |
May 21
NaCl I work arithmetic instead of telling you to stop. I make a light remark, never take a stand until I have worked the numbers and believe that the weight of suffering is on my side. I store in the cellar the salt I found in my wounds and label it with, names, dates and corresponding critique, all waiting, hoping, I will never need to disclose them, but keeping they’re accounted for just in case things go badly. I believe there is no chance for error with silence and no wrong when I have backup in the basement, but I need to table the salt and risk my reality. You can’t hurt me worse than I do when I pour old salt and create new wounds. Bang the drum, expect a sound * FROZEN STRAWBERRIES I have them in the freezer, I tell my sponsor I’m sure you do, when are you going to take them out And reenact spring, she retorts. I don’t want to take them out before I’m ready I don’t want them to go to waste. Oh the Excuse Maker, the Staller Are you going to drag all the old chestnuts out of the closet? I thought you were going to defrost the strawberries. Fear, you’re saying, Fear of strawberries is not a sign of stability I ask her? Eat the strawberries or not But it seems to me you didn’t get sober To avoid the sweeter things in life Keeping all your goodness locked up In the deep freeze Destined for frost bite. |
May 22
Inspection My disease paid a discourtesy call on my bourgeoning sobriety; peeked in to look for cracks in my foundation, weaknesses to exploit. I recognized the patch job I had toyed with would have made the easiest of targets for this eroding thug. I am ever so grateful that I cleaned off all the bricks and made new mortar. Built on bedrock my re-laid block will withstand the indignity of the pounding, prodding sickness, which used to inhabit this once dilapidated space. I can keep the villain at bay and live my cozy life thanks to a true level and the handsome turn of my trough. Personal knowledge is not the same as group knowledge * SPACE I stand behind the podium And talk about the event horizon Which brought me into these rooms. My audience, other unwitting astronauts, Whose lives, like mine were deconstructed By the Black Hole of addiction Though the time and place may be different The physics of compulsion and allergy Are precise and repetitive Nodding heads affirm my calculations To be accurate with the vectors And trajectories of their own experience I conclude, with the gratitude of a reassembled life And pray, with gravity For my feet to stay on the ground. |
May 23
The Delano’s Indifference is the backbone of power. It is a state of faithlessness, not infidelity, but rank apathy, saving every ounce of ardor for the prize you seek. I thought I was the prize and I am; I’m just no longer yours. Cast aside for the leviathan and the miscreants I wonder what I could have done to hold your attention, the answer is nothing. Nothing could be done. Blinded by the ambition of heroism the struggle is the goal and no gem no matter its brilliance can check your drive toward a place in the epic narrative. Tis the hero’s lament to save every life except your own. Bend with the tracks or don’t take the train * SEASONAL EXPECTATIONS If I am out of sync with the way the world turns I can be nothing but disappointed I arrive with ice skates on the hottest summer day And grieve the loss of spring I shiver in my sandals and ponder The need for a windshield scrapper, the autumn so long past I must orchestrate my moods and movements With the evolution and revolution about me I will learn to sing with the doves in the morning And the coyotes come the moon I can spin with the stars And grow with the grass I don’t need to counter-balance life If I learn to bend with the tides It all comes around again; |
May 24
Balustrade Just because you appeared from the dark doesn’t make you a wizard. Just because you make the world safe for mankind doesn’t make you Hercules, nor does your power and foresight make you his father. Your resourcefulness and guile doesn’t make you Ulysses. And just because you spend so much time strapped upon that cross doesn’t make you, well, we all know the rest of that refrain. Human is what you are whether I see that in you or not. Human is a blessing even if it feels to me a curse. I need the superhuman strength you seem to offer but I must live in the world of what is real. I want to be stolen away to the safety of your lair and not live on my feet and fight for my life. I have to stop wishing to be your captive and work harder at simply being your friend. If I can let you down off your pedestal perhaps I could then climb down off mine. Inscribe your heart’s values on your mind * 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 which moves the wheel The power that generates this ongoing play. Hamlet is dead, yet I reprise the past 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? |
Quote:
[nomedia="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D7lP_wxoSmY"]YouTube - ‪When a man loves a woman trailer‬‏[/nomedia]. If you haven't seen it I hope you do. IT reminded me of so many things. My addictive personality STILL rages on after so many years of being clean and sober. Thanks for keeping the light on. (f) |
I posted this in another thread but wanted it in here too .
Sober Song
by Barton Sutter Farewell to the starlight in whiskey, So long to the sunshine in beer. The booze made me cocky and frisky But worried the man in the mirror. Good night to the moonlight in brandy, Adieu to the warmth of the wine. I think I can finally stand me Without a glass or a stein. Bye-bye to the balm in the vodka, Ta-ta to the menthol in gin. I'm trying to do what I ought to, Rejecting that snake medicine. I won't miss the blackouts and vomit, The accidents and regret. If I can stay off the rotgut, There might be a chance for me yet. So so long to God in a bottle, To the lies of rum and vermouth. Let me slake my thirst with water And the sweet, transparent truth. "Sober Song" by Barton Sutter, from Farewell to the Starlight in Whiskey. |
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