October 24


Spectrum


The quality of the poetry is so dependant on the quality of the lighting. Improve the color palette and yes, you’ve guessed the result. So, I say to you, “Turn up the lights. Do not write in half-dark grief and limp through the words. Spotlight what you can and illuminate the rest. You needn’t make a sound, needn’t pitch a tent, needn’t build a bridge, though you may, may if you wish and wish is what I do, wish for better light and when the clouds break loose in the sky and let the sun pour, I lift my pen and make it all; for what was needed was this better light.”






Imagine your webbed feet
*





PICK ME SIX NUMBERS

Knowing all the page numbers
And quotes of the Big Book
But not being able to apply them
Is like knowing all the winning lottery numbers
With the inability to buy a ticket.

Telling my story has little or nothing
To do with public speaking
Recovery has so much more to do
With willingness rather than studiousness.

Popularity contest, policing meetings
And service politics are a circus
I have attended far too often.
Empty rooms sporting great curtains
Does not a home make
Comprehension is no substitute for acquiescence

October 25


Behind Closed Doors


The children of happy fathers make no sense to me. I have known no such peace. What is it to live in a world where there is a man who likes you, someone who approves? I feel like my chin would have always been out there to see, no ducking, no need to hide, had there been a good man to whom I could turn. The dark circles under the eyes of my soul make me old, old and different from those kids, mere children, safe in a home with a happy man whose joy it is to be their Dad.






Dance cheek to cheek with your muse when you can

*

DETAIL DAYS

Detail days seem like lost soulless days.
I sort the piles of endless junk mail
Catch up on bills, letters, laundry.
I don’t leave the house but in someway
I feel like I’m not in my home.

It’s like a day of pulling out all the needles,
Splinters and thorns which accumulate
Under my skin from rough weeks and road rash.
I steel myself to the pain of relief and rescue.

Cleared counters, emptied baskets, finished worry list
Leave me with that newly moved in feel.
Piles overwhelm me but sometimes details define me.

October 26


Basket Ball



Idiots out number poets, this is a fact, though I do wonder why. It cannot be an easy lot spending your days in slow witted discharge; I would think they might at least try putting pen to paper. I think I would rather live in a world filled with bad poets rather than drifting on this ship of fools, but the troubadours rise with imbeciles as their cover and poems fall from favor. I wonder how I could make verse a contagion, how could I make it spread? You may laugh at me, but think what some guy did with a broken peach basket and a rubber ball.






Check your gait for swing


*

STRONG WORDS

Serious language, deep language, real language
Helps me by grounding me.
I don’t have to be nice for company
When I can just tell the truth.

I needn’t have guests with virgin ears
Or unrealistic expectations,
I no longer pander to such foolishness.
I know the layered meaning of my words.

I value the intensity of a large vocabulary.
I am not intimidated by prudish co-conspirators
Who stare down pointed noses
At powerful utterances.

Weak words make poor boundaries
And breed victims.
I will not be trapped by niceties
I will speak clearly out of necessity.

October 27


Circuit Speaker


It isn’t until I listen long to the Northside poet that I realize there is such a thing as a Chicago accent. I hear it as I never have before. I don’t hear it in my beloved Rodger, hear only the hope he brings to share. As I get ready to walk to the podium I wish that no one hears the Jersey in my voice only the experience I bring to share.







Dance through the mud then clean off your shoes


*

CLINGING

Large bugs cling to the soffits
Upside down as an alternative
To the rain-soaked landscape
I salute their efforts to find security
In a shrinking list of possible locations.

Awkward situations place my fingertips
And toenails holding positions
Trying to avoid life’s harsher choices.
Bitter, chilling options are cheerful alternatives
To no option at all

I can take the difficult positions as an advantage.
I have survived and this is the goal of the game.
I am here--come what may.
I make the best of the worst times so God can help me
Make the best of the best times.

October 28


Picard

The little tin whistle I yearn to play squeaks in my head warning that I have no time to learn and a tin whistle though slender is not easy. I think if I had a magic wrinkler for time I might learn, I remember characters that have, but I rethink this and remember I don’t want to win the lottery again. I am too good at too many things and have no time to enjoy their full round pleasure. I have no need for additional longing or extended guilt.





Print your fingers



*


I DON’T SEE HOW

This is the smallest of the fragile excuses I use
To keep from doing things to make me happy.
Petty in a way I would never be with others
I rake my desires and tiny hopes over the coals.

Tired platitudes are plated up as first serves
By my short order short sightedness
Protecting crusted over nonsense
And living the life of a lockout
Not even a squatter on the fringes of my dreams.

I stumble in my efforts
To see hope, joy or my purpose,
Ignoring the fact that I must step from the box
Before I can see the horizon or more.

October 29


To Your Health

Health is a pleasure; health restored is celebration girded with gratitude. The shock of illness quickly imbeds itself to an irrefutable unchangeable fact. When this veil is lifted the body responds with glee, the soul with relief touched with disbelief. The satisfaction of being hale is the bedrock and once this is shaken its return is nothing more than astonishing. I am never more aware of the miraculous nature of life than when I feel alive once more after having felt the doom of sickness.





Throw out ancestral trash

*

QUILTER

What more comfort can exist in the world
Than a conglomeration of turned edges and love?
Fancy stitches or not the assembled world of cloth
Stands testament to devotion and diligence.

Careful collections, meaningful to the collector
And mysterious to the possessor,
Fulfill the primal urge to shelter and be safe.
Time is testimony to endurance.

Thread against thread,
Solidarity is strength embracing flexibility.
The bed of life is made and remade daily
With the affection of kind quilters needles of love.

October 30


On a Half-shell in Front of Tiffany’s

Pretty petty pearls wait in oysters more perturbed than annoyed. I string my tears for the sake of posterity leaving the dreams to fend for themselves. I am nothing if not splendidly prepared for a life less steeped in wishes than realism. Opening volleys tell a tale of round irritation, but I am not finished just yet. Joy comes from surpassing obstacles and wearing healed grief as precious gems around my neck.







Pick a retirement home for your critics

*





EIGHT MISTAKES CLOSER

I am eight mistakes closer to perfection.
As long as I fall forward, progress is being made.
I fail meticulously toward my goal
More cannot be asked.

Loss, pain, frustration are strong teachers and motivators.
I suck each splinter for knowledge,
Extracting juice from every fragment for information.
In spite of sprains and strains I have stretched
Attaining almost my full height.

Growth is a wonderful thing though cost is always involved.
Mistakes are an unavoidable price
But well worth the expense.
They are an expense which pays dividends
Dividends that move me towards perfection.

October 31



Halloween


“Why does self-centered fear wear a costume that looks so much like ‘other people’s opinion’?” I asked my sponsor.
“For the same reason that booze masquerades as ‘a good time.’ How would you ever fall into a pit which used no pretense? Naked ambition attracts far fewer devotees than addicts of ‘must make Mama and Daddy proud’ or the ‘doing better for my kids crowd’.”
“Ambition is not all together bad!” I crow.
“Neither is fear in its proper scale, but fear cloaks itself to seize more than its share of your life, just like any parasite. So take your spring tonic like a good kid and keep the worms at bay.”








Don’t bother licking the self stick stamps


*


FLORAL ECSTASY

I could eat fields of buttercups
And drink down ponds of water lilies.
Wear foxgloves and a pair of lady slippers
I could wrap myself in bridal wreathe
And under pin with nettles.

I could rise with the roses
Lay with the lilies
Shade with the sage
Sing with the trumpet vines

Run away from home
With a Turks cap on my head
And a pansy in my pocket
Until the four o’clock say
Its time to come home.
For evening primrose and then bed.

November 1



Entrenched

I have dug myself a trench and invited my friends and family. Truth is, I drug many and tricked others and there they are in the trench I have so recently climbed out of. It is a nasty place and I feel horribly responsible, but here is the sacred truth; I can’t climb down there again, not even on a rescue mission. I am obligated to help them, this is for sure, but the fact still remains that it is not safe to get into the water with a drowning person, even if I am the one who caused the drowning. If I am to be of any help at all I must get my footing and keep it safely on the bank and only then might I be able to throw down a rope or lend a hand to anyone, especially those I love. I pray for the sturdy stance of helpful strangers and try my best to cause no further harm, more than that will have to wait until my cleats are soundly lodged into the earth and my head is squarely upon my shoulders, for headlong and mud covered I am no help.







Topple trivial towers



*


MY MOTHERS FACE

The way that age pours down my mothers face
When she is sad reminds me
That grief runs through my blood.

Generation after generation
Has been transfused with anxious woe.
Heartbreak vexes minds full of fear.
There is no easy way
To round the bend on sharp pointed issues
The route is circuitous.

I battle the chaotic thinking to fight my way back
To a place where my mothers eyes sparkle
As they squint closed with her smile.
The war of peace is not easily won by contemporaries.
We must close ranks between the ages
To keep the joy from sheeting off our skin
And keep the sadness in proportion.

Restore us to our possible bliss
We can over take ecstasy from there.

November 2



Desert Island


When I am left to amuse myself, more often than not I turn my wicked wit to redress those whose neglect, I sorely feel; this is childish. This is pointless and yet I do it and do it well. I am, too good at being alone and I resent it and resent every necessity for honing that skill set. When in the past I have made my mind up to accept seclusion each overture is a slashing intrusion. I am not a happy medium, though I do doubt if such a thing exists. I am an attention seeker when I am not I am an isolation monger. The wavering nature of human interaction is an uncertain sea for me, alternating downing me or leaving me washed- up on some remote shore. Even amid those I love the most, I am a skinless writhing neonate, hyper-reactive and living on the edge. I somehow know the answer is self-esteem or spiritual development, but when in the midst of this imprudent reaction the paths to these are lost. I try to hold my breath when underwater, when on the beach I try not to breathe the sand. If I survive today I may grow out of this tomorrow.






Make peace with your pillow before bedtime


*

DESERVING

Tender toes crushed by moving memories
Fresh pain from ancient injuries
Shock incurred from these lifeless reminiscence
Unhappy reconstructions slap inspecting faces.

The people who stood by
To let the chips fall where they may
Try to pretend innocent bystanders now
That shit is falling from the sky.

Unexposed skin will burn when the flames leap high
Idiotic excuses will not retard the fire
Of injustice coming to call
Too late tears carry no freight with the past recipients
Of the “It all runs down hill” award.

Cowards make themselves cripples
And fracture at the force of incoming reality
And deserve more than they get.

November 3


Liminal


Not everything which is birthed arrives here alive; sometimes struggle is answered with stillness. I love thee in thy loss for there is no life to love thee in. Hope can be a bubble that breaks returning to whatever it was before that perfect roundness and yet the roundness is not a mistake. Reflected beauty is beauty all the same. Some sparks aren’t meant to become flames, but their glow still warms my eye.



Wage old wars only in the past and never in the present



*

DOWN THE UPSIDE

On the downside of a rising star there is too much fear
Anticipation is recommended for ascent, delight should be encouraged
But all out alarm is usually sounded whether it is needed or not.

Panic dims the shining pleasure of mounting the sky.
Refuting celestial status, denying astral projection, I renounce myself.
Attaining height, my position in space is apparent
To bystanders and onlookers.

I need to ride the comet and accept fate my nemesis
Fortune shines on me
I should not squint away kismet.

November 4


Bride in a Bentley


Who determines your worth, the one who sets your ransom or the one who pays it? Will you recognize yourself once you have been bought and paid for? Will your life exist upon your return? How many times has the road and its inhabitance taken me far from what I’ve known and extorted an exorbitant remuneration for restoration? Redeemed is what they call it when the price is met, yet this might not be the feeling it evokes. Deliverance is never 100% and reclamation is not always possible, so keep your mind free, but know your own worth.






Count the fingers on one hand

*




TIMELY

Spent a minute to rub the sleep
Gently from your eyes.
Spend an hour smoothing lotion
From one end to the other.

Spend a week researching your goals
Dreams and hopes.
Spend a month routing energy
To a viable flow.

Spend a life living it
Your life is worth all the time you have
Take it.

November 5

MISS DIRECTED



I called and rambled at my sponsor. After a significant time had passed, she stopped me and asked with a tone in her voice, “and why are you calling me?”
Startled, I replied, “for your advice!”
“Are you sure that’s why you called? Because I can give you my advice, but I have given advice to you before and received only a severe case of the ‘Yeah, Buts’ in return.”
I was about to say ‘yeah, but you don’t understand’ when she cleared her throat to quiet me and continued what she was saying. “Seems to me you really want more than a sober ear, you want magic. You want me to take your crazy, dramatic thinking, put it in a hat and pull it out formed, as all your dreams, and then you want credit for making it happen. But, Kitten, I have news for you, I’m not Mr. Roark and this is not Fantasy Island. This is sobriety and you can’t just have your way.”
This is when I realized I was on a dry drunk. I don’t know what the first signs are, but I do know when your sponsor asks, “and you’re calling me, why?” the jig is up.


Time your stubbornness

*


MAIL FRAUD

The open envelope belies the tampering I suspect.
Too bad my critics are snooping not my supporters.
When they are finished tearing open my mail
They tear me apart as well.

Shredded, I feel unable to handle further correspondence
I shut down communications
There is no channel for benefactors to travel.
My champions are at a loss
To defend me from my opponents
The struggle flounders.

Misunderstanding the meaning of messages
I have been mocked and enslaved.
I would love to vanquish my foes
But you see I am opening my own mail.

November 6



Natural Law


The boat captain can’t change the river; navigate it possibly, but rule it never. Birds don’t control the wind, only capitalize on it. I can’t reign my sobriety; I just get to take the ride. My choices greatly affect the quality of this journey but not the nature of recovery itself. I am powerless over gravity but am thrilled at my ability to use it to my advantage.









Desperate imitation is just that

*

MEMORIAL DAY

Veteran of the addiction wars
I have scars but few metals.
I don’t need a purple heart
Mine is black and blue.
I don’t keep trophies either
No empty bottles or old syringes.

Hostages I have released them too.
I found often they held me
From what my life could be.
I wear my defects and wave my flag.

I am slowly learning to live in peacetime.
The big battles have been won.
It is up to me to stop replaying
The scenes of engagement.

Armistice is a beautiful thing
Too bad there is no better way to get it.

November 7



Let the Groundhog Sing It




Mistakes and poor choices save me from attempting to climb out onto moral high ground. Moral ambiguity keeps me protected from the illusion of relentless righteousness. Lopsided living is a fate I am spared due to my flawed execution of perfection; all in a days work for a functional human. Left by the wayside is the fantasy that I am all right.




Be a timekeeper and a dream-maker


*

NUZZLES OFFERING

Like a vegan kitten who wrestles
Long tailed leaves and twigs
Subduing them and dragging these prizes
To the feet of human parents
I fight paper tigers and bring the tatters
As tributes to my Higher Power.

These bloodless battles are pure practice
Future wars may not be as clean.
I cannot enlist my God
To fight these skirmishes.
I would never believe in one that could.

I accept Deus as creator and cheerleader
But champion-----No
Foliage and foes are mine to fight.
The spoils I bring back
For pats on the head and bragging.

November 8



Uggs



This is a big hurdle until it becomes a little step. I will struggle with it as long as it takes for me to see it as something I can conquer a bit at a time, then, often as if by magic, it will melt into curbside snow and I can slosh through it in my boots. I am vanquishing obstacles, which seemed insurmountable mere months ago. I am not so much stronger than I was, but I have stopped feeding the weakness in my mind and this has made all the difference.








Accelerate your willingness

*


FLORAL TROPHIES

Captured pet plants grow in my window
Why these specimens are given such regal care
I suspect but can’t explain.

Delicate shoots pile out of sturdy stalks
Roots force the confines of my decorative pots
How many neighborly blooming faces
Stare into my kitchen greeting me mornings

I am amazed what good company
My leafy friends can be when I am loving myself.
Advantageous to my mental health
I breathe their exhaust and they breathe mine.

Symbiotic we live
I grow and flower
Grateful these plants keep me.

November 9



Thief in the Night


The moon ran off the night you left. Instead of west it headed south with you, but I doubt it will stay. You are learning to play a new part, another ill-suited role which I don’t believe you will carry off with much aplomb, though you may have found yourself a kinder critic or a more likened mind. Bad actors have no leg to stand on for critique. What you have taken I can’t expect to return, but what I have gained I will never give up. I don’t think you ever intended me any harm, but protection is something you never provided; something which I was sorely in need of. I was fortunate to return to the house of my father for that is the shelter in which I can breathe.





Ferocity is a gift, but not a toy



*


JELLYFISH AND PEANUT BUTTER CARDS

Jellyfish and peanut butter cards
Make for busy days and cheerful nights
Sunlit at the beach and lantern light
Filled with double-decker solitaire.

Camping as a way of life suits some
As they run from their lives
For the more balanced, camp is a temporary retreat
To the overly invested, camping is an aberration
A threat to the foundation of civilization as we know it.

Though I do dread the feeling of coming back
To the life I love and feeling like a stranger
Temporary disengagement estranges me
From the place, the things, the dog.

I need time away,
Variety of experience,
Expanded horizons
I need my entrenched home life.

I need it all and must accept the clock
Never stops running anyplace on the planet
Even if I am enjoying a good game
With sticky camp cards, regaling tales of man-of-war.

November 10


Come What May



Inevitable things are very much like inedible things; you can’t quite swallow them yet they are hard to throw up. It can’t seem to get here quick enough to comfort my fear nor will it pass with any speed once it has arrived. I am like a boa with a hedgehog as my lunch, the shredding is rightfully dreaded and in no way preventable. Not everything that wings my way is anxiety driven, but I have to admit that some things are. I cannot spend my days wishing the storm clouds away so I will put on my slicker and hunker down for the drenching.








The alleys in your mind are for passage not permanence

*




PRIDE GOETHE BEFORE A FALL

In truth, pride goes wherever it wants, it’s pride.
Pride wanders alone, for no one enjoys its company.
Pride travels far but gets nowhere.
Pride rises above reality and seeps beneath the surface.

When pride wears out, love and honesty poke holes in it.
Until it is grounded and transforms to humility
Pride’s past is remembered with flush and embarrassment.
Recounting yesterday is pride’s unenviable task.
Keeping it from recreation is mine.

November 11

Picture Window


When G-d sticks His face in my window it brightens my day. What that shining face looks like in other windows I do not know, but I try to memorize the eyes, the brow, the winning smile before my time is up and the wind shifts. The flash of a friendly face lights up the house, my yard, the corners of my soul. I imbibe the rich glow before it moves on, letting my core charge with incandescence, warming my mettle. I am long and longing for this happy countenance and only when the blocks tumble in my mind do I realize that it is two- way glass in that window and stick my face in it and offer it to G-d.









Today treat oddity as a pearl not a pebble

*

LIKE PEACE

Peace like an elephant on my chest
I can’t breathe but at least we are not fighting.
The rigid air hangs like sheets on the line
Stiff but dry.

Plastered smiles and short salutations
Get us through until bedtime.
But what can hold in standing up
Pours out lying down.

Tender feelings are compressed
And come out only as water
Anger bubbles and brews.

Disappointment lives down deep
And sours the milk of love
There are things worse than cross words.

Moldering, festering, frozen words
Pound spikes in a relationship
Fraught with apprehension.

The truth is I would let these pent up things out
But I don’t trust you and I don’t trust me.

November 12


Olive Juice



For whatever the reason olives are often pitted and once they are pit-less there seems to rise an irresistible urge to fill that wound, whether with pimento or children’s cubby little fingers as they fish them from the can. There is an opening, an answer must be found. When I find my center gone I have that same yearning, fill that hole! It is an imperative, a need that must be met no matter how poorly. I will stuff just about anything in that gap; the list is longer than the Bell directory and yet none of it is an adequate replacement for what has gone amiss. So here I stand rife with questions. What to put in there and what to keep out. Is cream cheese preferred to cobwebs? Prosciutto better than ice? Nothing is better than some things and the right thing is better than having given up.



Maple leaves change the world, so do you


*

THE FLYING MIND

When my brain flies out my ear
Destination unknown I am left mentally bereft
I feel intellectual convolution and show no affliction
Other than my inability to fulfill my assignments.

I stare out, sure a ring of blue birds circle my head
Or maybe stars like any other cartoon patsy.
What to do, these parodied wingdings ridicule me privately
Leaving the impression of idiocy with onlookers and supervisors.

My focus and perceptions quaver and I lose my place.
I have to find a way to spot and keep emotional balance,
The way I stay upright during pirouettes
By watching one doorframe or light switch.

I need an unmoving object in a sea of swimming thoughts
I still need to make the mental turns
But this should be much easier
If I stop landing on my face.

November 13



Wrong as wrong as wrong can be

To be wrong in my family and in my past meant to be tortured and I prefer death to torture, so being wrong meant death or longing for death. I tried never to be wrong as a way to stave of the desire to leap from tall buildings; I did not turn into superman, wonder woman or mighty mouse through my efforts. I did turn into someone else; I became a cartoon of a real person, two dimensional and overflowing with irrational color. Now I see how wrong, wrong can be. Wrong is not an allowable excuse to be tormented. It can be the turning point for knowledge if I choose or the stairway to something deep dark and ugly; my choice, always my choice.







Quilt your stories and sleep under their protection

*

ASSURANCES OF GULLIVER

Poor Lilliputians and my egg shaped conundrum.
At least they have the strength of their convictions
When I have only pondering to share the space between my ears.

What sense could the world make if there is no right way
And each person is free to open the egg from either end
Or leave the thing intact, having instead maybe a bagel.

I have been looking for the combination to unlock the universe
When possibly it’s an egg shaped thing with no doors or locks
And all that’s left is to break in or out.

November 14


Clean Underwear


The ease of the trip is often determined by the quality of the packing. When I am entirely ready travel is easier. I wash the laundry early to give myself a head start. Lay everything out and walk through each day’s needs; roll up my outfits and tuck each into my bag. I try to take less than half of my ‘what if’ worry items and cut short my ‘disaster plan’ thinking. If I pack positive thoughts and clean panties I am fine and if I forget them I can always pick some up along the way.






Retreat is not the same as change

*

THE STORYTELLER

Funny stories I long to share with new friends
Have to be put aside while the core of this entity is built.
Mutual memory is the siding on a house framed in integrity.

Treading together through the past
We strengthen each others perception
Which is the only support
That can be offered without time travel.

We take hands, link arms and wander
Happily towards the future
Having the keys to history jangling in our fists
We can return whenever prudent or necessary.

We forge a fresh path and hope for a pleasant journey
Between us we figure to have slain all the dragons.

Greetings, Sober People!

Meetings 2 nights in a row lifts my spirits immensely and how can I forget something as simple as that? But I do. Been working 10 and 11 hour days lately and neglecting my recovery. What joy to sit with friends tonight at the 6:00 and discuss the most important thing in our lives.

Tonight I have a thankful heart! :)

November 15


When I’m Gone



When I’m gone I hope they’ll say I tried real hard and did my best
But more likely will be the lament; she didn’t live up to her potential.

When I’m gone I pray the song will be one of tinkling bells and uplifted voices
But more likely is a disparate confusion of musical chairs.

When I’m gone I wish that my banner will be raised by knowing arms
But more likely will be a shuffle of my undecipherable notes, then the circular file.

When I’m gone I would like my dreams to fly to the ears and eyes of friends and take refuge
But more likely these dreams will chase me down the long corridor and be nothing but my shadow in the long dark night.





Ask your own questions


*


NAVY DUCK
When the postcard is hung upside down
The plane flies away on its back.
I know one of those irregular days
With the disposition of a bee stung mule
Is on its way to visit me.

I have found diplomacy goes a long way
And when it runs out, humor is the best fall back.
Nothing mean or sophomoric but the ability to laugh
Is a fortune in the face of a bankrupt day.

When the sun sets on these spare and harrowing days
I mortgage strength from tomorrow
And right the picture---then fly right.

November 16



Surfs Up

The first time I arrive at the beach the tide is a shock to me. I had no way to anticipate it. As the days pass I calm, realizing there is a rhythm and that the sea won’t escape the shore. Over time I begin to anticipate the movement and then rely on it. I learn to live with the in and out nature of the water lapping the lip of sand; what it brings and what it takes away. I am human. I adapt. I survive. How do I make the jump to blessing the moon? How do I touch the divine?





Forgive your common errors, make note of the uncommon

*





ENDLESS PASTA

Having limits, in a seemingly limitless universe,
makes me feel horribly inadequate.
I am a sad little creature
in the face of overwhelming tasks.

Pressure and unwarranted ego
compress my ability and eager disposition.
I am forced to see there are choices
outside my qualifications and willingness.

Going on in the face of crushing requirements
extrudes my life force into a plateful of capellini
Lying exposed with no gravy to keep me warm
it is hard to realize in this world of wonder and delight
a plate of naked spaghetti can’t do it all.

November 17


Induction

I have a massive energy transformer that lives inside me. It is explosive in nature and risky to toy with. But if used properly I can power my whole world with the current which flows through it to me from my Higher Power. If I use it improperly I can melt down my core and burn down my life. The connections are of the utmost importance, insulation is a priority as well. I know that I am conduit and so much more. I must do my part as the carrier and the arbiter of change.





The absence of joy is a sin


*

FLAW IN SNOW

Waiting for snow-
Waiting for cold fingers, slick roads
Warm beds, reading by firelight.

Waiting for proof of lack of control.
Waiting itself proves lack of control.

I can dance the snow dance
And refuse to buy new shovels.
Hang out laundry,
Put out all manner of storm tempters.

Still I cannot force the hand of nature
I must sit with my crystalline optimism
And endure these cloudless skies.

There will be snow
It will fall somewhere
But I mustn’t grow over anxious
Cause it may never snow in Miami.

That's so great Brock! So glad you are back on the beam, it gets so uncomfortable when the distractions no matter how legitimate take me off of it! Have a wonderful weekend!

Sherrie

November 18


Who is the Parent?


There are more liars in my head than anywhere else and they will say the most errant nonsense, making it sound totally convincing. First of all they use other people’s inventories to leverage me into believing that I am just what is needed to lift each person’s universe from despair; then they insist that my life will be incomplete until I have saved nations and secured borders, all the while failing to mention the deadly nature of these attempts. None of this is a problem unless I listen. Liars’ lying causes me no trouble until I accept and act on this bunk. This is where a thorough inventory saves the day. When I am clear about the truth of who and what I am I can’t be easily led astray. I know I am G-d’s child and the resemblance can be strong, but today that burden is not mine to carry, so I can stay busy being me.





Cheap advice comes from thinking; dear advice comes from experience

*



LIBERTY, HOPE?

If you had to choose would it be liberty or hope?
Liberty is highly recommended but without hope
How would you know you were at liberty?

Transversely if you had no liberty
How could you have hope?
Removal of liberty removes the possibility of hope.

So why ask for a choice to be made.
Well that’s the joy of liberty, I am free to ask anything,
And you are free to imagine anything and hope for more.

November 19



Human Sacrifice


How much does it have to cost me in order for you to feel better? Why is it that my suffering improves your mood? Does it confirm for you that you are not alone when you are feeling scared? Or does it give you the sense that at least you’re not as pitiful as me? Is it pleading that strikes a cord, is it the animal pain which stirs your compassion? What about this scenario completes the cycle for you to be able to move back to your comfort zone? And what happens if I don’t fall to pieces? If I hold my emotions to my chest, take them to my sponsor; in some way keep them from your hungry eyes? Will you move on and leave me behind? Will you climb over the hurdle which currently stands between us? Or will you store away this bitter thing like a rotten nut hidden by a Secret Squirrel?




List your objections and examine them for holes

*





SPRUCE

The gum that grows in trees and trickles down bark,
Is harvested and chewed, spit out and sticks to shoes,
Is the very stuff that mimics my life.

I race with vitality, burst my confines
Am ruminated and masticated by various onlookers
And then adhere myself to anyone I feel will carry me
To a more advantageous venue.

I needn’t apologize for my fluid nature or viscosity
I am just as I should be, always where and what I am
And at the same time on my way to somewhere and something else.

November 20


The Story as a Stowaway



I want to tell you a story, but I want to tell it to you quickly, so I can give it to you and then you can carry it on your way. For what good is my story to you if you must leave it where it lay? Your need to be elsewhere presses on us both and I wish to give you what you can take rather than to try to stall you here for an epic you might never lift and certainly not dream of dragging along. I want you to be on your way and take a part of me with you. I wish to sew myself in your mind; tether my tale to your soul. I believe in forward motion and the need to carry on. Where you’re going I can’t go on my own but I know that if I am funny, quick and lite, part of me goes even to the end of your world and my hope is to help you make it bright.





Apprentice yourself to collaboration

*

MIRACULOUS

Sometimes the blind lead the deaf.
The subtle signs are the bumping into trouble
And the inability to listen to reason.
It is an expedition into disaster.

Unfettered by common sense or boundaries
Tumbles and falls propel this pairing
To unknown destinations.
The attraction is baffling but undeniable.

These pairs can be seen through the ages.
In spite of this confounding coupling
Sometimes the blind find their way
And the deaf hear the call.

Even when they don’t life seems to roll along
But try to keep your eyes and ears open anyway.

November 21


Blanda


I know how good a quarterback you are on Monday, safely at home. What were you like on the field, gameday? You act as if seeing your mistakes in retrospect is the same as not having made them, but the game is lost and a rematch is not a do-over. The score is final, whether you accept the stats or not. Defeat does not deter my love of the game and doesn’t diminish my affection for you, but history has been made and I don’t wish to repeat it.


Step aside and let fury pass

*

PERSONAL DICTIONARY

Everyone keeps a dictionary in his or her head.
All the words lay on platters
Each with its own flavor and meaning

There are favorite menus and phrases
Which form warmly in the mouth
And hang sweetly for the ear.

Other vocabulary is exotic, pungent
Occasionally with strong after taste
Or off key ringing
Abundance brings a wealth of conversation
And keeps the cold of boredom at bay.

Free for the taking words grow out of life lived.
When we have lived separately
Even if only in our separate heads
Meanings vary and reference must be checked.

Blue sky is blue sky
But do you speak of azure, cerulean or peacock?
Life is so much show and tell.
Drink the sunshine with your eyes
And flow it out to me with your words.

November 22



Generational River


The history in my genes have cut a channel in the rock of existence; I pour through it everyday. I too change the face of life one grain at a time, though I rarely recognize my affect I am so busy running. Damns, ponding, acts of G-d leave their marks for future readings, but I keep moving. The water is never the same twice; it changes even more than the mineral face and yet its liquid life looks more than unchanged from a distance and is a world filled with variety up close. Circle the globe, the sun, the sands of time, the river of life flows from here to there and back again.



Bake pies to warm the crisp apples


*

CARGO LOST, CARGO FOUND

I fill the pallet of a New Years sobriety
And when it has been accomplished
Make a manifest and strap this pallet
With the others on the flatbed of my life.

The cargo is secure and weighty
And there is ample pressure
Where the rubber meets the road.
I maneuver my rig carefully.

I feel assured as I stream
With the traffic on the byways.
The power and magnitude of my transport
Prompts in me over confidence.

I fail to realize variation
In weather or road conditions
Can jeopardize my journey.
Eighteen wheels make for poor cantilever
When traction is lost and top heavy wins out.

In losing the battle of gravity,
Inertia and control, I realize the past
Is not a weight I need to haul.
All that is necessary is the inventory.

I slip the pages into my pocket
And walk the rest of the way.
I am my only freight.

November 23



Triumph


G-d and I are experience junkies; part of why I am here is so G-d can take me for a ride, but also for the treat of G-d tucking into the sidecar and letting me take us out for a spin. I am G-d’s audience and G-d is mine; though we are not peers we are comrades. Life is a serious business I am sure and profit and loss are always there to be considered, though I can barely describe to you how much being in love with my creator is a joy, but even better is being the apple of my creator’s eye.









Put resistance on the rack and stretch it


*

MOSAIC

I couldn’t prevent this plate from shattering
so I saved all the pieces, loosing none.
I laid them edge-to-edge and made a design
then secured it with thin-set.

Pieces of pattern framed with grout are seen
as they never could be when this dish was whole.
I am part of this construction
more than just handing china onto the table.

Integrity has been lost
but replaced with fractured openness
The plate has lost personal unity to become
an ingrained part of my personal archeology.

November 24




Jet Lagging


Baby’s feet kick in the isle and we are all cocooned in our seats. The movies play and earphones dangle in our ears. We are jetting across the country in our own little worlds. Landing can not happen soon enough for me, not that I want to foreshorten the flight. I just know I have a stack of lives waiting for me and I would like to get back to living them. I have been a week away, a vacation for sure and true but I have my keep to earn, my obligations are many. I hope to have done myself proud when I am through, but until then there is much to do.



Zip up to protect yourself from exposure

*

ORIGINS

Pain filled interactions with people
Better suited to be left alone
Changed me in the way of acceptance.

Retched relationships with people
Made it difficult for me to have a loving
Relationship with the world.

I had imprinted as a fledgling
On sarcasm and ridicule.
Bitter milk starved my expectations
Of kind response.

I could not greet the world eagerly.
Having never embraced the world
I failed to hang on as it turned
I slid on my face and hands.

Mud covered I try to keep an open mind
And attempt a connection
With this spinning orb.

November 25


One and One



The person who has nothing is vague. The person who has too much alludes. And these people may falsely mistake one another for kindred when what you draw your conclusions from are the poems, sweet words, which flow out of these divergent folk. A paper house is built, but the living is impossible. Tying strings to dreams doesn’t permit you to fly away to fairy-lands it just leaves you prone to lightening strikes and long wet wicks. What could be the truth unfolded; spread broadly for all to see? Where could the roads so very far apart lead to a home, a hearth, a life? Or is this just a field of fantasy flowers blooming in our minds? Mist is vapor pretending at a marriage to a world it will soon evaporate and leave. You and I are passing ships on a short sad night.







Tip the scales toward optimism

*

THE WAY I DO IT

Cooking by smell.
Parking by ear.
Recovering by touch.

The later has to be done this way
I cannot see into the black-box technology
Which keeps me sober.

Feel through resentments, pain, sadness, joy.
Find myself under a pile of rags
With a match in my hand.

The many times the steps have saved me
From becoming a human torch
Are balanced by the weight of the rope.

Woven from these same rags.
That together we use to drag
One another to safety.

The savory scent of a meal
Or the glee of front row parking
Can’t compare with the tender sense
Of a sober heart.

November 26


No Mickey Mouse


The Wonderful World of Disney belonged to normal children; kids with Sunday nights and not the tear filled screaming which punctuated my weekends. I had no time for the creative melodrama built to add interest into the dull little lives of safe little ones. There is no Disney for me; no clean pasteled figures frolicking. I know only the freshened wit of the wizened rabbit and the frenetic slamming of that distorted duck; these are there for me. Teaching me the dark humor of the life I lead; preparing me to laugh at M*A*S*H, yet still never cluing me to the fact that Carroll O’Connor was only teasing, so still I cried to hear his rants, but the dry irony of Hawkeye, war and blood, those I got. I was carefully led there by the Merry Melodies.



Check your mental attic for spiders


*

CLIMBING ON THE ARC

If time swings and the seasons swirl
And I pulse out my existence
Why does the birds wing flap
And rain fall down?

If the song comes from my Mothers lips
And my Father tells his tales
And I dance my heritage with each step I take
Why does the flower open to the bee
And the swan trumpet her way home?

If everything pulls from the ground
And reaches for the light
Then how can I duck my head, hide my heart
And pass this all off as a coincidence.

Am I less than the rain or greater than the swan?
Why can’t I just climb on the arc
And let the continuum spin its web around me
Well, you see I can but will I?

November 27

FIVE FINGERS THAT GOBBLE




It only takes five crayons to turn a tracing of my hand into a turkey and it only takes a few things to change my drunken life into my sober life. Looking back I am amazed how little it has actually taken to transform my life. My drunkenness looks about as much like my sobriety as my hand looks like a turkey but the transformation has taken place. The red, the yellow, the brown, the meetings, the steps, the sponsor, these basics are the bulk. Sometimes it’s the small extras that help push this work of art into the realm of believability. Accents of green, up and down the fingers, or a few bonus phone calls to women outside my network. Anything can be the thing that kicks it over into a plausible and convincing reality. I can never be more than I am, a drunk is always a drunk and a hand is still just a hand, but within each of these things are unimagined possibilities waiting to be explored. Michelangelo believed that sculptures lurked in chunks of stone. I have come to see that a sober woman prowled inside this drunk and every Thanksgiving my hand yearns to put on feathers once again.




Read your own palm


*

ELECTRIC CONNECTIONS

I step into a room and take its currency.
Is the flow good, steady, the pulse even and strong?
Where are the power brokers
And are they sharing the time
Or using their magnetic personalities
To draw the current off others.

I check the complement of resisters.
Examine their stripes and access the possibilities.
I pump energy when I can and take when it is available.
I keep in mind we are all transformers
And change is possible for everyone
As long as we make the connections.

November 28


How I’ve come upon the World.



My first exposure to Bogart was as the man who was after Bugs Bunny, and Lauren Bacall was only referred to as Baby. I only ever heard Kaw Liga because Stephen King referenced it too often and I had to go have a listen. I come through the back door on so much of the world and it has served me rather well. Yes, I often feel ignorant, but at least the knowledge never sees me coming and I get the drop on it. There is a quality to not having been spoon-fed, that keeps me sharp and allows for depth. The universe sends me clues and I go investigate. It cuts down on the agendaed learning of the social norms and cuts me a wide swath beyond the common path. There are times when conformity is key; then again it’s a sweet thing to have a choice.





Level inequity

*

TAPERS

I wax poetic and burn the candle at both ends.
I borrow from the beginning, I steal from the end
And come up short; feeling deeply cheated.

I pass myself off as the time-keeper but am the time-pleaser
Arch-traitor selling short the days and hours
For approval not fulfillment.

I put away my true identity, mammal, human, the love of.
I have exchanged it for the mask and cape of the Do-do-doer.
A tragic figure of myth and legend who breaks the spirit
Of everyone who attempts the portrayal.

In spite of this the roads teem with actors
Becoming caricatures of a life less lived.
The world is more than a stage
And I must free powers greater than to be more than an audience.

November 29


John Grisham


My time hovering low over the ocean has filled me until I am ready to drop. The weight of what is inside me bears down; I know with the slightest cooperation I will become a rainmaker. I am mostly fine with this; I know from whence the rain was derived and I can let it fall in peace. What I don’t know how to handle is the acknowledgement. The difference between what I know and what you might think is vast and if I try to dissuade you I sound disingenuous or fraudulent. I have to get my head around the part I play and accept the roses when they come. I don’t understand how this looks from offstage or what it means to those who watch. I hope they will enjoy the work but never mistake me for the playwright.








Greet the day with open eyes


*

BLEATING FORMALITY

Stupidity stalks me when I’m tired
Hi-jacking my mouth and my mind
I can put this off to pilot error or interruption
Of service on my neurologic pipeline
But truly I have been captured
By senseless irrational mutinous.

I would love to say it was pig headedness
But alas I am not self-determined, I am a sheep
I open my lips and out pours the same
Plaintive cry as the surrounding herd.

In addition, once begun the wail is unending.
It’s as if the bellows works on its own
Carrying a tune which blends
With the entire wool coated world.

I shift and run with my position
According to the movements at large.
I am following the reactionary breed
Dropping the specifics of my personality
As one of the crowd, my brain switched off
And a quick veneer grows over my eyes

I can’t see, think or speak for myself
And yet it doesn’t occur to me to hit the hay.
When as a petulant three year old
I fall asleep in my tract, I awake as myself,
With many bleating apologies to be made.

November 30


Precious Cargo


Do I carry myself as well as I could? Do I understand the value of what is contained within me? This journey matters, it requires my attention and comprehension, if only I am able. When I fall short the road changes. The distance I go has much to do with how well and whether I acknowledge the nature of the cargo with which I am imbedded.







If you have to put your foot down; open your fist



*

WHAT IS MINE

The cloud of snow slept in the tree overnight
And poured from the branches with the morning breezes.
Showers of crystal, drop from a clear daylight sky
As a telltale of intentions delayed.

What was meant for moon time
Has been kept till sunshine
A treat for bright eyes and young hearts.
How can I weep over altered destinations?

Arrivals and departures are truly the province
Of poetry and postcards
Not a thing for worry or fretting.

Putty is for forming into an image of my desire not the worlds.
Time is a liquid substance I cannot decant at will.
Shoulds and aughts are parlor games for the bored and senseless.

If I waste my life playing a game I can’t win
I will fail to see what I can’t lose.