April 2

PADUANS


The pussy willows bloom looking much like crested poultry. The coldest part of my heart is fighting to thaw in this early spring. Weather is not of the mind to be rushed. Neither my hopes nor the changing calendar can persuade the warmth into the May mornings. It’s May for me, too, no longer the early sobriety of January. The years have marched on; I wait for the delivery of my returning brains. Long term sobriety has begun but I am still beset with the chill of fragility. I desire dignity and find myself strutting like a fowl with blooming plumage, addled and gawky.
“Don’t worry,” says my sponsor, “the pussy willow is in no way less for showing itself in the rawness of growth.”


Listen to the sounds of your life.
*

Unfettered


“The difference between a demand and a request
is apparent to everyone.”
A drunk once said this and I hold it to my heart.
I can not be bullied or swindled into a corner;
neither will I allow you to put a rope around my neck
like a wayward calf.

I obey because it works for me
and if you teach me that you are untrustworthy
or careless I will obey you no longer,
this doesn’t make me less obedient
it just takes you out of the lead.

Sometimes I hold the reins
and most times they are in the hands of God,
but never shall my reins be in the hands of another,
this is what I drank over
and this is what I could drink over again.

No one person is my salvation
and I cannot allow anyone to be my demise.
If you consume me like a drink,
I will kill you as surely as any drug.

April 3

ACCEPTANCE, ACTION, CHANGE


Acceptance equals action. Without action, acceptance is a death sentence. Action puts me in the hands of my Higher Power; inaction puts me at the mercy of others, or worse, self-justification. For acceptance to glow with life, it must be moving.
Action equals change. Action without change is repetition. The moon does not change. It orbits flat on its face, forever dark on one side and a mere reflection on the other. Change sparks possibilities in mundane endeavor.
Change equals acceptance. Change without acceptance is a walk off a cliff. For change to endure, agreement is necessary. A one-sided argument is fascism and fraudulence. The heart of change is acceptance, beating the blood of hope to the extremities. Whether we circle the heavens or the bowl depends on the cohesion of acceptance, action and change.


Listen to new music, sing old music.

*
Give Me a Goose Any Day

The geese breaking wind resistance,
the close ones,
the far ones,
the ones behind trumpeting
this is the gang who gets me sober
and keeps me that way.

Maybe you think that God is not a flock of geese,
but it has been my experience
and the honking and the mess are part of it all.
I spend my days making sure I am one of them.

Sometimes I am even in the lead,
which may seem like a place of honor and prestige,
but is actually a lot of hard work.

Sometime I am the cheering squawker
who makes my encouragement heard.
Other times I am the one waddling around
leaving an untidiness behind me.

All of this just makes me part of the flock.
I am especially fond of my nest mates
though they are often the ones I chase
and bluster at the most.

I feel a sense of identity and pride
when I see any goose flying high
and I know that because we don’t do it alone
we are able to do it together.

April 4

THE SCULPTOR



I'm stuck in a block; my sponsor chips away at me. I struggle to hold still. With surgical precision, she cuts through the debris with which I have surrounded myself. After my sponsor frees my hand and arm, she places a hammer in my open fingers. When the other arm and hand are rescued, she places a chisel in that hand. This is how, before my head showed above the surface, I began to help in my own restoration. I am the sculptor the program has made me. Recovery has taught me I can be anything if I keep chipping away at the things that hold me hostage. As time travels on, I am a new shape with each turn through the steps and have an ever-lustrous finish with every application of the traditions.


Everything has its own intelligence and you do, too.
*

Please Sir

Gratitude is a thing which collects and solidifies,
it’s pink and I can walk around on it.
Some days it is a broad highway
and other times a winding spindling track.

Ever present if I am mindful
gratitude roots out pests and pestilence
while planting a garden beyond my dreams.

Gratitude is like handholding
it warms and strengthens me, k
keeps me connected to real life
and reassures me that I am not alone.

Many days I find a way to make a face and pout,
plundering the rich rewards of sobriety
for the thin gruel of discontent,

Poke me with a stick on these days
and remind me who I am,
for I am never Oliver even if I feel a little twist.

April 5

STOP TALKING


“Try to stop talking when people stop listening,” said my sponsor. “And try not to take it personally.”
“Why is that?” I query.
“Most individuals can’t handle much of anything real. Try as they may, they are unable to listen to anyone speaking the truth. Tell them a story; you can hold their attention all day. Sprinkle bits of honesty into the tale and you still will keep your audience. But strafe them with bullets of the truth and they will run for cover.”
“I’ve seen it happen. I never knew what made them scurry, but I have seen them sprint away.”
“It’s a coping mechanism. If you try to turn their heart too quickly, they’re afraid it will stop beating.”
“Why is it you never worry about that with me? You tell me the facts whether I want to hear it or not.”
“I can tell you because you take step 3.”


Color a page using only three crayons.


*


Fearing Fearlessness

How many times
have I given the credit to night blind fear,
credit due the brave persistent child?

How many times
have I blamed the willing diligent pursuer
when the fault was the backstabbing delay of mistrust?

I resist the onset of freedom.
Fear was my oldest familiar
and I put from my mind that it was my jailer, captor;

Kidnapped me from my cradle
and kept me locked from God’s fine intentions.
Fearlessness sounds debilitating to my crippled ears,

Organs who hear well the disclaimers
and are deaf to the claims.
I am the producer of bile and addicted to dread,

Endorphins wear white hats
and win the day
once this yellow belly is put to bed.

April 6

MORE



Sometimes people get more than they can handle. The evidence of this is their insanity or death. God is not the actuary of heaven, managing tragedy the way my loan officer manages my debt load. The victim blamers run to the ‘lack of faith’ accusation. I have to keep my hands tightly on the wheel of life or risk strangling the parrots who chirp outlandish claims but tries to make it sound like help. I have to live with what I experience as real and be sober today. I will have to leave the measure of ‘more’ to time out of mind.


Lift your feet and let the chaos pass underneath
*



Two Things That Should Be One

The difference between my will and God’s will
is that God actually likes me all the time,
never looks to punish and would rather
that I don’t settle for less than what is best for me.

The difference between God’s will and my will
Is that left to my own devices
I would run in a perpetual circle and dig a trough.

I would never ask for help
and would refuse if it were offered.
I would take on misguidedness as a mantle
and wear it to my wake.

Often my will and God’s will are miles apart,
but they needn’t be.
God is the president of my fan club;
I just need to start attending the meetings.

April 7

ARABIAN DAYS

There are days I feel like Scheherazade and could spin a thousand tales. Other days I feel my brain grab for its satchel and exit my ear. I find it hard to be a hospitable host to all of me, but when I stretch or strain my elbow or knee I think, “oh well, they go out, they go out,” but if my brain runs off and leaves me I am in a serious mess. I try to be a lover of my mind for when I don’t I grow small in my heart. I scent the mental bath water and light the little lights; I sing sweet songs. I wait for response. I smile broadly to hear the quick report of Rimsky-Korsakov.


Don’t transpose your feelings.


*
Out on Your Front Porch


“If you want what we have,” said my sponsor,
“you will have to follow somebody
and lead somebody and do a few other things.”

“I have to follow somebody,
that shouldn’t be too hard,” I mumble.
“In order to follow it helps if you stop looking at the ground,
lift you gaze,” her retort.

I raised my chin until I met her eyes. “Better,” said she.
“I follow you?” I ask.
“Me, yes, if I have what you want,
follow others if I don’t,” she said.

“Okay and lead somebody, how do I do that?” I ask.
“It’s attraction, Sweetie, be attractive,
show your smile and your smarts,

But most of all show that you’re sober,
because that is always your best asset.
And no matter what anybody tells you
about the allure of bad girls,
nobody can resist a good set of assets”

April 8

CONSERVATION OF LOVE


Love does not diminish. It recycles like the rain, ever in transition and transmission. Love is not salvationary or redemptive. Nor do I believe it to be the currency of Godliness. Love is an element like cobalt or gold, it has weight and substance. Love is the coinage of responsibility not a door out of consequences. Love, true love, inspires right action, never cowardice or disrespect. In this strange amelioration, standing in the wings of realism, love is love no longer. Love is the standard I have to bear, not the canopy I stand beneath. In the frozen center, love cannot endure the pressure of misinformation, and melts with friction, floods with irresponsibility. Love, like money, admiration and sex, has its place and must not have expectation of being more than it is. With that said, Love is peerless, to be treasured, protected and shared.

Run away with your heart but bring your mind.

*
Up and Down: Round and Round

Like the wheel on my spinning wheel
I pump up and down on the treadle
and the wheel spins round and round,

The roving twists in my hand and yarn is made.
Really all I do is tap my foot
and gently hold on, pulling occasionally.

It is a small part I play in this production
at least it feels small almost unnecessary,
but with a clear mind I see
that without me it doesn’t get done.

I am essential yet still just a foot-tapper and hanger-on
neither of these is prestigious
yet the whole fabric depends
on my mundane actions.

I take great comfort knowing that allover
there are foot-tappers and hangers-on
keeping safe this way of life

Sometimes keeping it safe just through sheer repetition.
And if you ask, “Is that Unity or Recovery or Service?”
All I can say is “Yes, yes it is.”

April 9

FINE PRINT

I can scrawl the wall with everything I know. I can fill my books, chapter and verse, with pure and honest hope, but let me begin the precision of language and watch. My once open face becomes tight; my free associations peek regularly around each corner. Neatly painted lines are a trap with teeth laid bare. Serrations of careful craft sever my umbilical and God floats off untethered. Truth returns when I am shouting my prayers. Scrupulous observance never advances my sails. I must meet life with an open hand. The devil may not be in the details but be sure to check the fine print.


Open one eye and wink at the possibilities.

*
Stumbling Under the Tenth Step

When I’ve been outside of my mind
it is so hard to tell when I’ve come home again.
The landmarks take on such distortion in memory
that the facts seem bloated or anorexic
as I turn my face from side to side.

Old journals remind me of old journeys
and perhaps there are accurate landmarks mentioned
but how can I know for sure that these too
are not just the ravings of a mind gone mad.

Real or imagined I must take the daily count
and try to keep the score
in favor of the actual.

I don’t always know that I’ve fallen
until I inventory the dirt on my face,
but better that I face the dirt
than live the delusion of a mole.

April 10

FEELING TEMPLES


I failed to appreciate the initial onslaught of feelings. I spent much time trying to capture them, lock them away, or in some other way submarine them. This only had the effect of retarding my recovery. I had to reframe my thinking. I had to start with simple calisthenics, embrace and celebrate. As my emotional health began to take shape, I started the foundations for tiny shrines, each with its own theme. Happiness had a party going on until all hours. With grief, there seemed to be a constant internment in progress, body or no. Fear showed an IMAX film of the realities of life on earth, and curiosity had an endless library plus a DSL line. Making myself a willing and frequent visitor to these contrasting places created in me wholeness and peace. Never again do I have to trudge the two dimensional desert of my monochromatic former life.


Write love letters with your favorite pen.

*
The Key You See


The key you see is letting you accept me.
Oh, how I hide from that, run from that, flee from that.
I must be in control of what you think of me.

I curtain off the view of me
I don’t wish to share with you.
Add to that the unusual choices of what I hide.

I will strip down with all the lights blazing
long before I would let you see me drop the ball,
be confused, misunderstand.

What I truly fail to realize is that in the process
of trying to hide my faux pas and fumbles;
what I show you is my controlling ass.

Backside bare I moon you with my freak show
trying to hide my humanity.
Your compassion and tolerant waiting for me to calm down
and open my eyes is the key I fail to see about you.

April 11

BIRDS & BEES




Birds and bees can get me drunk. I have to watch the amount of envy which pours through me as I watch their wondrous bliss. When others make a bee-line to the hive, I must head to a meeting and save myself despair if my spiritual condition is not sound. When other couples are weaving their nests, I have to be careful not to weave my way back to the bar. The mating dance is so sweet and seductive; I have to make sure I don’t end up doing the two step. For as much as I hate to admit it, if steps one and twelve where enough to keep me sober, the rest would not have needed to be written.


Pad barefoot through intention.

*
Neither Frog nor Fish

I was falling
and my Higher Power caught me
in a net called AA,
all of which was a pretty neat trick,

But the strangest consequence of this
is now I somehow think it shouldn’t be possible
for me to drown.

Defying gravity 24 hours at a time
doesn’t make me aquatic
or even amphibious for that matter.

I still have all the corollary restrictions
of anyone who is me.
I still need sleep and water,
food and warmth just like a mere mortal.

How silly I am.
I dodge a bullet
and suddenly I think I am waterproof.

April 12

WHIP


I have been to the meeting where they play 'whip', the meeting where the members are gotten in line. The tempo increases constantly in an attempt to flick each other off into the land of shame and slips and less-than. This game is invisible to the participants, though the stress on their bodies is surely felt. Spectators often misunderstand the meaning of the activity and wrongly interpret it as strength training and endurance building. I think of it as a backward step, throwing me to my initial desire for a drink; living in other peoples skewed lines sent me running for a bottle. These same lines, placed around me in sobriety, will measure me up for a box.


Turn your plants and your mind so every aspect has an opportunity to get some sun.

*
Who to Ask

“You ask good questions
and you ask the right people,” said my sponsor.

“I ask questions because I need answers,” my reply.
“Do you know how many people need answers
and never ask?” she quipped.

“I ask my friends, no stroke of genius there,” I continue.
“You ask your playmates,
you ask the people you trust enough to have fun with.

You don’t realize how clever that is.
You know lots of folks who work hard
and you could ask your questions of these

But instead you save them for those diligent ones
who still know how to play and that, Sweetie Pie
is proof that you are no dummy.”

April 13


WILLING PIECRUST



I lay the crust of my will over the pie plate of God’s will for me. I must have the willingness to trim off the excesses. I hesitate; I worked hard to roll it out. I know from past experience, when hot issues come up, these tags and hangings-on burn and drop sometimes ruining the flavor and appearance of the whole. It is easier to cut loose the things outside God-given intent. I get the pie in its entirety when I crimp and bend to the shape of my life.





Hope is free, so spread it around.
*




Chickens and Eggs

Who is more sober
the early riser or the long-timer?
How do we get here and what does it mean.

It all starts with a day, which is good
because this is more than we had hoped for,
sometimes more than we could do.

Then it moved into an ever escalating game
of can you beat this, each day an improvement
over what had been accomplished the day before.

For years the standard bearer is the pain or relief
of the very first in this string,
orbs of 24, yet here stands the question,

“Is the essence the last pearl you touch
or the total of the strand, which makes it real?”
I don’t know for sure.

Sobriety is like light;
is light made up of waves or is it made up of particles
and the answer is invariably yes, for it is.

And what you need and how you look at it
seems to make the determination,
scientific method or no

The watched is affected by the watcher and vice versa.
The end is a day round and imperfect as any
and what is strung between the beginning and the end
is what you’ve made of it.

April 14

THE PLAYGROUND




Getting my ass kicked in the playground of my mind was once a daily event. Now, it is a far off memory. I absent myself from the jungle gym the same way I absent myself from bars---places set with traps and schemes I am no longer attracted to. Bullies and ego trips can’t draw me toward the fence. Dares and double-dares are such ancient devices I can’t even find the trigger they used to pull. Trouble doesn’t know my new name, my sober name; I don’t answer to the old one. I hate to admit the isolation of my school yard days, but no one I knew back then will keep me on the road to the future. So, I leave the ball in their court and wish them well.


Expectations are lovely as long as you leave off the outcomes.

*

Not Fur but Fin

You can’t delay the river,
I’ve tried, all it does is distort.
I block the flow and swamp ensues,
mighty oaks waist deep in water.

The current is strong
and I fear being swept away,
not realizing I was born to swim.

Dreading the swim back for spawn
I try to stay too close to my origins,
never make it to open water,
never to live the life I was intended for.

I’ve heard it said,
“Don’t push the river it flows by itself,”
but I can’t stall it either.

April 15

TRAP DOOR


The trap door of my mind opens occasionally and I find myself acting out things better left to conversation. When I leave too many things unsaid, the pressure builds and the door opens. My thoughts connect with my body minus the benefit of my brain, not to mention the brain of my sponsor. I can ill afford the consequences of these open door exhibitions and I am obligated to spend much time scrambling up the hills my outlandishness slid down. Thinking, speaking and contemplating, the prerequisites of action, must be done frequently or my mind’s sink, piled with my dirty dishes, will flood the counter top, then leave dishes crashing to the floor. Even if I can’t keep everything caught up, at least I can leave things soaking. I can start notes or little chats so I am not weighting the latch. I can prevent the coupling of impulse and exploit. All I have to do is stick out my tongue.


Release your emotions from captivity.

*
Like an Elf Working in an Empty Tree

The chairs in the loft are empty,
but I still hear the choir sing.
The bottle though it’s empty,
still sometimes calls my name.

Though front pocket is empty
and there is rolled up empty sleeve,
still the nicotine haunts my dreams.

On this empty road I travel,
I still long for company.
The stillness is not all that’s empty,
but I run to fill that spot.

Chaos is like a tapeworm
it eats me from the inside,
but in the meantime I still believe it’s filling me.

April 16

NAPPING


Too often, I have lifted the edge of the lawn in an attempt to join the worms for a bit of a dirt nap. Or I crawled into a self-constructed cave to bear my feelings and hibernate from life. The times I sprint with the deer, jumping the fences in hopes of escaping the wolves, these are all the times when I forget who I am. I forget to ask direction, fail to make a meeting. Seeing those of my ilk puts my feet on the ground, focuses my perspective on just what sort of creature I am. I can’t always follow my instincts when I don’t know who I am. I can’t see myself until I stand next to you.


Relax one toe at a time.

*
In Training

Like a faithful dog that was hard to train,
patience is a thing hoped for
yet peevish during the breaking in.
Stanch companionability is hard won,
but worth the cost of acquisition.

And what is the price I truly paid in the end;
whatever I gave in the pursuit of patience
was a cheap babysitter
and kept me from far worse reformation.

For what would I do in this late day and age
as a tempest torn toddler,
no bottle to sooth my woes and bothers.

Strictly speaking this is a world ill suited
to the edgy intolerant masses
and only seems to fit those who can mark time and bend.

April 17

LUCK



Luck, transposed for gratitude, makes a mockery of grief and loss. If you are lucky, what does that make me? The forgotten? The orphan of fate? If what I lost and what it cost me is just a lack of fortune, then why do right? What is sea level? I may deserve all the sweetness in the world but what explains the pain? I’ve heard that life’s not fair and laughed at the underestimation of the claim. If pain is the touchstone of growth and you are lucky and I’m hurt, does that make you short? And what is the point of growing tall?


Blow kisses to stars which look familiar.

*
Ground Floor


Step 10 is the place where the doors slide open
and I discover I am out of the basement.
I have to pay close attention to where my feet are;
it is so easy to stumble here in the light of day.

Obvious limitations and universally accepted interpretations
are pried from installation and put on trial.
Never is it acceptable to allow my alcoholic thinking
to make decisions for my sober life.

The road to my door must be kept clear
so I can get out to do my part
and so God can come home to me.

April 18

CLAW MARKS



There is a brackish river whose current changes direction twice a day. Its bed is well washed on every side. It begs the question: which way is downhill? There are times I struggle uphill in both directions. There are times I slip from every slope. What was up is often down. Judgment of topography requires distance. Scaling the surface takes tenacity. I plan on leaving my mark as I go, life’s residue staining my fingertips.


Design caution signs for your emotions.
*


What I Take from Laban’s House


If I have the audacity to have a problem
I must provide the instantaneous solution
or be the cause of world-wide panic.
Additionally it is the height of rudeness
to have open-ended dilemma.

It makes the gods uncomfortable,
makes them shift in their seats
and wish me away.

I prevent banishment
by either being problem free
or solution-full

When the answers are not to their liking
I exile myself saving them the inconvenience
and me the embarrassment.

It is never good to implode the household deities,
you never know when you might need one
for historic perspective or a door stop.

April 19

DROWNING NAKED


Bare and exposed, I laid myself on the altar of my home group. With AA as my only Source, I emptied the contents of my soul and bore the mantle of overexposure. But vultures lurked in many rooms. I was safely guided, by persons of my gender, to the more secluded and effective place of transmission. I thrust myself into the arms and mind of my sponsor. She escorted me up the steps with the door closed and taught me how and when it could be prudently opened. AA is a power greater than me. So is the ocean. Precaution needs to be taken when wading in. Care must be exercised as to how much to bare.


Wrap your intentions in wool to keep them warm and in gold to keep them untarnished.
*



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.

Though this isn’t true,
the fact remains that this is still
a process of letting go.

April 20

RANK


I took an area level service position and my sponsor laughed herself off her chair.
“What is your motivation for this?” she asked.
“I want to move up through the service structure,” my reply.
“Are you trying to make rank?”
“Problem with that?" I ask.
“Ever heard of self-fulfilling prophecy? You will become what you desire. You will become rank and you will stink. The triangle is inverted to help you clean up your act. Don’t get washed away in a tide of ego.”
I put down my swim fins and removed my epaulets.


Listen intently enough to hear the music of the planets spinning in your mind.
*




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.
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.
This time it’s God
that needs to wear the ear muffs
and lead me through the coldness of change.
On my own I just walk farther
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 God took me in.

April 21

SOLIDITY



Apprehension stands in the archeological site that is my life…listening. Listening for the rumble of a cement truck to come and help solidify the shifting and tenuous nature of my existence. A wet and sloppy solution. A solution to be raked and smoothed, covered and cured. Something to build a monument on or a place to park my car. The nearby grass looks lush and green but I dare not leave apprehension alone or it spreads. I stand with it on bad days and against it on good ones. I pray for the mixer to arrive or at least the gravel spreader. I need to fill this hole so it can be a life and stop being a grave.


When your emotions are at low tide, explore the shoreline for shells and trinkets.
*


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.

April 22

WHAMMO



I have been hopping on one foot with a ball of hope shoved under one arm and a ball of hysteria under the other. I wish I could tell from the outside of the ball which is the hope. I worry I will put down the wrong one, so I hold on to both. My life is sorely limited by the baggage, and I fear I am losing life with every hop. A lack of information is my problem. I don’t adequately know the properties of either and suspect my every interpretation. Finally, I stand before my sponsor to ask the question of my life.
“That’s easy, Honey. Hope is the one that bounces back,” is all she has to say.


Give yourself credit in a currency that enriches your life.
*


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.”

April 23

CRUMPLED PETALS IN MY POCKET



I can’t bring back the bloom. Cohesion, lost in ripeness, is left only to memory. I carry home the parts, folded, petite, fragrant bedding for my wistful desires. I put these colored remnants into a jar of salt. I make an aromatic rub for the sweetest of wounds. Transforming the parts to useful duty doesn’t restore the flower. It doesn’t pay tribute to the past; it is survival. I have a mind filled with roses but I must make hay. Today, I live. Today, the rose is dead, its pieces in my pocket. I don’t die with the blossom, though my head blows in the wind. The rose runs its course. I run mine.


Line your clouds with anything you like.
*




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 too
has a buzz, a stripe and a stinger.

April 24

ESCAPING THROUGH THE CEILING


Up and away is my motto; upwardly mobile is my goal. If I can flee without leaving a track, I’m clean. No heart-wrenching walk down the aisle or the lane. No dust on my shoes. No possibility of stumbling. Grace at all cost. Empowerment through elevation. If I must leave my human plane to attain this, so be it. Give up my natural rights, such is life. But, yet, if I lose my bonds to earth what did the leaving gain me? I arise to appear better; as a result, I appear not at all.


Hold your hand then touch your face.

*



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.

April 25

FEEDING THE MONSTER



Who will feed the monster once they’ve made her? Her hunger burns in her like a beacon. Should I let her starve? Should I put her on rations of old crusts and tepid water? Rebuke her as if she were her own idea? Possibly bind her hands and cover her eyes? Stand her in line with the good girls and fit her in? Turn her visage from her desire and tell her to forget? Hold her hand and tell her that’s enough? When I stand in the face of her yawning hunger, what do I say?
“It’s for your own good.”
Well, that’s what ‘They’ said, too.


Round the corners and square your shoulders.

*


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.

April 26

HOW THINGS SEEM


Not everyone who pushes me down is my enemy and not everyone who pulls me up is my friend. I have been seduced by the closeness of people who used me as their shield. When I have been held in the place of honor, the point man of life, I forgot that made me the replacement target for the one who stood behind me. I had been offended as I was thrown to the ground. The hands that shoved me, I saw as my rejecters. I was spared the tragedy and peril of the thing that flew by my ear thanks only to the grace of a thrust in the right direction. Accurate appraisal is my weakness. Seeing things for what they are is hard. Things are rarely how they seem.


Grow tall with your grain and the years will grow around you.

*
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.

April 27

SERVICE AND SACRIFICE


The difference between life and death in my recovery is the equal difference between service and sacrifice. If I offer you what is in my hand, fine. If I also give you my fingertips, I am lost. Service lightens the load in my heart; sacrifice removes my tools for living. When I go into debt for your existence, the cheer and optimism is sucked from my awareness. My eyes go dead and soon I follow. The cingulotomy of obligation crucifies my future and murders true hope and love. Service feeds my heart and yours. Renovating makes space. It builds the muscles for joy and contentment, pumping and refilling my plate with spirituality.


Wriggle your toes and flex your mind.
*


Perkiomenville

Being actually alive does not feel as good as I imagined
the relief of not being dead would feel
therefore I have anxiety and dread,
or is it disappointment.

I feel like a failure when I am in the process of trying
I want to throw the pieces in the air and run.
Does this mean I’m weak
or does it mean I am frightened?

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.

April 28

CHAPTER AND VERSE




I remember being trained and rehearsed for finding the words which would release my soul from bondage. The scrupulous concern for detail pointed me to heaven. And yet I drank. Inside these rooms the path is wide, judgment is suspended and I have the right to be wrong. The penalties for error can be great but the privilege and risk are mine. As in all things, the extremists come. They have come to this place, too. Thumpers hound and belittle, threaten and cajole. They tell page numbers like punch lines and narrow the field at every opportunity. I can’t stay sober sitting on my old stool and I can’t maintain this desire by their chapter and their verse.


Notes are numbers, so count out your time and sing your song.

*
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.

April 29

WHEN A SNAPPER CROSSES THE ROAD


What should I do? I see the soggy green/gray lump creeping the macadam too slow to survive for long. The surge in me, to aim and end the duckling eater's life, is a short-lived but palpable surge. My Disney style justice is dismissed but heard from nonetheless. Shall I pull over and assist? This turtle is as ill equipped for this stretch of road as I am ill equipped to aid in its conveyance. Should I reach with fingers or toes to something I know can extend its neck and sever me from parts I hold dear? The ever-present missionary in me has spoken and is silenced. In fact, what I can do is slow down and give wide berth. I know this creature is a danger, but never more so than me.


Plot your graph and measure your curve.
*


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.

April 30

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. I walk in a haze of cherry blossom lightness; the future is a blur I do not fear. Forward motion seeds my inertia; my gyroscope is set. When dark clouds gather and the way is overshadowed, 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 embed my future with right action and bank the confidence I feel today, saving it for the rain swept days that come to everyone. Progress is positive even when made in bliss.


Get a cozy blanket for the times when the answers don’t come.
*
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.

May 1

HOLD CARD



My bottom pulled my hold card to the table top. 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 time 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 ante 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.


Smell your meals before you eat them.
*
Leap Day

When winter is almost at an end it becomes beautiful;
a theoretical thing, which though it may hurt you,
can not hurt you for long,
therefore is safely appreciated by mere mortals.
You don't have to beg for God's own protection,


Time has become a friend and winter only a show.
I will soon wake from this chilling fright,
will in fact thaw from it in short order
and needn’t fret though chilblains
still catch at me now and then.

I can stand at the window
admiring frost and ice formed lace;
intricate patterns whose beauty will soon be lost to me,

Put away in favor of crocus and daffodil.
The terrible loveliness of soon to pass trauma
is not lost on my hyper-vigilance
I grasp it, I just can’t seem to let it rest.

May 2

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 veg. 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 the feast. I cannot sit and wait to be served. I stand at the range while the sauce simmers and it comes clear; I am my own meal.


Nothingness won’t necessarily consume you but it does block the view.


*
TWC


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.”

May 3

REALLY RAINING



“Why do people ask if someone is really sober?”
“They’re checking for the 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 the 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.”


Have double paned windows to insulate you from cosmic rays or constant criticism.
*
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

May 4

DESSERT

I have to be my own appetizer; I have to be the thing that entices and intrigues me. I must be the roughage, the salad full of color and variety. The entree must be me, as well. The things that sustain me, the meat of my life, I have to supply and swallow 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.


Make sure your work area is well ventilated.
*
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.

Wow, I am so delighted this moved you! I appreciate you taking the time to read my work.

May 5

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 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 it all back, even during the time when we all look the same.


Always step out of the spotlight before it burns you.
*




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.

May 6

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, intersecting, 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.


Exponential growth is a little thing that affects you in a big way.
*
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.

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.

May 7

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 flames. Today, a one-way faith is fine as long as I am moving forward.


Allow talents to unfold like spring leaves.
*


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 I still 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.

May 8

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 shimmer and sparkle but shudder at the price. The world is filled with shiny things. I can enjoy them but leave them where they lay.


Play the tune but change the lyrics.

*
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.