Friends of Bill W.

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 9



SHIMMER


The water ruffles over metallic sheen, lap after lap screen the view, and still the gilt reflection shines in my eyes. Hypnotic, the undulance pulls me near. I stand on the edge, gaze, then gawk; I follow the underwater movements and iridescent tremolo. I forget place and time. I lose sight of the facts. Gold isn’t the only thing that shimmers. Sometimes that glint is just a fish. Life is full of fins and fantasy. My sponsor suggests I stop looking for my life in a wishing well.



Think of all beans as magical in some way.

*

Special


Is it the wiring between my ears,
the size of the pump in my chest?
The difference which can be seen
when you look from me to the neighbors?

I know that you feel me to be special.
I feel me to be special, too,
just like you.

Defining that thing, that combination
which unlocks the mundane
is more than just an attempt to point a finger,
it’s a search for that little light.

Close and closer we pull together
and that is special but now I will whisper it,
tell you the secret truth is my ability to play.
Come play with me!


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[LeftWriteFemme]

July 11



SPONTANEOUS GENERATION


Dust under the bed turns into bugs. My grandfather believed in these alchemies of myth. I thought myself free from the small witchcrafts of threat. The longer I stay sober, the more real is the insidious nature of my disease. Mental clutter does breed all manner of squirming and chattering vermin. Every intellectual closet I leave uncleaned is a brooding box of contempt, false pride and bloated ego. The synchronism of hatchling defects and nursing grudges, fairy tale thinking and firebrand action, mimic Grandpa’s bedbug rantings. I can never turn my back on unswept philosophy or the dross of assumptions I’ve left waiting in piles. Spiritual house cleaning is all that saves me from the transmigration of blood sucking, life-draining phantasm. Supernatural transformation needn’t plague me if I take right action. The difference between blessings and curses is the direction you are going.



Tiptoe into your heart for a peek.


*
A Year for Me


The world is my mollusk
and I am its pennyweight paragon,
witty girl that I am.

I have spent enough time
surrounded by wet feet and confining shells,
all held at the bottom of the sea.

This is a year for me.
I am going to climb over the rim of my briny brink
and try myself against the fearsome winds of chance.

Although souse is buoyant
I feel strong enough to stand my ground.
Time has come for life, open and raw,
but I shall leave the clams to the casino.


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[LeftWriteFemme]

July 12

NOUN, VERB, ADJECTIVE


Model Sobriety (mod`el so-bri`i te), n., v., adj., 1. model sobriety acts like clay. Durable and flexible it molds to any situation. 2. model sobriety is like a clotheshorse; everything you put on it fits and looks good. 3. model sobriety is the 24-hour version of a life-long process. 4. model sobriety is a set of axioms with which we interpret truth. 5. model sobriety is what we put in the window for other sufferers to see. 6. model sobriety is the mirror we use to learn what is natural. 7. model sobriety eliminates extremes in behavior and thinking. 8. model sobriety is the mode by which we become a channel. 9. model sobriety is the definition in and of my life. Noun, verb, and adjective.



Write an acrostic poem for a dog.

*

Old Nasty

My addiction is like a Percheron,
bigger and more powerful than I am,
but what I have learned is that if I treat this horse
with due respect and a guiding hand
from my recovery and my Higher Power
I can harness the energy of my illness
and use its’ force to make my life work.

I can never be the master of alcoholism,
but I can see it for what it is;
an overgrown instinct looking for an outlet.

When I am given my way out I take this beast with me
and when I value that partnership we are both safe.
When I have tried to lock it in a stall
and run far from the barn, it kicks my life down.

When I put my head in the yoke willingly,
together we are led and we do the work
which is fulfilling and rich.
I was meant to work in a team,
I am grateful to have a teammate.


.

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 15


THE RAINBOW


“What is with that look of concentration?” asked my sponsor.
“I am trying to see the gray.”
“The gray?” she queried.
“Yes, I heard at the meeting that between black and white there is a lot of gray.”
“Ah. Well, my darling, I don’t want you to have black and white thinking, but what lies between black and white are all the colors, the full spectrum.”
“What am I to do with this information? What do I do with all those colors?” I asked in shock and confusion.
“For right now, just remember that all the colors aren’t blue.”


Set out your clothes and plan their day.
*

Blocks or Points


The decision must be made; would I rather be criticized
for having done something that is imperfect
or be criticized for having done nothing at all.

Disapproval from others is not possible to prevent.
What I do in anticipation of it is in my control.
I can spend life running from trouble,
chasing peace through underachievement.

Or I can step-up knowing that gravity works
always to pull me down
and that this is neither gift nor burden,
it is simply fact.

I must choose when I will stop tripping
over stumbling blocks
and realize them to be turning points.



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[LeftWriteFemme]

July 16


MAGIC WAND

“Why are you wearing that hat and waving that star studded stick?" I asked my sponsor.
“Isn’t this what you want, a magic wand?” she replied.
“Whatever are you talking about? I don’t want you to play wizard.”
“Don’t you? You thought walking into your first meeting would------poof-----make you all better. When that didn’t work, you held your breath for 90 days. When that also proved a disappointment, you let the air out of your blue face and started the white-knuckle routine for one year. At the end of twelve months, you released your arthritic grip and started scheming for a new sponsor. But the new wicked witch sent you scurrying back to me. Then, it was a relationship with undying love that would break the spell you are under. Now tell me again how you don’t want me to use this magic wand on you?” said my sponsor with aplomb.
“I guess my behavior gave me away. Go ahead, say your incantation.” I closed my eyes and waited for her words.
“Show up and do the work. Keep an open mind,” she said as she waved the cudgel.
“That’s it?" I asked.
“Well, yes, but I have to come back every day,” she grinned.



Set the table for breakfast just before your midnight snack.
*



Rounder


Back again, yes, that I see,
but change is not the same as return.
What I know of you is your past.
I believe the past because I know it.

If there is a new you to meet
that remains to be seen.
Even a chameleon sheds its skin,
though I doubt its intrinsic nature
is altered much in the process.

So flash your smile and wind your words
into the thoughts of those with whom
you have no history.
I’ve been exposed before,
the virus doesn’t conquer me, I am immune.

Once bitten makes me wary
when you come around again.



.

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 17


TIME TABLES


I know the train is coming and I want to read the schedule. I hear rumors that the convoy going to Feelings will arrive in two years. The five-year expedition to Getting My Brains Back seems unlikely but is often commented on in meetings. Excursions to far off destinations such as Functional and Reasonable have me on my feet in gleeful anticipation. Still I wish for a clear mapping of time. I feel I could leave off worrying about the how of it if only I could be sure of the when. This cavalcade of adventure would be so much more palatable with a well written itinerary.


Sell yourself but not short.
*


Horse Play


The sequestered equestrian rides alone through the night;
the wood is as quiet as she.
Passing no one;
speaking not a word,
she slips into the paddock without a nicker or a neigh.

I long to be just as she,
not silent sentinel,
but living a whist fleet life,
a power unto myself.

What stands between are my hurt feelings
and my longing to be loved.
I can’t blame myself for either,
but work to heal and grow.

Nagging need is a pestilence I will be well rid of;
the irredeemable past is luggage for a catalog,
not for hauling on my back.

I will mount up and ride my great round stead,
the night is mine when I am ready
the path is there I know.

.

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 18



FAR OFF PLACES


Meetings too near home are unsatisfying to me. On smooth, simple days local meetings are fine; I catch a meeting, just slip it in. On rough days I yearn for an out of town meeting. After these many 24’s I’ve come to realize I need the ride as much as I need the meeting. Like a discontented baby I need more than just a trip around the block. The comfort of taking flight in my car is equaled by arriving at some far off AA. Fresh faces and new-takes-on-old-woes are an antidote to my colicky attitude. The drive back offers me a sense of triumphant homecoming. A good meeting can be had anywhere. Sometimes I just need a change of place or change of pace.


Keep a lock of your own hair.

*


Cicatrix and Love

The mark left by injury is indelible
though it may heal, the consequence remains.
This is also true of love.
I am branded and changed by your affection.

The improvement wrought in me does not leave when you do.
If you stop loving me,
can you no longer remember my name,
my face,
my sigh;

I am better for having had your love if only for a short time.
Good medicine offers lasting results;
the miracle of your love is my health.

The blush in my cheek,
the revitalization I feel is traceable to you,
to the days you held me in your heart
and the nights you held me in your arms.

And though I want you back in my world
the best of you lives on in my life.

.