Friends of Bill W.

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 6





MCBuddLake


Barefoot smokers sit downstairs chatting on cell phones as I wait. Wait for the Doctor to come and tell me what? Tell me that I am ill or hail based on a hammer hit on the knee and a deep look into my eyes and I will leave this place hours late for a life I barely understand but am grateful to be living. Like one of the dancing flowers from Fantasia I am swept down stream, but an amazing journey even while I wait in this six by eight room.





Sprinkle letters on a page and write to them

*
MARMALADE

Marmalade, bitter and sweet, spread across my spiritual toast.
Zest and sticky solution, mix and cover the surface.
I bite down taking in the start of my day.

Past this point anything is possible.
Fame or disaster, a dreary fog filled morning
Or a cloudless afternoon.

See the passing populous
I alternating advance and retreat from this human wall.
Response and responsibility tattletale their way to my reactionary will.

The tightrope sways over the river of potential
Balance is more than a desire, it is a necessity
So I enjoy my breakfast tea.

I watch the marmalade melt as I dip my bread
In my well-steeped brew, the parade will start soon enough
I need this time before I launch into the fray.

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 7



What Oliver Could not Know


One of the complications of being an orphan is not learning about the failings and foibles which visit themselves on all parents. Living estranged from G-d has this same blind spot. When you live with someone day in and day out you understand their dimensions; depravation causes celebrity and the casting of very large shadows in some very odd places. The intimate knowledge of a guardian allows for relaxation and experimentation. Isolation creates an overload of anticipation; fear of risk and the yearning for attention swing a pendulum to the point of weaponry. Familiarity is a breeding ground, which means many things grow. Life in a vacuum is devoid of life and nothing grows up.







Lock away things forever and they only have imaginary meaning

*





HAWAIIAN GRAFFITI

White pebbles spell themselves
across the black of lava grown cold.
Personal announcements proclaim
love, school pride, religious freedom.

The care of placement and consideration of design
make the roadside an on going mineral memo.
What message would I care to share?
What words would prompt me to bring a pail
of crushed marble to the edge of the road.

Is there a truth so urgent I would take time
from paradise to spell it out?
A few more miles and I see the words I live by
strewn down the thoroughfare-------

IT WORKS-----IF YOU WORK IT.

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 8



Wasilla


I don’t appreciate those who wear ignorance as a fashion accessory, but then I have to work too hard, not to wear intolerance as a badge of courage, so what can I really say, while I’m on this topic, what kind of game is “Playing Dumb” where do we get with that as the vehicle? I don’t know why grown folks act like corralled farm animals, nor do I comprehend the idea of salvation through unnecessary sacrifice, but here I am in a society riddled with it and I try not to drink in the face of this idiocy. This is a job for which I am unprepared, I have spent so much time feeling my internal lacking that when facing the siphon created by the general public I start looking for a glass and some ice to tinkle, but I have tried this before and it solved nothing. I can climb under this pile of human failing or try to crawl on top, but what I really must learn is to look at it without a drink in my hand.





Count displaced souls
*


REFLECTIONS OF YOU

When people meet me they listen and stare
Then the familiar words tumble from their mouths,
“There is something about you”.

I know it’s the reflection of every person I saw
at the meeting last night, the sober voices that created them
also the mirror of years spent in rooms just the same.

I know this is what is seen in me
the bright light shines on me and the prism of time
fans the colors to my new acquaintance.

I thank my Higher Power for letting me be a
spectral instrument and I am grateful to the fellowship
for shining the light on and through me.

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 9



The Problem with the Peter’s Principle



Is there a harsher lesson than learning that love is not the same as trust? This is a fact all the more painful because it is true. Affection is not the safeguard of sanctity. I am learning to steel myself to survive ardor and its blatant disregard for honesty and still I am caught by surprise when the slight of hand is revealed. I think of love as a building material, most use it as a method of clear-cut or a fire which extirpates whatever I hold dear. I can trust people to be who they are and do what they do, but if I have to spend my time watching for the ordeal I have no time for the ecstasy.








Pair your pennies

*

PIECES OF SKY

The sky falls in pieces and clutters around my feet.
Scattered are the moon, stars and sun.
Fear and desire have consumed all the rest.

Great tides of resentment wash away reality
And replace it with allusion and propaganda.
What am I to do when want drives the course?

Satisfaction is unknown, the luminous butterfly
I believed extinct has not yet come to me.
I leave the shards of life to tinkle
As I stumble through them.

I forget to ask for wings of sweet contentment
From unexplored realms.
Paper dreams burn with fervor.
I peer to see what stands behind.

The gracious weather carries me
As a seed to a vaulted canopy,
Celestial spaces, buoyant and fertile I will grow
Away from the rarefied fragments of unrealistic vistas.

Sinking roots deep in cohesion and truth
Pieces of sky melt to rainbows
Home is the nature of things.

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 10



The First We

Before powerlessness can be dealt with, before unmanageability can be faced, it is imperative that the “WE” is embraced. It is the first and last job of sobriety. Initially the human “we” is faced and finally the I and Thee, but the full spectrum of “we” is there to allow the creation of possibilities in my life. As the human body is 97% water the recovering alcoholic is 97% “We”. What I could never do on my own; we do with ease. On my own I might not be much but together we are everything!





Obligation is part of the equation not the sum and total


*
ARABIAN DAYS

There are days I feel like Scherazade
And could spin a thousand tales.
Other days I feel my brain grab for it 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 lite the little lights
I sing sweet songs.

I wait for a response
I smile broadly to hear
The quick report of Rimsky-Korsakov

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 11




Ping Pong Balls and Possession

I keep an aquarium with a goldfish on my counter and sometimes he splashes my work proving to me that the thing I think I have contained often has a mind of its own. I have heard that goldfish don’t remember much, but mine always knows which side of the tank provides him a view of me. Memory may be reflexive. Assumption possibly is as well. I must keep a fresh account of what is within my grasp and what can swim away. I have heard the many fish tales from the part of me that likes to lie. The scales shimmer and lure me to pretend control when in truth it is all just a game of chance.






Confiscate excuses
*





BIRTH OF AN APPLE

When an apple gives birth what is the result?
Seed or sauce, crunch or crisp?
The act of creation is so much an act of sacrifice
How can it be limited to one delivery?

The children of effort produce fruit of their own.
Who am I to call them other then kin?
How many times have I thrown over bluster for blizzard
But snow is snow.

I can accept every squall if I keep clear and willing
I may finish my days in a winter orchard
If I spend my life picking not choosing.

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 12


Message with no Bottle


I found a note while I was cleaning the art cupboard. It was written in my hand. I don’t remember writing it, or thinking it for that matter. The note said, “Total disregard for the survival of your soul” and I have no idea if it was a warning or a suggestion; a place to start or a destination at which not to arrive. If it was written during one of those dark days it could be the former, I hope it is the latter; a sign post on my recovery road. I bring it out here to write to you about it, share it and take me to a place where I am no longer alone with this flyer. I sit down to the keyboard lift the note to read it again with care. I scan the edges for clues and see that it is a memo sheet torn in half and when I flip it, on the back I see, “2 loaves & 5 fishes to feed a multitude” and though I may not believe in that miracle I do believe in this one.








Don’t keep good night sweetness in the bowl, pour it out

*


ABUNDANCE OF WATER

Waterfalls fail the catch basin
And runs off to make mud slide from the hills.
Power showers down but the channels it uses
Are not always beneficial.

High tide with the push of tsunami wipes out the coast.
Water is the stuff of life but God forbid it get out of control
There is no living with it.
I cannot regulate the weather but today I have a plan.

I don’t have to stand out waiting to see how much will come down.
I may not have every contingency covered,
I do have a backup for the worse than average season.
Yes, I did dig myself a French-drain
But I started by not living on the flood plain.

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 13



Alarm


I have lived life like one long fire drill. Is there smoke? Not always, but I fear flames. The alarm in my head is with me always and I walk from my life single file and silent. I don’t move on, this is only a drill, ‘I don’t want to take drastic action, this will pass,’ is my constant thought, though, I can not remember a time without the buzz. I have stood outside my life so long practicing in case of an emergency that there is no life to protect. I have been conscientious to the point of being consumed by caution. Balance requires risk. I must be brave enough to have it all.




Remember old leaves turn over, too


*


FISH OF CHAOS

Out of chaos come very tiny fish,
Well maybe not fish but a very swimmy feeling.
How can I go around with my feet off the ground,
My mind racing on a squirrel cage?

Breathing helps, breathing is a place to start.
Once I get breathing regularly I can gingerly probe
With one foot for a place to stand.

The chaos may race around and past my legs
Like so many eels on a summers evening
But with time and practice
I can step from this current as well.
Out of chaos come very tiny fish but I can come out too.

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 14



Matching



“Matching calamity for serenity,” is a task requiring attentive diligence. Each tragedy has its unique blast pattern and necessitates a precisely cut cure. Coverage is one concern and depth is another, the weight of the healing atmosphere must equal the corrosive depletion caused by ruin. I have to make available the wound in order to receive the remedy; anytime I camouflage or barricade my injury I have eliminated the opportunity for a corresponding solution. Knowing this fact and answering it with right action is the job of a lifetime, but I cannot think of a more productive use of my time.








Admit to the uniforms you wear

*



SLIPSTREAM

I look in the rearview mirror
I see the headliner and a river flowing out behind me.
Dual viewing is the kind gift of hindsight.

I can see my internal workings and the past laid bare.
The beauty and sadness can transfix me.
I will lose my way if I keep looking back.

I catch glimpses and move my eyes forward.
I can’t advance without a full vision
So I remain grateful for the mirror.
Awareness and cognition, the brakes and the gas
I have the full package.
I just have to make sure to steer.

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 15


Fair Fish


Tiny thoughts ping pong around my head hoping to win a goldfish, but what do I need with a five dollar fish? How often do I pay too dearly, for what is merely an animated ornament? When I falter in self-esteem I look to decorate my life through hostage taking and other unfair practices. I know I want to feel safe, know that hiding gives the illusion of that. It’s like the joke told about banging sticks to keep the tigers away. Does it work? Yes, of course as long as you are in a place with no tigers. I can distract myself, but I can not distract life; life goes on and takes me with it, no matter my disguise. Given this I can either; spend my time with a blindfold and a cigarette waiting for the end or walk the midway and go ride the tilt-a-whirl.






Sit still until the day unwinds a little

*




MISSING

The good times we never had but should have.
The pleasantries I endured waiting for pleasure.
I remember you potential with fondness.

The days, the weeks, the years,
I waited for you to grow to me have past
And yet time is what I have -----not you.

Hope is a wonderful thing until it turns on me and bites.
Images I built have tumbled
And colors wash from your portrait

I carefully remind myself
It is the idea of you I miss
Not you.

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 16



Autonomic


Alcoholics in isolation go no place good. Isolation is too expensive to keep; whether it is a bad habit or worse. How do I hold to a receding thing such as this? I am amazed that I accomplish this difficult task and fear my ability to do something simple like breathe. I wonder often why destruction is so seductive when life is fine. Yet, I hear the cloying whispers of lonely isle shores, I must bind myself to friendship and hold firm to companions for the water is no place for me, I have forgone my once liquid life.





Tell yourself a story about what you’ve learned

*

ARCHIMEDES PUT A BOULDER IN MY PATH

Place a lever under the boulder and press down.
Never so hard as to warp the lever.
Move the pivot and push under a new place.

Keep doing this until you have pushed deeply
And well from every aspect of the boulder in you path.
This works every time.

Not because it dislodges the boulder
But because it somehow changes me.
The path may also appear different.

Often the boulder drops from view.
It may not be gone but seems less irretraceable.
My life goes on.

I have found it important to retain my lever and pivot.
There is never just one boulder.

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 17



Bowman Beach


The swirl with the flash of teeth that I backed away from turned out to be dolphin, but that didn’t make me safer, strangers are strangers no matter who their PR team is. When I am out of my element fear grows long leads and I am bound by these limits. Who I am under new circumstances is a discovery I make as time flies by. Can I swim and play with exuberance or will I drown trying to catch up? I am able and disabled, the line is tied from the back and I don’t know its length. I unreel as much slack as I can and test my reach, but still I must keep my wary eye and be careful of the deep.








Think of something nice to say about a pigeon


*

MISS DIRECTED

I called and rambled at my sponsor.
After a significant time had past she stopped me
And asked--with a tone in her voice--
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 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 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.

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 18



Where do I live?


Fleeter of foot is my goal. I race to catch the prize thoroughbreds as they flee. I play chase, I win, I lose, I fall in the mud, I break my leg. None of this does anything for the horses either, they are loose and confused; off like a shot, but nowhere to go. I buy better shoes, hire a trainer, put reflective tack on the stallions and the mares. In short I go broke. I had the world of possibilities before me and it ran away; all because I don’t close the barn door.









Sometimes raise your value by stooping


*

OPEN HEARTED GRIEF

Tell a tale of openhearted grief
And closed-minded terror
Bend the limits of misery.

Pour over the damned feelings and tired excuses
Level the cupful of measured terrene
And wipe the drooling face of denial.

The children will not dance tonight
The grass is wet with their tears.
The dogs circle the encampment of desire
And come to sleep when we are settled.

Silly ruffled whimsy won’t carry the freight
But the bus pulls into the drowsy station
Filled with tea lites and pantomime.

The story will close with a hand on the doorknob of hope
An eye on the jelly sandwich of contentment.
Whisper the lullaby to the ones who stay to hear it.

Morning cracks the shell to daytime.
Shattered pieces litter the night
Tremors shade my peace of mind.
Sum up the analogies of broken hearts and twisted minds.

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 19



Earl Grey is not my Friend


Scabby knees is what I look for; I need to be with those who climb, not those who slide. I hate to say it, but looking cool and sitting on the sidelines does nothing for me or my sobriety. I have to build those calluses, require patches in my clothes, carry a hammer to pound in those spikes. If I don’t see tools in your hands and bodily evidence that you have been using them, I really don’t have time for you. This is a “let’s go, lets go” kind of recovery for me and if it isn’t for you then have fun and I hope you have a good seat, but I am not staying for your tea party; I have no time for tarts.







Explain the difference between a rabbit and a bunny

*


SLOTH TOES

A sloth is known by the number of its toes
Not its name or love of art or music.
The oddest attributes draw attention and acclaim
From scorekeepers and flag-wavers of the world.

Going my way in this life I am seen by clock-watchers
As timeless and by trumpeters as soundless.
I am not defined by these.

The number of my toes or the time I keep
Or the sound I make is more than who I am.
An explanation of me will not fit on an index card
Or nameplate or job title.

As long as I stay clear of these traps
And classifications I am safe.
If I buy in or fall down
My sum and total will neatly fit on a toe tag.

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 20


Self Importance


When I am over sensitive and everything that everyone does looms large for me, I am more likely to think that I am a driving force in the lives of others. It’s a funny connection in the same way that when I scratch the dogs tummy her foot paddles; when I am not getting my needs met I tend to believe I am in this world to meet the needs of others. Often when in this mindset I also delude myself further to worry that I may be the only person who can help these other people. I have been training myself to throw a flag on any and all plays where I am that important. I try to bring all action to a stop and get right sized about who I am and how important I am and to whom and why. It’s not that I don’t have value, I have the same value as everyone else, but when I shortchange my needs and my feelings, over responsibility to others mushrooms and this is not good for anyone; me least of all. As with most things, if I find out what is right for me it tends to be right for those around me, even if I can’t see that at the time.






Frame your favorite moments
*

VICTORY

Victory is a funny thing,
Bursting across the finish line
Ends the joyful competition
And begins the wait until the next endeavor.

Pushing for success
Drops my life off the radar screen.
Power can propel me out of range
The center of my life overshot
In an attempt to be a winner.

I am stripped of my commonality
In striving for singularity.
Looking for acclaim leaves me lonely.
The winners circle is very small
And while the flash explodes
The development shows I am now alone.

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 21


Resilience

When I experience trauma or drama my heart and soul return to the toddler state; I feel the urge to stay up and push forward. I resist help and rest. I try to override animal need in favor of intellectual prowess. Bleary eyed and red-faced, I soldier on, only to manage to make my life into a ceaseless fight. My charm and wit wear thin; then wear out. I need to recharge my batteries, need to hit reset and restore my default settings. It is hard for me to accept that I must lie down in order to get up again. Restoration is impossible to achieve from my battle stance. Resilience is a bouncing ball. What I want to rise I must first throw down.






Sweetly kiss the past goodbye
*



SPONTANEOUS WILLINGNESS

At my local coffee-mart there is a strip of cellophane tape
Adhered to the mid of a Plexiglas panel
Built into the barrier where the line forms.
Only at a certain angle can this satin finish tape be seen.

When I first caught a glimpse of it I recognized
Others had stood there and responded
To the sight of this strip by prying bits of the edge
With fingernails---I was drawn to do the same.

I could not pull much up but each time I stand there
I work diligently for the moments it takes to make it
To the head of the line and be on my way.
Unseen others pull fragments while I’m away.

Over time we will accomplish this task
Unbidden, unknown to each other
Except through this common goal
Spontaneous willingness to do what can be done

[Bad_boi]

Caffeine cravings still haunt me. I am currently 2 years and 6 months sober.

I need a hug. Today has been a hard one.

[LeftWriteFemme]

Originally Posted by Bad_boi

Caffeine cravings still haunt me. I am currently 2 years and 6 months sober.

I need a hug. Today has been a hard one.

Big Hug to you! Hope today is better!

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 22

Canine Comprehension


I wonder what it is that the dog knows. True love, quantum physics, the ratio of lift to thrust required to make the ball fly, how food shared from my plate is better than food from her bowl. This begs the next question. What do I really know; song lyrics, nursery rhymes, old scores from old grudges? What I hope I have learned; is the space it takes to keep an open mind, the willingness required to make a real change, and the width, depth and breath of honest affection. If I haven’t learned these things I will put them at the top of my list of things to do. Because I believe I can teach this old dog a few new tricks.






Not all friends are friendly
*

CONTROL

I have everything in the world but control
And yet it seems to be the only thing I yearn for.
Past history has made it difficult for me to have faith
And I have clung to scraps of control as in alternative.

I have hope but I have hope in a way
A disgruntled gambler has hope.
The horse may cross the finish line first
But it’s a long shot.

This is the trouble with control, if I could ride the horse
I might be able to exert some sway in the situation
But since my jockeying would only make things worse
My inability to secure the outcome leads me to despair.

And here I am, I am not in the race
I will not risk betting on the horse.
I have no skill accepting the capricious nature of life
And work hard not to be capricious myself.

This may be the crux of my problem
I work so hard to do things right instead of having fun.
I try constantly to keep things from going badly
I focus no time on creating joy in my life.

I may not believe much
But I do believe God wants me happy.
This could be the seed---which starts faith.

[LeftWriteFemme]

October 23


Jacks


Born crazy, is that better than becoming deranged? Do birth affects excuse my unrepentant glee? Does irrepressible sardonic wit explain the order of restless exposition? Can you count on Cicadic enthusiasm to carry me, or flightless fancy to keep me down? I am beyond redemption, beyond reception, beyond device. I arrived riddled with chaotic cracks, but I am more than just a glaze and deep down I’m more than sound, so walk with my wild side and your thoughts I’ll rearrange.



When you can’t fill the void, wallpaper

*

BEFORE THE END OF THE ROAD

Before the end of the road tiny stone lay on the side
Freshly painted lines glimmer in this twilight trance.
Walking the macadam, the crunch underfoot
Changes my perspective.

No steering wheel or accelerator
This is ankle express all the way.
Walking the road , step by step, on my own
I am part of the soft and growing world.
Progressing on a plan of separate integrity

Moist, lush wonder, is missed
By the motor speedway I let rule my life
Honeyed sweetness covers the vegetation
Swaying in the undulating air born pulse.

I am tempted to lie down and have a roll
But my role tonight is to reach the end of the road.
When my goal is achieved I may choose
A woodland life or an urban endeavor.

Seeing the end of this path is job enough for now.
Decisions anticipated prior to arrival
Are foolish diversions.
I need to stay, not stray with the dancers in the wind.