Friends of Bill W.

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 14


Wales



It is safe for the houses to sleep in the streets, but not for me. I cannot follow that which is so right and regular for mundane things. I am a jagged piece and it is hard for me to find my place.

The sun comes though everyone’s windows and peeks around the blinds left down. I must mind my manners and not be a nuisance or a bother; draw no undue attention to my brightness carry a basket to hide it in.

And while every river can drown its sorrows in the rush of the downhill sweep to the sea. I must stand here stock cold sober and bear the pain appointed to me.



Curl your fingers into the tangles of life and hang on

*



WAKE

Don’t worry that you might spoil the procession
By getting out of your coffin.
You don’t need to lie there waiting for the lid to close.

People will walk past saying ---so sad---too bad
But don’t lie instate just to keep them from feeling
Their trip was a waste.

Just because the crypt has been purchased
Doesn’t mean you’re ready to go.
There are still opportunities to dance.

Don’t die for love, glory or pride.
Don’t die before your time.
Death is only an honor
If you lived every preceding second.

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 15


Sympathetic Strings


A guitar with 28 strings generates much sympathy from the cords which were not strummed. Pluck is contagious and inspires much harmony and verve in the vicinity in which it shows face. Sympathetic strings vibrate in response to the jangling around them but are tuned to their own notes. Much distortion adds to the depth of the sound created by this throng. Can you hear my life? How a disturbance in my life rings in the lives which surround me? How I twitch and chime when things are twanged in the lives of my neighbors, my friends, my kin. We make the music of care, the discord of reaction. To every move there is a sound, to every sympathy a harmony.





Surprise yourself with the light in your own eyes

*




THE LIVING DREAM

Throwing yourself into the river in pieces
Drowns you as crumbs.
Casting aside love and longing makes you less
In your heart and your soul stops beating.

Pitching your tent with critics and complainers
Leaves you out in the cold on warm summer evenings.
Crest the hill to meet the rising sun
Orbit the constellations without hesitation.

Petit point the pictures in your mind
Then set them to music.
The world is your dream
Live it into reality.

[deeperstill]

Hi all. I'm new to bfp, still finding my way around. I'm a friend of Lois, not Bill though. Is there a different thread for that, or is it ok if i hang out here a bit?

[LeftWriteFemme]

Originally Posted by deeperstill

Hi all. I'm new to bfp, still finding my way around. I'm a friend of Lois, not Bill though. Is there a different thread for that, or is it ok if i hang out here a bit?

Deeperstill,

I couldn't find a thread for friends of Lois, but you could start one if you wanted to have a thread just for Alanon members. You are always welcome here, whenever you wish and for as long as you wish. Glad you're here. Hope you have a great night!

Sherrie

[deeperstill]

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 16



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.






Pick a color and let it find you all day

*
TO SLOOP

When I was a tanker- I carried such a heavy load.
The diesel cycle ran at regular intervals
And my internal temperature was terrific.
The fuel sprayed and things went round and round
The cost was high.

Now my principal means of propulsion
Is the wind in my sails.
Conversion was difficult
Though I found the rigging and mast a fascination
The ballast was a heavy load to bear.

Cargo is something short lived
To be cast off at the next port.
Incumbent discretion is welded to my keel
And will go with me to every harbor.

As a tankard, liquid was transported or consumed.
As a cutter, dependability keeps me tacking into the wind.
Now my outlay is low and my rewards are high
I carry only what I need, I am free, a sloop upon the sea.

[LeftWriteFemme]

July 17



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.





Imagine an ostrich in flight


*
GRAFT

The bottom has been cut out
My underpinnings stripped from me..
Budding ambition whittled down, transplanted,
Saddled onto the rock like stock of other peoples sobriety.
Taped to the leg of my sponsor I heal and grow.

I splice my thinking with the rich ideas of improved living
I cling to the cleft, divisions made from the people,
Places and things of my past leave me split,
Primed for fresh growth and opportunity.

Never again do I need return to the sordid
Acquisition of power or control
There is no gain when I am bolted to position and influence
Graft is graft for good or bad
I don’t have to grow where I was planted.