Friends of Bill W.

[LeftWriteFemme]

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
Meaning 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.

[LeftWriteFemme]

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 her 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.

[LeftWriteFemme]

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.

[LeftWriteFemme]

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.

[LeftWriteFemme]

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.

[Tommi]

[LeftWriteFemme]

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 ?

[RockOn]

Went to our 6:00 speaker meeting at my home group this evening. Barry did a great job with his story and his message. Went out to dinner with friends afterwards. I had a wonderful evening with recovery friends and am so blessed to have them.

I talked to a newcomer after the meeting. She was crying, scared and so embarrassed over a very recent incident which was a direct result of her drinking. She said she intends to come to the women's meeting tomorrow evening at 6:00. I will say some prayers to the Good Spirit she makes it.

Our minds can flip-flop on us so quickly when we are in the spot this woman is in. Amazing how quickly the ego rebuilds itself and can tell us "oh, that wasn't that bad" ... which for me, was always a set-up until the next incident. So thankful I am not attempting to manage damage control regarding getting buzzed up anymore. Just looking back and remembering it makes me so exhausted. And when my huge ego would say to me that it is okay now and I can use/drink like non-alcoholic people - that is when I would hit the wall again ... and wonder how I could have let it happen again. I have no will to control/combat an addiction anymore. I have no reservations when I say I am absolutely certain I will lose every single time. Recovery is so much easier and lots more fun. I gave up to win. I am thankful for my friends in my home group. They are real!