Friends of Bill W.

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 8



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, but 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.







Follow your lead

*

ALL- BETTER NOW

Mother kissed the booboo
And I wait for the admonition to take effect
Waiting, I count the problems
Like telephone poles on a long journey

What will it be like
The world all- better?
The anticipation nearly breaks me for awhile
Until waiting turns to disbelief.

A chill fills the space
And all- better becomes the cry
My sponsor calls for moderation
And lowering my expectation

The child’s ears ring with the promise to be fulfilled
She cannot give herself over to a world
Where band -aids are not a cure-all
But only a cover for the slow work of internal healing, scars and all.

Sheer survival is not sufficient for the screaming toddler
Heartbreak from injustice calls for more than endurance
But alas, a kiss is all we have.

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 9


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 through I 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.








Keep in mind that love doesn’t conform to opinion, even well meaning opinion


*

SLAYING OLD DRAGONS

Your roar is Doppler-low
And I can feel my steps move the earth
As I go forward.

Former dominator
Scary from every angle
I come for you today

The scales are falling, I don’t rip them but they fall
I can breathe at the heights of you lair
I am not shrinking

The booming voice you had is gone
The power spilling away from you
I don’t fly from you

Gone is the tremble you once instilled
The curtain has parted
And you are revealed

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 10


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.









Know what you are holding on to

*

URBAN LANDSCAPE

I am taking this giraffe to the penthouse,
Do you suggest the elevator or the stairs?
Why do you chose these complicated tasks
To fill your days asked my sponsor?

You think this is beyond my abilities?
I didn’t say that, I do believe either you or the giraffe
Are likely to get bent out of shape
But that is the most obvious of observations

What if I told you being disproportionate
Is both of our natural states, I asked?
I know that too, my darling little lamb.

You may be a contrast to the multitude
But why make it harder?
Why not a ranch with a cathedral ceiling
Bay doors even?

You are taking out the spirit of adventure, I say
Baby, you may have confused frustration
With excitement, says my sponsor
Yes, but you have forgotten the view.

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 11



Out Standing in My Field



Trying to remove expectations is like trying to unseed a field; it is damn near impossible until something crops up, though when it does I must act swiftly lest things take root. Tedious as it is weeding the fields of unreasonable expectancy saves me from so much frustration later on. I don’t recognize it, but expectations are like little dictators forever ruling me; leaving no room for G-d or direction, not to mention flexibility or change. Tap roots dive for the vein and my life depends on fleet elimination of unsuitable desire. I can want. I can strive. I can not leave expectations to grow in my garden.





Screen your comments when you can


*

STRETCHING

Stretching is not equivalent to change
Limbering is nice
And warms the muscles, body and soul.

Over-reaching, over-compensation is trauma
It distorts the symmetry
And breeds erroneous thinking.

Extension beyond the bounds sets me up for a fall
I misinterpret touching with finger tips
With a firm and able grasp.

I don’t step forward because I believe
I have a hand on things
Failing to see how this is different from an embrace.

The sinew tears
And the fabric of life is destroyed
I lean forward but I go nowhere.

[StillettoDoll]

Gray's First Sober Year

by William Notter




This new life is better
than a dozen beer-joint romances
or a hundred drunks at fishing camp.
My habit now is not drinking,
and waking up where I belong.
I can see colors again,
and I don't feel like a turd in the punchbowl
whenever I go around people.

I'll mow the weeds for Sharon
and almost enjoy it. She's even given up
checking my breath whenever I come home.
I went shopping for our anniversary
and wound up crying in the store,
but not the kind of tears you cry
when your wife catches you lying in the shed
with your pistol jabbed up in your mouth
and vodka running out your nose.

The only thing she could think to do
was check me into another detox,
and this time it finally took.
This year has made me different—
vodka could never do that for long.
Some days when I wake up early
and listen to Sharon lying there breathing,
it feels like somebody snuck in while we slept
and changed our sheets.

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 12



Box-a-week Tao


I am going through so many changes surrounding the cleaning out and getting rid of process. The flat sided panic that I experience while even attempting the smallest disposal seems impossible. I would deny it if I didn't have the repetition of this experiment to prove it as fact. I have now moved into the part of the illness where I compulsively clean the things that I have emptied in order to avoid facing the next step, the next box, the next mess. This is a two part trap: part 1. If cleaning can absorb all the time I will not be able to do anything else. Part 2. If I can't keep it clean enough then I have an excuse to give up and not empty the next space. I am trying to keep moving without being mean to myself. Because mean is worse than mess.







Try not to lose things you never had


*

CHOICE

Growth is my decision
I don’t need conflict or catastrophe to bring me to change
I choose each day, come what may, to roll out the refuse
I am not tempted to leave it in to rot just because the sun is shining

Good days are good times to improve
How could integrity be retarded by joy?
I am not punished into recovery

I will never accept a Higher Power who set up a system like that
And give wide birth to people who claim their Higher Power did
My bottom may have been an inducement to start
But choice keeps me coming back.

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 13




Be That Girl


I have tried to protect the investment I made in the past by selling the soul of my future. I arrived self-possessed, a winning girl, but I slid the self from the scene leaving me simply possessed. I gained everything then lost it a piece at a time starting with the parts nearest my heart. I must draw the shards together once more and mend this lovely crystal. The art of living is insured by my action not by grasping at slivers in terror of what slips from my fingers. I am what I have inviolate and all else comes to fruition when I am pleased; when I am myself.







Be aware which pens are poison


*

SOOT

I diligently work to remove the soot.
The residue from the last time I tried to hot wire my brain
When I attempted the short circuit of my safety-thinking
I caught my life on fire and flames, though brief, were spectacular.

Electric fires are very jarring
The burning insulation toxic
It leaves bare, stuttering lines crossing and recrossing

My stable base, the methods I once used to keep sane, is shot
All because I wanted to go joyriding in my thoughts
Suspended reality sounds so good but always burst into flame
Leaving me with soot removal as a hobby

[Tommi]

Originally Posted by StillettoDoll

Gray's First Sober Year

by William Notter




This new life is better
than a dozen beer-joint romances
or a hundred drunks at fishing camp.
My habit now is not drinking,
and waking up where I belong.
I can see colors again,
and I don't feel like a turd in the punchbowl
whenever I go around people.

I'll mow the weeds for Sharon
and almost enjoy it. She's even given up
checking my breath whenever I come home.
I went shopping for our anniversary
and wound up crying in the store,
but not the kind of tears you cry
when your wife catches you lying in the shed
with your pistol jabbed up in your mouth
and vodka running out your nose.

The only thing she could think to do
was check me into another detox,
and this time it finally took.
This year has made me different—
vodka could never do that for long.
Some days when I wake up early
and listen to Sharon lying there breathing,
it feels like somebody snuck in while we slept
and changed our sheets.

Great poem..and hello. I saw this on TV last week, and cried, and laughed and cried. Our stories may be different, our sobriety and relationships too, but damn, that One Day at a Time, is oh so true for those of us on either side of the bottle, medicine chest, etc. . i saw my Mom in it, and I saw the little me, and the Big me.


[nomedia="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D7lP_wxoSmY"]YouTube - ‪When a man loves a woman trailer‬‏[/nomedia]. If you haven't seen it I hope you do. IT reminded me of so many things. My addictive personality STILL rages on after so many years of being clean and sober.
Thanks for keeping the light on.

[StillettoDoll]

Sober Song

by Barton Sutter

Farewell to the starlight in whiskey,
So long to the sunshine in beer.
The booze made me cocky and frisky
But worried the man in the mirror.

Good night to the moonlight in brandy,
Adieu to the warmth of the wine.
I think I can finally stand me
Without a glass or a stein.

Bye-bye to the balm in the vodka,
Ta-ta to the menthol in gin.
I'm trying to do what I ought to,
Rejecting that snake medicine.

I won't miss the blackouts and vomit,
The accidents and regret.
If I can stay off the rotgut,
There might be a chance for me yet.

So so long to God in a bottle,
To the lies of rum and vermouth.
Let me slake my thirst with water
And the sweet, transparent truth.

"Sober Song" by Barton Sutter, from Farewell to the Starlight in Whiskey.