Friends of Bill W.

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 19

Nameless Strange


I am nameless strange and you don’t know me, not anymore. Dismissed as an unread book; sent away with covers torn off. The bad weather that you love keeps you indoors eating hot curry and thinking foolish thoughts. What narcissism separates you and me? After blinking eyes you find our sameness, bend near me and whisper my name.


Have faith in fruit

*
A LITTLE EXTRA HOPE

What will you do with a little extra hope?
Asked my quizzical sponsor.
What good is a little hope?
My retort.

A little hope got you sober,
What can you do with a little more?
Could you take out your dreams
And fly them on a breeze?

Could you throw yourself
Into a wave of intention
And see if you could ride it out?
Breathe easier, smile broader?

Take my hand tighter
And walk the road awhile longer
Before you run for refuge?

Let me ask a better question.
What couldn’t you do with a little more hope?
-----------FAIL-----------

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 20


Toolbox


I know just how hard it is to pick up the right tools. It's like I know I have a hammer in the drawer, in fact I have two, so, why oh, why do I feel compelled to hit things with the heel of my shoe? Trust and believe it is ineffective at best; additionally it is embarrassing. I wish I could say I have done this a handful of times, unfortunately, I have done it over and over, it’s hell on my shoes and worse on my morale. Using what is at hand or foot may seem practical, but it is not prudent. Walking myself through the step by step process; reading and following directions is easier but only when I disengage the lie that says it’s harder.





Build a canopy over elucidation

*

SAFETY IN MY CHAIR

Sometimes
I have to sit with my knees
Tucked up under my chin
My feet can’t touch the floor
At these moments I hug my legs to me.

I feel contained
But somehow adrift in my chair.
I center my mind on breath and pulse
Pure fear flits and flutters
While I gain my composure.

When I feel safe enough
To put one foot down
Then the other and connect
With the world again.

I am leaving home to embark this earthly trek
The journey is there for me everyday
But some days I curl up in my chair.

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 21



Mercy


The rearview holds the vision, the sad figure on the corner as I drive away, all that is left to me are memories of G-d, the rest I ejected and sped from as fast as I could. I cannot face what is left when I make G-d homeless and unloved. Though living together was tough sometimes, living alone is unbearable. Nothing cooks right, cleans right, tastes right or smells right, even the moon won’t rise right when I am strictly on my own. And G-d wasn’t built for the streets, that corner is not someplace my Higher Power fits in. We are meant to be together and apart the world spins off its measure. Pitiful is what I am, so I swing around the block, fling open the door and take pity on G-d and go home.




Make time for lullabies
*




BELLS

The bells are ringing but no one sings
There are no peals of laughter and that’s just fine
For pleasure is not the only response to sound.
Shock and distain are other options, too.

I have what I want in relationship to the buzz in my ear
Equal opportunity attitude, pro and con.
Some songs bring joy when they end.

I have to lower my expectation of pleasure
And value my distaste for tinkling sounds
Or any other preordained sweetness.

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 22



No Jin



I molested the touch control lamp. I had no trouble turning it on, but could never figure how to turn it off; therefore I let the light shine in the daytime. I called looking for guidance, “lick your fingers then try again,” was the glib suggestion. I offered that I was not interested in becoming that intimate with said lamp. Sometimes connections are made easily, other times they cannot be made at all; still there are times the renewal of a connection is determined by my willingness to up the ante. Am I willing to put a little spit into the effort or will I leave the light to burn?








Invent small pleasures

*

WILLING PIECRUST

I lay the crust of my will over the pie plate of Gods’ will for me.
I must have the willingness to trim off the excess.
I hesitate--- I worked hard to roll it out.

I know from past experience when hot issues come up
These tags and hanging-ons burn and drop
Sometimes ruining the flavor and appearance of the whole.

It is easier to cut loose the things outside God-given intent.
I get the pie in its entirety when I crimp and bend
To the shape of my life.

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 24


What is Dear?


I am angry that I was taught I must hold on for dear life instead of being taught that life is dear, but they couldn’t teach me what they didn’t know and couldn’t know what they had not discovered for themselves. I wish I had learned earlier to love the life I was taught to cling to, but I am grateful I have been bound to life long enough to find the joy in it. I have found that knowing joy causes me to cling all the more, cling in sweetness to what was once such a bitter task. I am angry for what I wasn’t taught, but sadder still for what they didn’t know and all that is lost in their lives to ignorance and tradition. I wanted better for them and they wanted better for me and this is the circle which closes around the dear that I hold onto.




Make room for running starts

*
FRUSTRATING IMPROVEMENT


Improvement is frustrating, lonely and yet exhilarating.
It somehow starts with moths in the stomach
And ends with warm soup satisfaction.

Struggling, waiting, followed by further struggle
Progress made by tugging one string then the other.
It is hard to accept scaling the ropes alone
But tottering assent is always this way.

Once at the top I realize how easily I could slide to the bottom
Sometimes friction is all that keeps me up.
Establishing a new altitude is challenging.

I must ground myself in a new way.
My talents hinder and aid me.
I must open the correct doors in my mind
And avoid the traps in the floor.

Stuttering through requirements and obligations
I transform but only slowly.
Earning each drop of comfort from a job just done.

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 25




No Dialing Tonight.



When it is late at night and I can’t sleep I wander and putter and plan my dreams. I hold out hopes and wash their faces; pray for rain and clean all traces. Thunderstorms rumble and lightning strikes; I tune up the plumbing and wipe down the pipes. All the paint and promises in the world won’t change me; I’m still lost in the dark without you. Tear stains are friendly till I wash them away leaving blotchy eyes that can’t be explained; an aching heart that keeps on ticking and wishes that can’t come true. Sunday morning is here, too soon and life rolls on whether you think it should. Tiny thoughts come out to play and sad, sad fears keep them at bay. But the dog is curled up under the covers without a care; I long to disturb her but do not dare. She is the queen here and I’m but the naïve; I’ll tend to my writing and try to be brave. For the dawn will follow this endless nocturne; the whole world will be safe once more. I will cry but it’s all too late; though you are merely a phone call away.





Find the place where noise and music intersect

*
ALARM CLOCK

The dream killer plays its harsh tones.
I pull my lids, so unwilling to wake.
The tip of my tongue dry to leather
Welcomes the wet of my toothbrush
I grin a foaming smile.

I run through my night travels
I mentally wonder the highlights
Ponder the implications and meanings.

Dressed, with open door breeze in my face
I leave nighttime escapades
For daytime pandemonium.
The only thing I won’t leave behind
Is the last image before the gong sounded.

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 26




Green Wood

When a nail is hammered into a living tree, the tree is forever changed. Even if the barb is pulled out the tree will never be the same. If the spike remains and the tree lives; over time the nail will be incorporated, the tree will get on with the business of living and carry the thing as just a part of what it took to get here. What was trauma is trauma, but life is big and the longer it gets the larger the life, is the hope. Piercing experience is engulfed by rings of fresh wood and a will to grow beyond the moment of impact. The tree branches out and even a hundred nails can’t stop that.







Educate domination when you can and cage it when you have to

*

VIRGINIA CREEPER

In a clearing grows a vine
As seasons change the leaves turn pale.
This type of vine grows throughout the woods
But does it grow pale everywhere
Or only in this sunlit space?

I see the trembling of the lovely foliage
And wonder the destiny of the flora.
Does growth have a will of it own?
Does it grow to light or is it a must?

Can I turn my face
Even if Virginia Creeper cannot?
And if I can------------
Should I just to prove a point?