Friends of Bill W.

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 6


Flower Power



The man with the chrysanthemum on his head walks up and down the aisle. Do I look like that, I wonder to myself? Have I taken personal style to the point of caricature? What is the boundary by which the embarrassment is kept at bay? Is there a point at which I can overcome who I present myself as, and represent the best of who I can be? Who I might be if only I can manage not to get carried away by impressionism? I am given this dwelling and it suits me quite well, when I treat it as a temple and not simply as a shrine.



Do without some things not everything
*



ALMOST TWINS

You and I are more alike than different
Yet we cannot get along
Though I ponder why this surprises me so.

A cloud and a watermelon are 98 % the same
And no one would mistake them in a crowd
Or expect them to be companionable
Except in the way of two things existing in the universe.

My expectation of liking you for our similarities
Is set up by my fear that I don’t like myself
But the joke is on me.

My dislike of you is not a reflection
Of anything but time and space
My friends are the people who like me
Not necessarily the ones who are like me.

The president didn’t like broccoli
Without slurring its good name
And I can dislike you
Without inferring you are a vegetable

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 7


Anti-Forfeit Activity


I don’t want to write bad, forced, poor, weak, care-worn poems, but I won’t write any good ones if I don’t lift this pen. The embarrassment I might feel for lackluster lines is far less than the shame of empty notebooks. I don’t always like what flows when I open the gates, but I am sure glad the current is live and so am I.




Tie a knot
*







COOCOO’S NEST

I ran away to join the zoo
Hoping a life contained would calm me.
The segregation hit me first
Isolated exclusively with those of my stripe
Drove my thirst for diverse scents and opinion.

Next the monotony of the landscape bore into my brain
The well-meaning efforts of the keepers
Bears the mark of folks who go home at night.

The blandness of the food and music
Lent nothing to the experience
And antiseptic could drive anyone wild.

The final blow, the one which struck constantly and coldly
Was the steady stream of observers
Just waiting to be entertained.

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 8


Night Spaces


When it gets dark it gets dark fast. They say, night falls, though sometimes it feels like it falls down. What is little realized is there is a lifting when the light has gone away, the sky raises its roof and there is more air to breathe. Long lost is the pink wisp that heralded this night and far ahead is the next wisp of pink singing up the moon.



Believe in someone

*


WHAT’S MINE IS MINE

I don’t always know how to get the dog off the baby.
The attacks are often sudden and always swift.
My shock at the reality delays my response.
Falters my steps and fogs my mind.

What should I do to disengage this assault?
What can I do that won’t make things worse?
How can I resolve this now?

The pain is almost unimaginable
But yet all too familiar.
It all comes down to ownership
I must admit this baby is me.

I have to face this dog is my pet.
I have fed and groomed him
And now I have to put this dog to sleep.

[Lady_Di]

Originally Posted by LeftWriteFemme

"...

Believe in someone"
*

Yes! Believe in Someone. Believe in yourself to begin with. Believe those that are trustworthy. Be trust worthy...


"WHAT’S MINE IS MINE

I don’t always know how to get the dog off the baby.
The attacks are often sudden and always swift.
My shock at the reality delays my response.
Falters my steps and fogs my mind.

What should I do to disengage this assault?
What can I do that won’t make things worse?
How can I resolve this now?

The pain is almost unimaginable
But yet all too familiar.
It all comes down to ownership
I must admit this baby is me.

I have to face this dog is my pet.
I have fed and groomed him
And now I have to put this dog to sleep.

"

Yes, what is mine is mine. I own it, warts and all. I have to love the baby and not throw it out with that proverbial bath water. The pup is pure unconditional doggie love, sometimes we do have to let go, let G.d - especially when we really truly deeply madly passionately are in touch with the depth of true love. As they used to say long long ago, if you love the butterfly, let it go. If it loves you, it will come back. The important thing is to love and honour your truth, whatever that may be. And acknowledging that we must protect and care for our inner child, is simply priceless.

I am mother, father, maid, doctor, nurse, teacher, friend and everything positive and affirming under the sun to her, my little untainted, pure and simple child of joy. When I first began this recovery process I was very sick and miserable, very tired of that old life. I knew I had to change, but was so lost. *Yes, now I am found* I have done the most healing on this journey, the path less travailed, by taking my most precious picture of myself as this wonderous happy child that I was... I had it framed and I put it next to my bed. I would talk to her regularly. I had lost touch with who I really was, when I first came to AA and Alanon, I needed to remind myself of who I am, if that makes any sense.

I simply forgot.

I am the original hard headed incredibly curious and loving woman-child.
Today I know who I am. I continue to work the steps and apply all the principles in all of my affairs. And it works, it really does work. It is simple as that. No need to complicate it further. No need to abuse myself any longer.

I see that picture, a bright vibrant child by some beautiful roses, happy as a lark, wearing my bright red tights and black leotard. I used to live in my ballet clothes and pretend I was Honey, Private Eye. I got all the neighborhood kids to work for me, scoping out places, people and things. Yeah, peeping tom was more like it. LOL I was awfully curious and my favourite word was Myschievious. Or even mischievous... lol

Always loved playing with words. Truly to honour who I am, is to simply remember. My very essence of me has not changed. I did not destroy what G.d had made. I am intact, my spirit is strong, life is good.

As long as I do not rest on my laurels and get complacent, as long as I continue to be of service... I am good to go.

Anywhere, anytime

I want the hand of AA to be there.

ODAAT
d

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 9



It All Points to Joy


Can Love reweave the fabric which hate destroys? Can Kindness resew the field torn through with disregard? Can Beauty paint the world anew after so much ugliness has rained down upon us? My heart believes these three can not fail to make things right for what other point could there be than Joy?





Leach lessons from struggle

*

CHANGE IN MENU


If God is drunk we pray for spiritual sobriety
And strong sponsorship.
If God is sober we ask for things on God’s behalf
And glory in answered prayer

It is amazing that rain comes down
If I dance for it or not
I can get this wonderful recovery
Just like the rest of “we agnostics”.

I don’t have to shake your hand, wink my eye
Or say some special bit of poetry to have it.
Just the same way that weather is and changes
And deepens so to is my spiritual condition.

It is there as I tread this path
I don’t have to mark rows in my garden
For plants to grow
I wish for God a salad with two forks
We no longer need to share a bottle.

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 10



The Way West


The sun reflected in the windows winks at me as I fly over. The plane climbs higher and the reflected light no longer reaches me. I slip from my eastern bonds. I am west coast bound. The carpet of snow was laid down to quiet the passage. Clouds take over the task, then part to reveal the patchwork of the middle ground. We cross the Stateline without a sound; a few more miles then touchdown.




Putter with intrigue
*





FREE THE PATE

Arrested development was bad enough
The living death sentence
It imposes is completely unacceptable.
My childhood ran downhill
Away from the mountains of confusion
Which is life in this society.

My ability to mature was damaged
And what I learned to do was mutate.
I could move laterally but never grow up.
I became the goose grown for its liver
And all the honk and squawk
In the world couldn’t change it.

I don’t have to understand
How I was let out of the prison of addiction
As long as I don’t go back.
I will never have to fear breaking out in handcuffs
Or getting locked in my crib.

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 11

Flight 548

What a happy flight, wing to wing, smiles, good cheer, the air is kind, sweet, dry, easy to breathe. I am so blessed. I fly to destiny watching the traveling baby circus play around me. Giggles and drool surround me, infuse me with glee. People wander the aisle looking like well loved characters from long forgotten books and we soar. Time does not pass any more quickly this way, but it is similar to time in heaven rather than time spent in hell.



Mix jelly with joy
*

RETRO ANTICIPATION AND SUNSHINE

The night after a victory I fret about the blocks.
Will my stance be right?
Will I leave clearly?

I have been first through the tape
I have won the race
But yet I worry how I will start.

Had I anticipated a win
I might have handled the accolades better.

Apprehension has a long half-life
And feeds through the night
On my gizzards and my dreams.

Failure gives homework,
There are rewrites and type-O’s
But checkmate leaves an empty board
And hands to shake.

The long ride home is filled with
Recriminating thoughts of luck and fortune.
By the time I arrive home
The win is devalued and no longer mine.

I must pry misgivings from the winners circle
And enjoy these moments in the sun
They are just as real as any others.