Friends of Bill W.

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 24

CELEBRATIONS

“You wore a wrist corsage to the dump?”
“You said to celebrate every activity,” I retorted to my sponsor.
“Yes, by doing them with purpose. Not everything needs to be a production number. Sometimes just showing up is enough. Putting too much energy into preparation can leave you without resources. It’s okay to make an appearance, do the simple act and move on. That is a celebration in its own way. Don’t squander your vitality on the mundane. Do you know what I mean?” asks my sponsor.
“Don’t waste flowers on trash heaps?" I answer.
“Yes, and don’t wipe your bottom with poetry. I mention this in case you get any ideas.”


Put flower petals in your phone book


*
If Garfunkel Was Here

Speak of the dead and paint the living.
Paint them in a good light when you can
and into a corner when you have to.

Read the books of future generations
rather than acting as the arrogant,
who attempt to write these volumes.

Expunge nothing leave it all on view,
but move past it after taking in the implications.
Water flows under the bridge until it collapses
then it carries the bridge away.

So, speak of the dead don’t drown them,
paint the living don’t stain them,
look to the future don’t dictate to it
and let the water run.

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 25

TROJAN PERSON



I feel confused by the difference between love and war. The intensity and rush are too much for my frazzled and betrayed emotions to sort out. I feel like a Trojan person. I have all these children holed up inside and they are waiting for peace and safety so they can come out and sleep. For a time I allowed them to leave for bathroom breaks, one at a time. This was not a workable solution. When these tykes would have a look around, they started to set fires and break hearts. Each child makes life a battleground, fights and claws her way across the living landscape. I must heal my insides from the center of my thoughts, not send fragments of me to blend with the unfamiliar and hostile world. Only when I can stand together with my mind and heart safe within my being will I see a way to make love on my own and leave war alone.


Shuffle your vocabulary.
*


ROUSs

Time passes, I clock it and count it
and use its passage to construct a defense
or accusation depending on my need.

I use the calendar to condemn you
because my feelings do not have sufficient leverage
for my mental calculations.

To prize disappointment from this scene
I watch the water-clock waiting for adequate drops
to lift the flood gate and free me
from your unfulfilled promise and my unrealized hope.

How long is too long to stand in a quagmire?
Why do I feel the need for permission
to leave the quicksand?

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 26

HOME TO HOPE

Shadows of doubt fall across my face on dark days and I have trouble finding my way home to hope. Reliance on sunshine fails me come dusk. Twinkling stars bare their souls to little avail. I am lost. Absurdity and obsession plague me for time and attention. I wander deeper into a dismal wood. How can I chop my way free? Dejection dulls my senses; I am blind to solemn assurance. I must reevaluate the shimmering enthusiasm from the night sky. Skepticism passes like storm clouds, I may feel the rain for a time; necessity reigns on both sides of every street but still I can crawl into my bed. Morning will come and I will fear less the coming night.


Hop right after you put your foot down and you can skip most of your problems.



*
Estranged


After long years I have made my own acquaintance,
friendship is on a far distant shore.
I know who I am and can recognize myself
on the street or in a crowded room.

I have a legitimate sense of wariness
of the afore mentioned persona,
nothing too nasty, just a discomfort.

She is not someone I would bring home,
maybe not even share a meal with
but I can stand her, minus intimacy,
minus any deep empathy.

I feel an awkwardness in acknowledging her,
strange as this might sound.
She is no one to be ashamed of,
not a truly bad actor

Yet the reports say she doesn’t live up to her potential
and I have it on personal authority
that she actually surpasses it on most days
and keeps this a closely held confidence.

And there it is, I know her secrets
but I don’t keep her.
This is what makes me strange and her stranger.

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 27

MEMORIAL DAY


Veteran of the addiction wars, I have scars but few medals. I don’t need a purple heart, mine is black and blue. I don’t keep trophies either, no empty bottles or old syringes. Hostages, I have released them, too. I found often they held me from what my life could be. I wear my defects and wave my flag. I am slowly learning to live in peacetime. The big battles have been won; it is up to me to stop replaying the scenes of engagement. Armistice is a beautiful thing; too bad there is no better way to get to it.


Write the dedication page for your life.
*
Queens: More than a Borough


My drama is bigger than yours.
My drama can kick your drama’s ass.
Well maybe not, but it sure is kicking mine.

Like a rain soaked grave, I stand in this muddy hole,
sides slick, unassailable and count the piles of tragedy ,
all the while knowing it will bury me
not facilitate a climb out.

I attempt to display the face of comedy
and yet the mask can not fool me, my true audience.
I think if I can keep it all up on stage I will be alright,

But then the point of theater is
that everything is carried away
in the minds of all who come and watch.

Silence doesn’t help either
for there is little worse than a bad mime
and doing it well just makes me Lillian Gish.

So, back to Bohemia for isn’t it all a rhapsody,
though it would all be so much better
if Freddy Mercury weren’t dead.

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 28

NETWORKS

Testing my sponsor when I’m hurt is like probing for gas with a lit cigar in my mouth. If I can’t find a way to douse the cheroot before posing my questions it’s guaranteed I will get an explosive response. I need a network; they follow me with sand, snatch from me my burning pacifier and save me from sticking my smoldering end where it doesn’t belong. We all need a little excitement in our lives but I don’t have to become an incendiary device to fill that need. I forget that boring isn’t the same as death; it just feels that way. Some days, distance prevents disaster; a good support system carries me away to face it on another day.


Don’t be afraid to turn the kaleidoscope.

*
RAID !!!


So, you stepped into a hornets nest
and now how am I to respond?
Blame you, no, I don’t think so,

I mean you are the exterminator
and some stings are to be expected,
but this is far beyond even your honed ability
to anticipate wasps.

Cry, running from this ambush?
Again, I decline
I still want you after the war is over,
even if I can not fight by your side.

Protest, I try to refrain,
I never want to make your job harder
but I don’t want to leave the impression
I have no concern, so I walk the fine line.

Standing on the sidelines is harder than you think,
I am helpless and lonely,
not as exciting as your work
and no comfort from this distance.

I must hold my breath
while you provoke the bees.

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 29

POWER


When power arrives, it comes complete with blindfold, mask and lullaby. I am blinded to what effect I have. Others cannot see me, only the unchanging masquerade covering my face. All my fears and apprehensions are soothed by the melody singing in my ear. I am possessed. The hard thump of the bottom reaching up to get me is my sole hope of release. I can’t reason my way back from a trip with power; the isolation is too far-reaching, my senses numbed, my thinking biased. Salvation as a cold smack is the jolt required. Fire takes fire; power takes the same.


Draw your own lines then color out of them.

*
Black & Dedication

The brand of equipment endorsed by my Higher Power
is built so that my hand is clasped inside
lest I feel alone or unaided.

A closed mouth and an open mind work very well
when I can manage either of them
and Step 10 works when I can’t.

I am usually the problem in my life
but I am always the solution.
Others may change and contribute;
I am the one and only one, responsible for my happiness.

Dropping blame from my vocabulary and adding responsibility,
learning to differentiate between what is mine and what is yours;
these tools are keys and they open worlds of possibility to me.

Also they shut out the demons of wrong thinking,
wrong acting and desperation, which used to plague me.
There are still greater tools I yearn for
but like everything I must be patient
and build my muscles to handle the heavier machinery.

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 30

FROZEN STRAWBERRIES


“I have them in the freezer,” I tell my sponsor.
“I’m sure you do. When are you going to take them out and reenact spring?” her retort.
“I don’t want to take them out before I’m ready. I don’t want them to go to waste.”
“Oh, the Excuse Maker, the Staller. Are you going to drag all the old chestnuts out of the closet? I thought you were going to defrost strawberries.”
“Fear, you’re saying fear of strawberries is not a sign of stability?" I ask her.
“Eat the strawberries or not, but it seems to me you didn’t get sober to avoid the sweeter things in life, keeping all your goodness locked up in the deep freeze destined for frost bite.”


Let sunshine climb in your eyes and fall upon your heart.


*
I’m not Brian


I thought life was based on a system of
‘I will suffer and that will exempt you’.
Then I would be horrified when you suffered,
after I had already done so ahead of you.

In an attempt to ease my dismay I would look to see
who had broken the pact, you or me.
Had I not endured sufficiently to protect you?
Had you left the safety of the umbrella of sanctuary?

Panic gives birth to blame
and blame of course births nasty biting things
that run loose and bury in all the tender spots.

Now the goals I tend are to end the breeding
of those sharp and painful beasties,
stop laying my neck upon the alter
and start telling better jokes.