Friends of Bill W.

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 2

There are only 23 more shopping days left till my nervous break down


Shoppers beware: I have a careful plan! I can juggle these thirty things, keep these twenty people happy, dig around in the dirt at these three excavation sites and hold on to my sanity for twenty-three more days.
My sponsor says having a plan like that means I’m already crazy. My sponsor says I don’t have to please anyone but myself, my Higher Power and her. That can’t be right. What is the point of sobriety if I can’t do it all?
She says I don’t even have to please her or myself. What does that mean? How can I tell if I’m pleasing my Higher Power?
She says, “Shut up and you’ll find out.” Great! What a plan. I like my countdown better. Of course I do, it’s mine. My countdown, my life, mine, mine, mine.
Maybe my sponsor is not all wrong. OK, quiet......da,da,da.....da,da. OK, quiet for real. Hmmm. I don’t, don’t know. This isn’t working. I can’t do this. Why would I need to stop being me in order to get better?
“Who are you?” she asks. She thinks she’s so smart. I’m the one in the middle. She says the eye of the storm is empty and I need to get a life of my own.




Endurance lets you live in the house you built.
*

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.


Vlog: http://youtu.be/1K9UEf2__xk


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 3

MIRACULOUS


Sometimes the blind lead the deaf. The subtle signs are the bumping into trouble and inability to listen to reason. It is an expedition into disaster unfettered by common sense or boundaries. Tumbles and falls propel this pairing to unknown destinations. The attraction is baffling but undeniable. These pairs can be seen through the ages. In spite of this confounding coupling, sometimes the blind find their way and the deaf hear the call. And even when they don’t, life seems to roll along. But try to keep your eyes and ears open anyway.


Set the goalpost where you can see it.
*

Precious Cargo


Do I carry myself as well as I could?
Do I understand the value
of what is contained within me?

This journey matters,
it requires my attention and comprehension,
if only I am able.

When I fall short the road changes.
The distance I go has much to do with how well
and whether I acknowledge the nature of the cargo
with which I am embedded.


Vlog: http://youtu.be/iPT2N2sthu4

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 4

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, phrases, which form warmly in the mouth and hang sweetly for the ear. Other vocabulary is exotic, pungent, occasionally with a strong aftertaste 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, meanings 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.


Write on scraps then tape them together.
*

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 of the moon.



Vlog: http://youtu.be/N7qvZVKXWPs

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 5

THE BOAT

On my ride home from work there is a boat stuck between two trees in the middle of a horse pasture next to a riverbed so dry it's filled with grass. I think the boat is me. I feel for the boat every time I see it. Turned on edge, waiting for a river, which doesn't exist anymore and may never exist again. Placed on edge for protection, not comfort. Although having my bottom rot out, well, let's just say might be more uncomfortable. What good will I be even if the river runs again since I'm fenced in? My sponsor says I shouldn't ask any question which starts with the word 'why'. You know my reply.
If my Higher Power has a plan...if it includes a river and a fence… if I'm in this plan, me, the rowboat…I just don't see it. Not seeing my purpose in life is a theme in my life says my sponsor. I don't tell her the theme in hers.
Truth is, I don't want to face the fact I might float away. Even though I'm supported by two big trees. Even though there is a tall fence all around me. Completely in spite of the fact THERE IS NO WATER! My Higher Power loves me. I am the boat.


Enjoy the flowers and slide on the snow.

*
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 cannot fail
to make things right
for what other point could there be than Joy?

Vlog: http://youtu.be/chEY7foQ0Eo

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 6

MOSAIC


I couldn’t prevent this plate from shattering, so I saved all the pieces, losing none. I laid them edge-to-edge and made a design, 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.


Fly your kite in the wind.
*


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.



Vlog: http://youtu.be/RQcqROgXhRY


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 7

ORIGINS


Pain-filled interactions with people better suited to be left alone changed me in the way of acceptance. Wretched 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 that 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.


Color your emotions.
*



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 isle
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.


Vlog: http://youtu.be/3cbyYoE_W-E

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 8

THE WAY I DO IT


Cooking by smell, parking by ear, recovering by touch. The latter has to be done this way; I cannot see into the black-box technology, which keeps me sober. Feel through the 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.


Write bad advice on tissue and wipe with it.
*

Master Mind


I was taught that it was my job to master fear;
raised in a religion swearing they could master death.
I used to spend all I had trying to create a master plan,
while trying to keep secure using a Master lock.

I have seen Master & Commander
and do not long for that burden;
in fact mastery is so much a snare and illusion.

Life is quite improved
when we each have an oar and we all row on.

Vlog: http://youtu.be/J9IaheHYzsg

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 9

CLIMBING ON THE ARC


If time swings and the seasons swirl and I pulse out my existence, why does the bird's wing flap and the rain fall down? If the song comes from my mother’s lips and my father tells his tales and I dance my heritage with each step I take, then 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?


Let little birdies speak.
*


What I give you

If I give you a piece of my mind,
a piece of my heart, a piece of my liver,
how do I go on in its absence?
Or does it ever leave me?

Is this more like an excision than segmentation?
Is it similar to how I carry you with me
when I catch a resentment; only in a good way?

I don’t know that I can be truly divided up,
but I do know that parts of me
don’t belong exclusively to me anymore
and I believe this is all for the better.



Vlog: http://youtu.be/o1vQoGu2yOU

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[girlin2une]

Originally Posted by LeftWriteFemme

December 9

CLIMBING ON THE ARC


If time swings and the seasons swirl and I pulse out my existence, why does the bird's wing flap and the rain fall down? If the song comes from my mother’s lips and my father tells his tales and I dance my heritage with each step I take, then 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?


Let little birdies speak.
*


What I give you

If I give you a piece of my mind,
a piece of my heart, a piece of my liver,
how do I go on in its absence?
Or does it ever leave me?

Is this more like an excision than segmentation?
Is it similar to how I carry you with me
when I catch a resentment; only in a good way?

I don’t know that I can be truly divided up,
but I do know that parts of me
don’t belong exclusively to me anymore
and I believe this is all for the better.



Vlog: http://youtu.be/o1vQoGu2yOU

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

Resonance 💕

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 10

ELECTRIC CONNECTIONS


I step into a room and take its currency. Is the flow good? Steady? The pulse even and strong? Where are the power brokers and are they sharing the time or using their magnetic personalities to draw the current off others? I check the complement of resisters, examine their stripes and assess the possibilities. I pump in energy when I can and take when it is available. I keep in mind we are all transformers and change is possible for everyone as long as we make the connections.


Rich mistakes make good batter.
*



What’s that in the Pool?


Parts of the Rocky Mountains look like
algae bloom out in the Indian Ocean.
Parts of me look like parts of you
and here we go with oneness
being nothing more than
pattern recognition and optical illusion;
though I hope there is more to it than that.

My hurt might not be your hurt,
but I have a sense of it.
Likewise your hope may not resemble mine,
but it cheers you just the same
and we are all the better for it.

We needn’t replicate each other
or attempt imitation,
but recognition is a kind thing
and art is what we all have to share.


Vlog: http://youtu.be/ymX2yjLcpws

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 13

WHAT IS MINE


The cloud of snow slept in the tree overnight and poured from the branches with the morning breezes. Showers of crystal, dropping from a clear daylight sky, are telltales of intentions delayed. What was meant for moon time has been kept till sunshine, a treat for bright eyes and young hearts. How can I weep over altered destinations? Arrivals and departures are truly within the province of poetry and postcards, not things for worry or fretting. Putty is for forming into an image of my desire not the world. Time is a liquid substance I cannot decant at my will. Shoulds and oughts are parlor games for the bored and senseless. If I waste my life playing a game I can’t win I will fail to see what I can’t lose.


Work with someone who works.
*


Pretty Girls

Pretty girls seem to live by separate rules,
but I don’t know why.
The world is filled with people and rules,
crazy circumstances and the uniformity of exception.

The where and what for, of arbitrary allowance
to be regulated based on symmetry or fashion
strikes me as odd, beyond survival
and this may explain so very much.

Gravity pulls down equally; discriminates for nothing.
Orbital rotation continues in spite of the fairness of an eye.
The universe supports us without end
but prejudice is our failing
and I blame it on the pretty girls


Vlog: http://youtu.be/lebYO9ADr0s

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 14

DO WE SEE



The old man walked down the road to see the end; I followed to glimpse the fruit of his pursuit. Does the highway come to rest or like the river just feed a greater sea? And time; will the clock stop him? Can he win the treasure hunt as the seconds tick away on the metronome? Will the slowing of his steps and the advancing of his age create a curve, which will prevent his accomplishment? Does this tag-along I am doing make me a part of his project? The road is long and its end may never come, only ours. When we take the road the road takes us. More and less is what we are and so too the road. I follow the contour of the ground, which curves around the world, spinning in our sky so we can all see the stars.


Reality builds contentment, fantasy disappointment.

*


Calm, Peaceful, On



Once I center my mind I can type in the dark.
All it takes is me present and willing to flow.
Limber up the learning curve,
press my fingers to the keys,

Let the story tell its tale.
Cease the interjections lest it all go stale.
There is nothing much to know,
It’s all inside, I just let it go.

Emptying this crowded vault,
I open up to prevent assault.
What to do when it hits the page;
marketing is all the rage,
but for this task I need a light.
To sell myself I must be bright.



Vlog: http://youtu.be/QpbtJlNkWto

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 11

TAPERS


I wax poetic and burn the candle at both ends. I borrow from the beginning, I steal from the end, coming up short and feeling deeply cheated. I pass myself off as the time-keeper but am the time-pleaser, arch-traitor selling short the days and hours for approval, not fulfillment. I put away my true identity: mammal, human, the love of; I have exchanged it for the mask and cape of the Do-do-doer, a tragic figure of myth and legend who breaks the spirit of everyone who attempts the portrayal. In spite of this the roads teem with actors becoming caricatures of a life less lived. The world is more than a stage, and I must free powers greater than I to be more than an audience.



Laugh at old jokes and tell new ones.
*


Whose Oxygen Mask goes on First?


Desperation is the fuel which forges my resentments.
When I fear for my survival,
physical, emotional or financial
this will turn my response to your behavior into tinder,
sometimes gasoline and set our interaction ablaze.

Melt all which is steel strong between us
and create a molten mess
from which it will be a struggle to recover.

This is why,
taking good care of me,
attending to my life, and quelling my fears
is the very best way for me to protect you
from my attitude and save me
from a negative balance sheet during my 10th step.


Vlog: http://youtu.be/ZG5jJR7cY5M

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 12

BLEATING FORMALITY


Stupidity stalks me when I am tired, hijacking my mouth. I can put this off to pilot error or interruption of service on my neurologic pipeline, but truly I have been captured by senseless, irrational muttonness. I would love to say it was pigheadedness but, alas, I am not self-determined, I am a sheep. I open my lips and out pours the same plaintive cry as the surrounding herd. In addition, once begun, the wail is unending; it’s as if the bellows works on its own carrying a tune which blends with the entire wool-coated world. I shift and run with my position according to the movements at large. I am following the reactionary breed, dropping the specifics of my personality as one of the crowd; my brain is switched off and a quick veneer grows over my eyes. I can’t see, think, or speak for myself and yet it doesn’t occur to me to hit the hay. When as a petulant three year old I do fall to sleep in my tracks, I wake as myself with many bleating apologies to be made.



Put morbidity on a leash and never walk it alone.
*


Peter and I


This flight is not filled
with the giggling cherubs of my westerly flight,
but among the solemn children on this flight
is Peter, the oldest of four,
who is reading Tolkien
and marking his place with a two page wish list.
Christmas is coming and Peter seems confident.

I wonder if we are what we read
and ponder if I am what I write.
Poetry, stories, novels, declarations,
it all feels like arms and legs,
things I cannot move right without.

I live better when they are out and free.
I am free too, when they live on their own
and I am not their soul residence.

I have to rededicate myself
to the work entrusted to me
for so much living depend upon it.

Vlog: http://youtu.be/pIxhPgXDifU

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault