Hey hey ... Friday is here.

Been chairing more meetings lately. My sponsor ask me to chair one last night for her that she was signed up to chair. It was a Beginner's Meeting. I chose "The Turning Point" for my topic. I enjoyed it more than I can say.

I have been talking to a very new newcomer after meetings lately - encouraging her. She has been attending a meeting every day for the past couple of weeks. She is young, hope she will stick with it. I love to see the young ones come in and get on the safe path. Too much can happen when we are out there in our cups. Sometimes the downhill decline can be so deceiving. That position renders us hopeless. I can see this young lady's eyes are perking up. She is getting some hope back. :)

I love recovery!

September 18



Buffoon


Never juggle knives and butter at the same time or you will just spread your problems around. Passing on the knives is the first best idea, leaving the butter in the dish is the second. I have gotten many funny schemes into my brain; gotten them in with ease, it is the getting them out of my brain I struggle with. Crowbars and coercion have been my favored tools; ineffective though they may be, I am persistent, while wishing to be dexterous. It took me years to realize the problem with juggling is that it begins with me throwing things and ends with disaster if I can’t catch it all. What slips through my fingers through daily living is hard enough what I throw into the fray for showmanship is, too much. I needn’t be the fool flinging my pins when my goal is to stay on them.




Learn a song in case of karaoke kidnapping

*

OLD BOOKKEEPING, NEW PAINTING

What will become of the fine lines
I use to divide good news form bad?
How will I handle life with no screen to keep
the silt from shifting across my personal landscape.

A delicate crosshatch had kept little checks in little boxes
Now the checks are bouncing randomly,
No pattern or restraint.
My old bookkeeping has come to an abrupt end
Leaving many questions and much uncertainty.

I lift the green visor from my brow,
Looking for answers from the periphery.
Taking the long view
I put down my pencil and pick up my paints.

Sling the easel over my shoulder
And walk away from meticulous survival.
The fine lines I have now are in my brush strokes
And even bad news is somehow good.

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-----------

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.

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 he 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.

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.

September 23



Peace Time


I have been to the wars and through the wars and now sit on the stoop and wonder; will I learn to live here in the world of everyday after having had to spend so much time running for cover. Each time I return to what I believe is my home I sit and rock trying to pour my soul back inside from my hipflask where it was held for safekeeping. I try not to spill a drop for it is worse than shed blood and harder to rebuild. My soul has grown pale from confinement and lack of sun, but it still exists and for that I pat my back and suck on my Lifesaver; I could have done worse, was unable to do better. I console myself with the knowledge I never started the conflict just learned to survive it.





Substitute action for apathy



*

REMEMBERING

Remembering is the oxygen my brain pumps to my soul.
Remembering gives me mobility and traction.
Everything in my life that is positive depends on my remembering.
It keeps apathy at bay
And complacency locked in some far off cupboard.

Remembering gives today the misty sweetness I have grown to love.
I can live to my potential and enjoy the process.
Watch misery move away.
I can dream the future every night
Because I remember who I am and what I am capable of.

Never can I be haunted.
Memory keeps me from reactionary visitation.
Though some fear the past
I know holding it in a close embrace
Allows me to dance to the rhythm of truth.

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.

Thank you, Daddy, it has been a long path from where we've been to where we are going. I will try hard to stay out of the sideshow.

the girl

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.

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 the 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?

September 27





One Street off Amory



Apology holds change at arms length. Apology is the thing I was taught to wait for as a sign that things will improve, but apology is not a harbinger of change it is quite the opposite it is the guarantor of business as usual; no amendment need occur, apology has been made and life goes on with no alteration. Without variation we all stay sick and apologizing for that won’t get us better. Restitution, amends, revelation, revolution these are the things which make the world bright, apology is just a scrap with which to wipe your ass.







Put down your bat, skip your rope

*

ALSO A GIFT

Sadness is as life affirming as joy
But in the same way that people eat together
But defecate alone, joy is encouraged in public
And sadness is a private matter.

Happiness is embraced and discouragement relegated
Even though personal experience shows disappointment
Is often a point of growth.

What beauty and change stem from disillusion
But still it is hard to look directly
At grief and not flinch away.
The temptation to fain pleasure
And leave sadness swept under the carpet is strong.

It is an unwelcome job to be the defender of grief
A job which should be unnecessary to defend
We are not giants who can step
From one mountaintop to the next.

September 28



A Verse to the Wise



Encoding truth into poetry makes reality survivable by giving readers the opportunity to dig truth up like diamonds. Throwing certainty in peoples faces like cold water give them a wake up call but nothing to embrace. The beauty of semaphore is the dance that need not be understood by everyone who sees it. Communication through device leaves headroom and breathing space while acceptance might be reached. The current of a conversation often leads me to face the facts, but a tsunami of candor could drown me.







Exhaust reaction with reason


*
DENY ONE---DENY THE OTHER

If you want to deny the problem
By necessity you must deny the solution.
Resolving a problem whose existence is rejected
Creates a split in the crust of collusion.

Often times the convolution and reconvolution of addiction
Causes a bloated roiling mass
That rolls through the streets of sanity.
How can a wedge be cut in a creature so dense.

How can I work on piecing together remedies
When I am readily assured by fellow sufferers
There is NO DISEASE?
Can I trust my personal depletions?

Can I employ faith to a resolution
When faith is utilized to fortify
The contagion I/m told doesn’t exist
But if not faith what?

Could be entitled Self-Portrait
 

This sure is you. Glad to know the Left Writing Femme.

Hello, all :)

Just wanted to post a quick update.. Have been MIA lately due to taking care of myself. That included a 10 day stay on a locked mental ward, 10 days at a crisis house, and a couple of weeks at a sober living. I am now on my way to a residential treatment, and will be in with the other males, so am pretty happy about it.

I have about 70 days clean and sober and am taking my meds as I am supposed to. Life is good and getting better, day by day.

Thank you all for your past and continued support, will get on here to post when I can. Hope that everyone is well and I will be checking back here later tonight, but will be offline for 2 months or more after tonight, due to being in treatment.

Love and Light,
Tony

Good luck with your treatment, TenderKnight!

Wishing you well,

Sherrie

September 29


Kicks


New balance is more than a brand of sneakers. New balance is a joyful revelation made possible through constant vigilance. I am tap dancing into a vision, no more soft shoed wishfulness. I can lift my feet knowing I can keep my up right posture; my musculature robust from climbing the steps and accepting direction. This bright tempo delights me; I feel stretched, supple, able bodied. Life off the balance beam offers me the world in which to embrace my equilibrium.






Pick up your toys, pick up your chin and move on


*
CATCH

How can my sensibility catch my intellect
Or find a map with enough information
To get my heart to the current location of my mind?

What are the common markers recognized by soul and brain?
I know the pulse of my wrist
Is counter pointing the firing of my synapses.

My life signs run their course
And I struggle to find the intersections
I long for more than signposts and curbing.

I would like parallels, paradigms and conclusions
There must be a place of common home and hearth.
I am looking for the depot of my life
I hope I hit it before I hit the coast.

September 30



Moniker


The Hurt carry on the tradition, would never think to give it up, don’t even know there is that option, strap on their weapons without a second thought. How can there be a second thought when there never was a first. Hurt is a reflex and it moves its way through the world like dominoes tumbling; everything’s knocked down before you ever saw it standing. So, what’s the use anyway? So, I fall down and in that action push you forward and we are all together in the mud, but it is so hard to recognize anyone in the mud, including myself and especially you. If I hurt you that makes it hard for me to see anything about you except my wish for your departure, which I subconsciously hope will take away the guilt I can’t afford to feel. If I make it out of the mud I can’t afford anything, but if I don’t pay up I’ll be in new mud soon, so I must break tradition and the first step toward that is seeing it and the second is calling it by its name.





Open up your secret vault and unload

*

BATTLESHIP

If the first is a guess, what is the second?
Paranoia or worse.?
Action is a blessing, reaction a debilitation
And to twist from reaction to self-doubt
Sinks the battle and the battleship.

When I can’t make sense, the gift is stepping back,
Better to put my hand down than to lose the farm.
When I find myself in a minefield I can walk gingerly
Or wait for aid to come from above, air rescue or other.

The option of rethinking every step sets me dancing
The tune which begins this hurky jerky polka of death which
Stems from the metronome of criticism playing in my ear.

When I am overwhelmed with critique
I give up acceptance of chance or joy of spontaneity
Throwing myself into a pit of apprehension.
I am safer being wrong occasionally
Then unsure forever

October 1




No Substitute for Fire

I wanted alcohol to do better for me than burning did. I was constantly disappointed, yet I kept trying. I was not to find pleasure in that bottle though I had no problem finding addiction there. This is how I came to believe that there is not an upside to everything. Booze took me to surprising destinations, but never the ones I desired. I sought release, the release I got from a wildfire spreading across my skin and this might have been mine had I poured the liquor on rather than in. But in me it did no good, it never let me exhale the way that the “right” kind of pain did. What I got from alcohol drove me though; fear rode me roughshod and I found my way home, it was a bumpy road, but once there we doused the flames and I live the upside I had come to doubt, because fire is no substitute for life.






Randomize the alphabet, then write

*



MY MOON

I anticipate the crowning of your face
As you birth the sky.
Your rhythmic visitation sates me.
The gravity of my need keeps you close.
The tide of my heart pulls you from shore to shore.

We live in sweet ecstasy of tethered love
Our souls slingshoting across the open palm of heaven
Your empathy for me transforms these shards of ice
To a tender heart satelliteing

I orbit you
Empowered by your kindness
You are my moon.

October 2




Saltbox House


Refusing to make reasonable demands is quite as dysfunctional as making unreasonable demands. The opposite of an extreme is often twice as crazy and harder to explain. I open my mouth and dry toast is the reply. Nothing should be said when nothing can be done and to do nothing is harder than one might think. I fold my hands but my lap rejects them; I quiet my mind but my soul objects. I must let my heart sing and trust you enough to ask for help.






Check your speed and direction

*

REJECTION

Rejection as a game of endurance,
A boundary enhancing process
A test of survival
Rejection sought or unsought is a challenge.

Sometimes rejection is a flare
Lighting the need for change of tactics or direction.
Though it is hard to view rejection as a beacon
Rather than condemnation.

Rejection is also the counterbalance for acceptance.
Risk is nothing if rejection is not part of the equation
I cannot value yes if you could not say NO.

Rejection is the safety valve
For putting myself in situations where I don’t belong.
I get sent back to the world of possibilities
When the kindness of rejection ejects me from wrong choice.

October 3



Sackcloth


Tragedy is a tale unfinished. Life is far longer than calamity can endure. I will not give up, not even when hope is lost, for life carries forward; more is filled with optimism. Threads break, but the fabric is woven still, flowing off the living loom waiting to be used. I will cut my swath and fashion a garment to wear and if sometimes it is filled with ashes I will sit and grieve all the while knowing that this is never the stories end.






See through your own shades


*
AMENDS

Amends is about truth and change.
The relationships of my past
Were places of little truth
And even less change.

I tried to be nice----not honest
I tried to keep things going
Even when they needed to die.

Making amends has ended
Most of my relationships from the past.
A quick 10th step keeps me
From starting too any new ones.

Good healthy relationships
Require time and attention
So this necessitates a short list.

Sometimes I wish for more quantity
But I realize in sobriety
I cannot accept less quality.

October 4



Have Faith




Strange and wonderful tragedy takes you away from me and I don’t know how it is that you return, but you do and I thank G-d, but I’m not sure it was G-d’s idea that you went away or that you came back, though, I am sure, He missed you every bit as much as I did. I revolve the freshness of you in my mouth like candy; I swirl, but don’t want to crack open. Honeymoons are for people who live comprehendible lives; we fly to each other and cling like raptors plummeting to the ground. You leave your mark upon me I do the same for you; we are none the worse for the wear. I stand in the gush from the hydrant, soaked in the pleasure, forgoing the safety. The world may burn down again tomorrow, I remember that it has before, but I am wiser for the singeing and weathered with soot in my eyes and charcoal piled roundabout my legs, yet I’m still standing and you are back from the dead and I think of you as Lazarus. And now we will live the comedy for life is what lay ahead, we took the hit of death before its time and so must be off the hook for the rest.




Try not to long for Santa

*

FISHING FOR CONTENTMENT

Fishing for contentment
Is a wonderful past time.
But what is used for bait?

Is there a delicacy
To dangle before contentment
To lure it into my life?

Can I crumble the best biscotti
And leave a trail to my door?
I don’t believe contentment
Swims around waiting to be caught.

I think it’s more like the wild yeast
That finds its way to my starter.
If I put the ingredients in my life
Contentment will rise to the occasion.

October 5



Jeopardy



Today I tore down the isolation booth. I didn’t live in there exactly; sometimes I stuffed G-d in there and went out for a ride. I left that shack stand for far, too long; a testimony to ill conceived, ham-handed, control freaks everywhere. I said all I wanted was some peace, but a vacuum is not tranquility and escape won’t substitute either. Since the live studio audience has gone home and the house lights are dimmed, I feel pretty foolish for playing round after round on my own. This game was never any fun and the sponsors were death merchants and scavengers whose interest lay in destruction and nothing else. I must not cast aspersions, I didn’t care that the contest was merely an upright pit with a lethal pendulum, I used it as a hideout and a lair, a place whose walls I could keep between me and my Higher Power and an activity I could depend on to keep me free from living a life. It all came to the ground today; I walk over the splinters and shards, I know there has to be a better game and I’m ready to play.





Picture trouble floating away like bubbles on a river

*
MY HEROINE

The corpse that is my childhood
Is mine to protect from the wolves
And rats of denial and collusion.

The infant who commits suicide
In self-defense is my heroine.
The pure thinking of an uncluttered mind
Seizes on the only possible way for me to survive.

Her death at her own is my rescue
If the bad had killed her
I would have died with her.

In her plan I was left as the seed
She ejected in her assent
She is gone from this place
I feel her only as the wisp of memory.

The tiny body laid flat on the carpet
Her pressed pinafore somehow more alive than she
Is the unfinished business of prevention.

As long as I see her there and do not walk away
From my responsibility and never forget
She protected me with the life she never lived
I am free to live this life.

October 6





MCBuddLake


Barefoot smokers sit downstairs chatting on cell phones as I wait. Wait for the Doctor to come and tell me what? Tell me that I am ill or hail based on a hammer hit on the knee and a deep look into my eyes and I will leave this place hours late for a life I barely understand but am grateful to be living. Like one of the dancing flowers from Fantasia I am swept down stream, but an amazing journey even while I wait in this six by eight room.





Sprinkle letters on a page and write to them

*


MARMALADE

Marmalade, bitter and sweet, spread across my spiritual toast.
Zest and sticky solution, mix and cover the surface.
I bite down taking in the start of my day.

Past this point anything is possible.
Fame or disaster, a dreary fog filled morning
Or a cloudless afternoon.

See the passing populous
I alternating advance and retreat from this human wall.
Response and responsibility tattletale their way to my reactionary will.

The tightrope sways over the river of potential
Balance is more than a desire, it is a necessity
So I enjoy my breakfast tea.

I watch the marmalade melt as I dip my bread
In my well-steeped brew, the parade will start soon enough
I need this time before I launch into the fray.

October 7



What Oliver Could not Know


One of the complications of being an orphan is not learning about the failings and foibles which visit themselves on all parents. Living estranged from G-d has this same blind spot. When you live with someone day in and day out you understand their dimensions; depravation causes celebrity and the casting of very large shadows in some very odd places. The intimate knowledge of a guardian allows for relaxation and experimentation. Isolation creates an overload of anticipation; fear of risk and the yearning for attention swing a pendulum to the point of weaponry. Familiarity is a breeding ground, which means many things grow. Life in a vacuum is devoid of life and nothing grows up.







Lock away things forever and they only have imaginary meaning

*





HAWAIIAN GRAFFITI

White pebbles spell themselves
across the black of lava grown cold.
Personal announcements proclaim
love, school pride, religious freedom.

The care of placement and consideration of design
make the roadside an on going mineral memo.
What message would I care to share?
What words would prompt me to bring a pail
of crushed marble to the edge of the road.

Is there a truth so urgent I would take time
from paradise to spell it out?
A few more miles and I see the words I live by
strewn down the thoroughfare-------

IT WORKS-----IF YOU WORK IT.

Meeting with the Sponsor Lady this weekend to go through my latest assignments from her. She loaded me up good with reading several topics in our literature. I will enjoy spending time with her ... and eating too! Hope it will be IHOP. :) A stack of pancakes dripping with syrup always sounds excellent. I really do watch her - to see how she handles life on life's terms. Sometimes it can be a little everyday small thing that trips me up ... that is when I go into "brat mode" without realizing it. I really have to beware of the "small issues." My magical magnifying brain can turn them into major disasters if I am not paying close attention. Yes, I intend to keep coming back. Even on not so good days, recovery is still a pretty good deal ... and light years better than the alternative. :)

Today I chose recovery.

I hope you have wonderful pancakes and a great time with your sponsor!

I know just what you mean about the magical magnifying mind, I have one of those too. I get caught out there with that thing much more often than I can sometimes bear. It's a good thing I can start my day over at any time!

Have fun,

Sherrie

October 8



Wasilla


I don’t appreciate those who wear ignorance as a fashion accessory, but then I have to work too hard, not to wear intolerance as a badge of courage, so what can I really say, while I’m on this topic, what kind of game is “Playing Dumb” where do we get with that as the vehicle? I don’t know why grown folks act like corralled farm animals, nor do I comprehend the idea of salvation through unnecessary sacrifice, but here I am in a society riddled with it and I try not to drink in the face of this idiocy. This is a job for which I am unprepared, I have spent so much time feeling my internal lacking that when facing the siphon created by the general public I start looking for a glass and some ice to tinkle, but I have tried this before and it solved nothing. I can climb under this pile of human failing or try to crawl on top, but what I really must learn is to look at it without a drink in my hand.





Count displaced souls
*


REFLECTIONS OF YOU

When people meet me they listen and stare
Then the familiar words tumble from their mouths,
“There is something about you”.

I know it’s the reflection of every person I saw
at the meeting last night, the sober voices that created them
also the mirror of years spent in rooms just the same.

I know this is what is seen in me
the bright light shines on me and the prism of time
fans the colors to my new acquaintance.

I thank my Higher Power for letting me be a
a spectral instrument and I am grateful to the fellowship
for shining the light on and through me.

October 9



The Problem with the Peter’s Principle



Is there a harsher lesson than learning that love is not the same as trust? This is a fact all the more painful because it is true. Affection is not the safeguard of sanctity. I am learning to steel myself to survive ardor and its blatant disregard for honesty and still I am caught by surprise when the slight of hand is revealed. I think of love as a building material, most use it as a method of clear-cut or a fire which extirpates whatever I hold dear. I can trust people to be who they are and do what they do, but if I have to spend my time watching for the ordeal I have no time for the ecstasy.








Pair your pennies

*

PIECES OF SKY

The sky falls in pieces and clutters around my feet.
Scattered are the moon, stars and sun.
Fear and desire have consumed all the rest.

Great tides of resentment wash away reality
And replace it with allusion and propaganda.
What am I to do when want drives the course?

Satisfaction is unknown, the luminous butterfly
I believed extinct has not yet come to me.
I leave the shards of life to tinkle
As I stumble through them.

I forget to ask for wings of sweet contentment
From unexplored realms.
Paper dreams burn with fervor.
I peer to see what stands behind.

The gracious weather carries me
As a seed to a vaulted canopy,
Celestial spaces, buoyant and fertile I will grow
Away from the rarefied fragments of unrealistic vistas.

Sinking roots deep in cohesion and truth
Pieces of sky melt to rainbows
Home is the nature of things.

October 10



The First We

Before powerlessness can be dealt with, before unmanageability can be faced, it is imperative that the “WE” is embraced. It is the first and last job of sobriety. Initially the human “we” is faced and finally the I and Thee, but the full spectrum of “we” is there to allow the creation of possibilities in my life. As the human body is 97% water the recovering alcoholic is 97% “We”. What I could never do on my own; we do with ease. On my own I might not be much but together we are everything!





Obligation is part of the equation not the sum and total


*
ARABIAN DAYS

There are days I feel like Scherazade
And could spin a thousand tales.
Other days I feel my brain grab for it satchel
And exit my ear.

I find it hard to be a hospitable host to all of me
But when I stretch or strain my elbow or knee
I think, oh well, they go out, they go out
But if my brain runs off and leaves me
I am in a serious mess.

I try to be a lover of my mind for when I don’t
I grow small in my heart.
I scent the mental bath water
And lite the little lights
I sing sweet songs.

I wait for a response
I smile broadly to hear
The quick report of Rimsky-Korsakov

6490 days have gone by
 

Who knew 6490 days ago you could turn your life around. Way to go. :rrose:Congratulations.

response to Lady Pamela
 

Happy

Birthday

to

Lady Pamela

I vote we all go to the :theisland: and have a :bbq: in honor of Lady Pamela's special day. This IS a very big deal! After the cookout and before the dance, Lady P, in following tradition .... you must tell us how you did it. :)

In all seriousness, thank you for sharing the news. What an accomplishment! Enjoy your day!

.

October 11




Ping Pong Balls and Possession

I keep an aquarium with a goldfish on my counter and sometimes he splashes my work proving to me that the thing I think I have contained often has a mind of its own. I have heard that goldfish don’t remember much, but mine always knows which side of the tank provides him a view of me. Memory may be reflexive. Assumption possibly is as well. I must keep a fresh account of what is within my grasp and what can swim away. I have heard the many fish tales from the part of me that likes to lie. The scales shimmer and lure me to pretend control when in truth it is all just a game of chance.






Confiscate excuses
*





BIRTH OF AN APPLE

When an apple gives birth what is the result?
Seed or sauce, crunch or crisp?
The act of creation is so much an act of sacrifice
How can it be limited to one delivery?

The children of effort produce fruit of their own.
Who am I to call them other then kin?
How many times have I thrown over bluster for blizzard
But snow is snow.

I can accept every squall if I keep clear and willing
I may finish my days in a winter orchard
If I spend my life picking not choosing.

October 12


Message with no Bottle


I found a note while I was cleaning the art cupboard. It was written in my hand. I don’t remember writing it, or thinking it for that matter. The note said, “Total disregard for the survival of your soul” and I have no idea if it was a warning or a suggestion; a place to start or a destination at which not to arrive. If it was written during one of those dark days it could be the former, I hope it is the latter; a sign post on my recovery road. I bring it out here to write to you about it, share it and take me to a place where I am no longer alone with this flyer. I sit down to the keyboard lift the note to read it again with care. I scan the edges for clues and see that it is a memo sheet torn in half and when I flip it, on the back I see, “2 loaves & 5 fishes to feed a multitude” and though I may not believe in that miracle I do believe in this one.








Don’t keep good night sweetness in the bowl, pour it out

*


ABUNDANCE OF WATER

Waterfalls fail the catch basin
And run off to make mud slide from the hills.
Power showers down but the channels it uses
Are not always beneficial.

High tide with the push of tsunami wipes out the coast.
Water is the stuff of life but God forbid it get out of control
There is no living with it.
I cannot regulate the weather but today I have a plan.

I don’t have to stand out waiting to see how much will come down.
I may not have every contingency covered,
I do have a backup for the worse than average season.
Yes, I did dig myself a French-drain
But I started by not living on the flood plain.

Belly-Button Best Wishes
 

Happy Birthday to one hella writer and very special person. Take today and eat of the cake of life and drink from the cup of now. Sending you a special wish here to remind you of all the people you have given to, and helped in your years of daily service. Writing your inspirations, and this year adding the poems at the bottom and managing to do so without fail, because there may that one day, that one person waiting on that miracle, and it could be you.

Happy Birthday dearest sherrie :fastdraq: from the Dude. Peaches and Tiggee (and on JennyBoo's behalf too).

Thank you, Daddy!