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?


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

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.


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

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 gives 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?

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

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.


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

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


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

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 the 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.


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

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.


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

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 many 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.


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

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 it 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.


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

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 hand 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.

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

October 16


Autonomic

Alcoholics in isolation go no place good. Isolation is too expensive to keep; whether it is a bad habit or worse. How do I hold to a receding thing such as this? I am amazed that I accomplish this difficult task and fear my ability to do something simple like breathe. I wonder often why destruction is so seductive when life is fine. Yet, I hear the cloying whispers of lonely isle shores, I must bind myself to friendship and hold firm to companions for the water is no place for me, I have forgone my once liquid life.



Tell yourself a story about what you’ve learned

*

ARCHIMEDES PUT A BOULDER IN MY PATH

Place a lever under the boulder and press down.
Never so hard as to warp the lever.
Move the pivot and push under a new place.

Keep doing this until you have pushed deeply
And well from every aspect of the boulder in you path.
This works every time.

Not because it dislodges the boulder
But because it somehow changes me.
The path may also appear different.

Often the boulder drops from view.
It may not be gone but seems less irretraceable.
My life goes on.

I have found it important to retain my lever and pivot.
There is never just one boulder.

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

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.

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

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
spectral instrument and I am grateful to the fellowship
for shining the light on and through me.

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

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.

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

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 its 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

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

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.


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

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 runs 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.


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

October 13


Alarm

I have lived life like one long fire drill. Is there smoke? Not always, but I fear flames. The alarm in my head is with me always and I walk from my life single file and silent. I don’t move on, this is only a drill, ‘I don’t want to take drastic action, this will pass,’ is my constant thought, though, I can not remember a time without the buzz. I have stood outside my life so long practicing in case of an emergency that there is no life to protect. I have been conscientious to the point of being consumed by caution. Balance requires risk. I must be brave enough to have it all.


Remember old leaves turn over, too
*


FISH OF CHAOS

Out of chaos come very tiny fish,
Well maybe not fish but a very swimmy feeling.
How can I go around with my feet off the ground,
My mind racing on a squirrel cage?

Breathing helps, breathing is a place to start.
Once I get breathing regularly I can gingerly probe
With one foot for a place to stand.

The chaos may race around and past my legs
Like so many eels on a summers evening
But with time and practice
I can step from this current as well.
Out of chaos come very tiny fish but I can come out too.

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

October 14


Matching

“Matching calamity for serenity,” is a task requiring attentive diligence. Each tragedy has its unique blast pattern and necessitates a precisely cut cure. Coverage is one concern and depth is another, the weight of the healing atmosphere must equal the corrosive depletion caused by ruin. I have to make available the wound in order to receive the remedy; anytime I camouflage or barricade my injury I have eliminated the opportunity for a corresponding solution. Knowing this fact and answering it with right action is the job of a lifetime, but I cannot think of a more productive use of my time.


Admit to the uniforms you wear

*

SLIPSTREAM

I look in the rearview mirror
I see the headliner and a river flowing out behind me.
Dual viewing is the kind gift of hindsight.

I can see my internal workings and the past laid bare.
The beauty and sadness can transfix me.
I will lose my way if I keep looking back.

I catch glimpses and move my eyes forward.
I can’t advance without a full vision
So I remain grateful for the mirror.
Awareness and cognition, the brakes and the gas
I have the full package.
I just have to make sure to steer.


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

October 15


Fair Fish

Tiny thoughts ping pong around my head hoping to win a goldfish, but what do I need with a five dollar fish? How often do I pay too dearly, for what is merely an animated ornament? When I falter in self-esteem I look to decorate my life through hostage taking and other unfair practices. I know I want to feel safe, know that hiding gives the illusion of that. It’s like the joke told about banging sticks to keep the tigers away. Does it work? Yes, of course as long as you are in a place with no tigers. I can distract myself, but I can not distract life; life goes on and takes me with it, no matter my disguise. Given this I can either; spend my time with a blindfold and a cigarette waiting for the end or walk the midway and go ride the tilt-a-whirl.


Sit still until the day unwinds a little

*

MISSING

The good times we never had but should have.
The pleasantries I endured waiting for pleasure.
I remember you potential with fondness.

The days, the weeks, the years,
I waited for you to grow to me have past
And yet time is what I have -----not you.

Hope is a wonderful thing until it turns on me and bites.
Images I built have tumbled
And colors wash from your portrait

I carefully remind myself
It is the idea of you I miss
Not you.

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

October 16





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 hale 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.


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

October 17


Bowman Beach

The swirl with the flash of teeth that I backed away from turned out to be dolphin, but that didn’t make me safer, strangers are strangers no matter who their PR team is. When I am out of my element fear grows long leads and I am bound by these limits. Who I am under new circumstances is a discovery I make as time flies by. Can I swim and play with exuberance or will I drown trying to catch up? I am able and disabled, the line is tied from the back and I don’t know its length. I unreel as much slack as I can and test my reach, but still I must keep my wary eye and be careful of the deep.


Think of something nice to say about a pigeon

*

MISS DIRECTED

I called and rambled at my sponsor.
After a significant time had past she stopped me
And asked--with a tone in her voice--
Why are you calling me?

Startled I replied, for your advice?
Are you sure that’s why you called?
Because I can give you my advice
But I have given advice to you before
And received only a severe case of the
Yeah Buts’-----in return.

I was about to say, yeah but, you don’t understand,
When she cleared her throat to quiet me
And continued what she was saying.
Seems to me you want more than a sober ear
You want Magic.

You want me to take your crazy dramatic thinking
Put it in a hat and pull it out formed as all your dreams
And then you want credit for making it happen.
But Kitten, I have news for you I’m not Mr. Roark
And this is not Fantasy Island.

This is sobriety and you can’t just have your way.
This is when I realized I was a dry drunk.
I don’t know what the first signs are
But I do know when your sponsor asks-
And you’re calling me why? The jig is up.

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

October 18


Where do I live?

Fleeter of foot is my goal. I race to catch the prize thoroughbreds as they flee. I play chase, I win, I lose, I fall in the mud, I break my leg. None of this does anything for the horses either, they are loose and confused; off like a shot, but nowhere to go. I buy better shoes, hire a trainer, put reflective tack on the stallions and the mares. In short I go broke. I had the world of possibilities before me and it ran away; all because I don’t close the barn door.


Sometimes raise your value by stooping

*

OPEN HEARTED GRIEF

Tell a tale of openhearted grief
And closed-minded terror
Bend the limits of misery.

Pour over the damned feelings and tired excuses
Level the cupful of measured terrene
And wipe the drooling face of denial.

The children will not dance tonight
The grass is wet with their tears.
The dogs circle the encampment of desire
And come to sleep when we are settled.

Silly ruffled whimsy won’t carry the freight
But the bus pulls into the drowsy station
Filled with tea lites and pantomime.

The story will close with a hand on the doorknob of hope
An eye on the jelly sandwich of contentment.
Whisper the lullaby to the ones who stay to hear it.

Morning cracks the shell to daytime.
Shattered pieces litter the night
Tremors shade my peace of mind.
Sum up the analogies of broken hearts and twisted minds.


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

October 19


Earl Grey is not my Friend

Scabby knees is what I look for; I need to be with those who climb, not those who slide. I hate to say it, but looking cool and sitting on the sidelines does nothing for me or my sobriety. I have to build those calluses, require patches in my clothes, carry a hammer to pound in those spikes. If I don’t see tools in your hands and bodily evidence that you have been using them, I really don’t have time for you. This is a “let’s go, lets go” kind of recovery for me and if it isn’t for you then have fun and I hope you have a good seat, but I am not staying for your tea party; I have no time for tarts.


Explain the difference between a rabbit and a bunny

*

SLOTH TOES

A sloth is known by the number of its toes
Not its name or love of art or music.
The oddest attributes draw attention and acclaim
From scorekeepers and flag-wavers of the world.

Going my way in this life I am seen by clock-watchers
As timeless and by trumpeters as soundless.
I am not defined by these.

The number of my toes or the time I keep
Or the sound I make is more than who I am.
An explanation of me will not fit on an index card
Or nameplate or job title.

As long as I stay clear of these traps
And classifications I am safe.
If I buy in or fall down
My sum and total will neatly fit on a toe tag.


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

October 20


Self Importance

When I am over sensitive and everything that everyone does looms large for me, I am more likely to think that I am a driving force in the lives of others. It’s a funny connection in the same way that when I scratch the dogs tummy her foot paddles; when I am not getting my needs met I tend to believe I am in this world to meet the needs of others. Often when in this mindset I also delude myself further to worry that I may be the only person who can help these other people. I have been training myself to throw a flag on any and all plays where I am that important. I try to bring all action to a stop and get right sized about who I am and how important I am and to whom and why. It’s not that I don’t have value, I have the same value as everyone else, but when I shortchange my needs and my feelings, over responsibility to others mushrooms and this is not good for anyone; me least of all. As with most things, if I find out what is right for me it tends to be right for those around me, even if I can’t see that at the time.


Frame your favorite moments
*

VICTORY

Victory is a funny thing,
Bursting across the finish line
Ends the joyful competition
And begins the wait until the next endeavor.

Pushing for success
Drops my life off the radar screen.
Power can propel me out of range
The center of my life overshot
In an attempt to be a winner.

I am stripped of my commonality
In striving for singularity.
Looking for acclaim leaves me lonely.
The winners circle is very small
And while the flash explodes
The development shows I am now alone.


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

October 21


Resilience

When I experience trauma or drama my heart and soul return to the toddler state; I feel the urge to stay up and push forward. I resist help and rest. I try to override animal need in favor of intellectual prowess. Bleary eyed and red-faced, I soldier on, only to manage to make my life into a ceaseless fight. My charm and wit wear thin; then wear out. I need to recharge my batteries, need to hit reset and restore my default settings. It is hard for me to accept that I must lie down in order to get up again. Restoration is impossible to achieve from my battle stance. Resilience is a bouncing ball. What I want to rise I must first throw down.


Sweetly kiss the past goodbye
*



SPONTANEOUS WILLINGNESS

At my local coffee-mart there is a strip of cellophane tape
Adhered to the mid of a Plexiglas panel
Built into the barrier where the line forms.
Only at a certain angle can this satin finish tape be seen.

When I first caught a glimpse of it I recognized
Others had stood there and responded
To the sight of this strip by prying bits of the edge
With fingernails---I was drawn to do the same.

I could not pull much up but each time I stand there
I work diligently for the moments it takes to make it
To the head of the line and be on my way.
Unseen others pull fragments while I’m away.

Over time we will accomplish this task
Unbidden, unknown to each other
Except through this common goal
Spontaneous willingness to do what can be done


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

October 22


Canine Comprehension

I wonder what it is that the dog knows. True love, quantum physics, the ratio of lift to thrust required to make the ball fly, how food shared from my plate is better than food from her bowl. This begs the next question. What do I really know; song lyrics, nursery rhymes, old scores from old grudges? What I hope I have learned; is the space it takes to keep an open mind, the willingness required to make a real change, and the width, depth and breath of honest affection. If I haven’t learned these things I will put them at the top of my list of things to do. Because I believe I can teach this old dog a few new tricks.


Not all friends are friendly
*


CONTROL

I have everything in the world but control
And yet it seems to be the only thing I yearn for.
Past history has made it difficult for me to have faith
And I have clung to scraps of control as in alternative.

I have hope but I have hope in a way
A disgruntled gambler has hope.
The horse may cross the finish line first
But it’s a long shot.

This is the trouble with control, if I could ride the horse
I might be able to exert some sway in the situation
But since my jockeying would only make things worse
My inability to secure the outcome leads me to despair.

And here I am, I am not in the race
I will not risk betting on the horse.
I have no skill accepting the capricious nature of life
And work hard not to be capricious myself.

This may be the crux of my problem
I work so hard to do things right instead of having fun.
I try constantly to keep things from going badly
I focus no time on creating joy in my life.

I may not believe much
But I do believe God wants me happy.
This could be the seed---which starts faith.

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

October 23


Jacks

Born crazy, is that better than becoming deranged? Do birth affects excuse my unrepentant glee? Does irrepressible sardonic wit explain the order of restless exposition? Can you count on Cicadic enthusiasm to carry me, or flightless fancy to keep me down? I am beyond redemption, beyond reception, beyond device. I arrived riddled with chaotic cracks, but I am more than just a glaze and deep down I’m more than sound, so walk with my wild side and your thoughts I’ll rearrange.



When you can’t fill the void, wallpaper

*

BEFORE THE END OF THE ROAD

Before the end of the road tiny stone lay on the side
Freshly painted lines glimmer in this twilight trance.
Walking the macadam, the crunch underfoot
Changes my perspective.

No steering wheel or accelerator
This is ankle express all the way.
Walking the road , step by step, on my own
I am part of the soft and growing world.
Progressing on a plan of separate integrity

Moist, lush wonder, is missed
By the motor speedway I let rule my life
Honeyed sweetness covers the vegetation
Swaying in the undulating air born pulse.

I am tempted to lie down and have a roll
But my role tonight is to reach the end of the road.
When my goal is achieved I may choose
A woodland life or an urban endeavor.

Seeing the end of this path is job enough for now.
Decisions anticipated prior to arrival
Are foolish diversions.
I need to stay, not stray with the dancers in the wind.

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

My name is Melissa and I'm an alcoholic. My last drink was March 11, 2008. My sobriety date is March 25, 2010, which was the day I went to my first meeting.

Today I wanted nothing more than to stop and pick up a bottle of Jack Daniels and let it take away the heavy emptiness that I'm drowning in right now. How the heck emptiness can feel heavy is beyond me. But, I didn't stop. I came home and played with my dogs. And I wait for the feelings to pass. I've learned that they do pass, if I'll just give it time and feel whatever it is that I'm feeling. I don't have to solve anything today.

Thank you, Sherry, for this thread and for your help 3.5 years ago when I had no idea that life didn't have to be an endless struggle.

October 24


Spectrum

The quality of the poetry is so dependant on the quality of the lighting. Improve the color palette and yes, you’ve guessed the result. So, I say to you, “Turn up the lights. Do not write in half-dark grief and limp through the words. Spotlight what you can and illuminate the rest. You needn’t make a sound, needn’t pitch a tent, needn’t build a bridge, though you may, may if you wish and wish is what I do, wish for better light and when the clouds break loose in the sky and let the sun pour, I lift my pen and make it all; for what was needed was this better light.”


Imagine your webbed feet
*


PICK ME SIX NUMBERS

Knowing all the page numbers
And quotes of the Big Book
But not being able to apply them
Is like knowing all the winning lottery numbers
With the inability to buy a ticket.

Telling my story has little or nothing
To do with public speaking
Recovery has so much more to do
With willingness rather than studiousness.

Popularity contest, policing meetings
And service politics are a circus
I have attended far too often.
Empty rooms sporting great curtains
Does not a home make
Comprehension is no substitute for acquiescence


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

October 25


Behind Closed Doors

The children of happy fathers make no sense to me. I have known no such peace. What is it to live in a world where there is a man who likes you, someone who approves? I feel like my chin would have always been out there to see, no ducking, no need to hide, had there been a good man to whom I could turn. The dark circles under the eyes of my soul make me old, old and different from those kids, mere children, safe in a home with a happy man whose joy it is to be their Dad.


Dance cheek to cheek with your muse when you can

*

DETAIL DAYS

Detail days seem like lost soulless days.
I sort the piles of endless junk mail
Catch up on bills, letters, laundry.
I don’t leave the house but in someway
I feel like I’m not in my home.

It’s like a day of pulling out all the needles,
Splinters and thorns which accumulate
Under my skin from rough weeks and road rash.
I steel myself to the pain of relief and rescue.

Cleared counters, emptied baskets, finished worry list
Leave me with that newly moved in feel.
Piles overwhelm me but sometimes details define me.


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

October 26


Basket Ball

Idiots out number poets, this is a fact, though I do wonder why. It cannot be an easy lot spending your days in slow witted discharge; I would think they might at least try putting pen to paper. I think I would rather live in a world filled with bad poets rather than drifting on this ship of fools, but the troubadours rise with imbeciles as their cover and poems fall from favor. I wonder how I could make verse a contagion, how could I make it spread? You may laugh at me, but think what some guy did with a broken peach basket and a rubber ball.


Check your gait for swing

*

STRONG WORDS

Serious language, deep language, real language
Helps me by grounding me.
I don’t have to be nice for company
When I can just tell the truth.

I needn’t have guests with virgin ears
Or unrealistic expectations,
I no longer pander to such foolishness.
I know the layered meaning of my words.

I value the intensity of a large vocabulary.
I am not intimidated by prudish co-conspirators
Who stare down pointed noses
At powerful utterances.

Weak words make poor boundaries
And breed victims.
I will not be trapped by niceties
I will speak clearly out of necessity.


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

October 27


Circuit Speaker

It isn’t until I listen long to the Northside poet that I realize there is such a thing as a Chicago accent. I hear it as I never have before. I don’t hear it in my beloved Rodger, hear only the hope he brings to share. As I get ready to walk to the podium I wish that no one hears the Jersey in my voice only the experience I bring to share.


Dance through the mud then clean off your shoes


*
CLINGING

Large bugs cling to the soffits
Upside down as an alternative
To the rain-soaked landscape
I salute their efforts to find security
In a shrinking list of possible locations.

Awkward situations place my fingertips
And toenails holding positions
Trying to avoid life’s harsher choices.
Bitter, chilling options are cheerful alternatives
To no option at all

I can take the difficult positions as an advantage.
I have survived and this is the goal of the game.
I am here--come what may.
I make the best of the worst times so God can help me
Make the best of the best times.



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

October 28


Picard

The little tin whistle I yearn to play squeaks in my head warning that I have no time to learn and a tin whistle though slender is not easy. I think if I had a magic wrinkler for time I might learn, I remember characters that have, but I rethink this and remember I don’t want to win the lottery again. I am too good at too many things and have no time to enjoy their full round pleasure. I have no need for additional longing or extended guilt.



Print your fingers

*

I DON’T SEE HOW

This is the smallest of the fragile excuses I use
To keep from doing things to make me happy.
Petty in a way I would never be with others
I rake my desires and tiny hopes over the coals.

Tired platitudes are plated up as first serves
By my short order short sightedness
Protecting crusted over nonsense
And living the life of a lockout
Not even a squatter on the fringes of my dreams.

I stumble in my efforts
To see hope, joy or my purpose,
Ignoring the fact that I must step from the box
Before I can see the horizon or more.


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

October 29


To Your Health

Health is a pleasure; health restored is celebration girded with gratitude. The shock of illness quickly imbeds itself to an irrefutable unchangeable fact. When this veil is lifted the body responds with glee, the soul with relief touched with disbelief. The satisfaction of being hale is the bedrock and once this is shaken its return is nothing more than astonishing. I am never more aware of the miraculous nature of life than when I feel alive once more after having felt the doom of sickness.


Throw out ancestral trash

*

QUILTER

What more comfort can exist in the world
Than a conglomeration of turned edges and love?
Fancy stitches or not the assembled world of cloth
Stands testament to devotion and diligence.

Careful collections, meaningful to the collector
And mysterious to the possessor,
Fulfill the primal urge to shelter and be safe.
Time is testimony to endurance.

Thread against thread,
Solidarity is strength embracing flexibility.
The bed of life is made and remade daily
With the affection of kind quilters needles of love.


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

October 30


On a Half-shell in Front of Tiffany’s

Pretty petty pearls wait in oysters more perturbed than annoyed. I string my tears for the sake of posterity leaving the dreams to fend for themselves. I am nothing if not splendidly prepared for a life less steeped in wishes than realism. Opening volleys tell a tale of round irritation, but I am not finished just yet. Joy comes from surpassing obstacles and wearing healed grief as precious gems around my neck.



Pick a retirement home for your critics

*

EIGHT MISTAKES CLOSER

I am eight mistakes closer to perfection.
As long as I fall forward, progress is being made.
I fail meticulously toward my goal
More cannot be asked.

Loss, pain, frustration are strong teachers and motivators.
I suck each splinter for knowledge,
Extracting juice from every fragment for information.
In spite of sprains and strains I have stretched
Attaining almost my full height.

Growth is a wonderful thing though cost is always involved.
Mistakes are an unavoidable price
But well worth the expense.
They are an expense which pays dividends
Dividends that move me towards perfection.


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

October 31


Halloween

“Why does self-centered fear wear a costume that looks so much like ‘other people’s opinion’?” I asked my sponsor.
“For the same reason that booze masquerades as ‘a good time.’ How would you ever fall into a pit which used no pretense? Naked ambition attracts far fewer devotees than addicts of ‘must make Mama and Daddy proud’ or the ‘doing better for my kids crowd’.”
“Ambition is not all together bad!” I crow.
“Neither is fear in its proper scale, but fear cloaks itself to seize more than its share of your life, just like any parasite. So take your spring tonic like a good kid and keep the worms at bay.”


Don’t bother licking the self stick stamps

*

FLORAL ECSTASY

I could eat fields of buttercups
And drink down ponds of water lilies.
Wear foxgloves and a pair of lady slippers
I could wrap myself in bridal wreathe
And under pin with nettles.

I could rise with the roses
Lay with the lilies
Shade with the sage
Sing with the trumpet vines

Run away from home
With a Turks cap on my head
And a pansy in my pocket
Until the four o’clock say
Its time to come home.
For evening primrose and then bed.


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