Friends of Bill W.

[LeftWriteFemme]

January 8


Lathe


Turning into a spin, the edge cuts into my misconceptions, the point sharp and accurate to a fault digs into the excess I carry around, keeping me from my useful purpose. A good eye and steady hand are needed lest breakthrough ruin me. Not that all is ever lost for a spoon with a hole in the bowl will stir a soup smooth. Relinquishing my burdens and trusting the carvers tools and methods takes great commitment. I am carved commitment or no, but things turn out better when I don’t flinch.

If you can’t make hay then mow the lawn

*

IN A BACKWATER

There is a place so removed, uninspired, ignorance flourishes
I hate to go there.
I avoid it when I can
Today I could not avoid it.
Today I saw the gable end of a small barn
Half hidden in the scrub trees.
On the face of the gable end are two plywood cutouts
They are large, taking up the major portion of the space.
The first is a budgie, a bright blue parakeet, 7 or 8 feet tall.
It is tilted to it's side, it looks dyslexic but intriguing
Above it is a cutout of a black guitar, similar in length.
Hanging long ways across the top, almost from eve to eve.
I don't know what it means.
Why they are there.
Who could have put them there.
A story is there,
Just sticking it's tongue out at me.
I can hardly bear it.
I think of God and laugh.
If my God has nothing better to do then tease me,
I need a better God.
I think of my Higher Power and wonder if the power is curious too.
Am I overlapping a layer of consciousness I have no part in?
Is this subliminal previews of my future?
Am I too nosey for my own good?
I just don't know
It could be something all together different
I have only time.
Time will tell in the end it always does.
I hate to wait

[LeftWriteFemme]

January 9


Crestfallen


“Whoa is me, I have crested the rise only to slide down the other side. Hard work and determination culminated in victory but alas it was short lived. Success is barely meaningful if it is permanent. Poor, poor dear, I will have to strive once more at the face of a new challenge or even worse might have to make another run at this one. How shall I ever bear it?” I lament, my sponsor smiles.
“Are you learning to be amused at yourself or hoping to bring back melodrama to the everyman?” She queries.
“A little of both I think, whining is a consolation to me,” I reply.
“It’s nice that you’re not doing it at me, but even nicer that you have let your achievements teach you to laugh at your mishaps,” says my sponsor with a kiss to my forehead.

Butter both sides of your intentions



*


BREAKING MY OWN GLASS

The police of a small town caught a serial glass breaker today.
The man who owned a plate glass repair shop
Was breaking store front windows.
I break my own.
I go through my life, I slash my own tires
And break my own glass.
I fear continuity, stability, success.
I love damage control, making arts and craft from my slivers and shards
"Think what you could do with undamaged goods." Says my sponsor
I don't know how to do anything with undamaged goods
Except damage them or give them to others.
"Saddest thing I've ever heard." she counters
I can make a quilt from discarded clothes, mosaics from shattered dishes
A collage from junk mail and rescue every stray on the block,
See the potential in every person in a crowded hall
And hold your hand and cheer you on.
"What have you done for you lately?" my sponsor taunts
She is making my point, what can I do for me?
Search and destroy?
Live outside myself?
I have to be sober to be me, I can't go around making a mess
Just so I have something familiar to wallow in.
What if I can't do anything fresh?
"Learn to market the retreads.' she says

[LeftWriteFemme]

January 10

Hoarfrost


On balmy evenings dew forms in my life and moistens my extremities. This friendly act requires the maintenance of temperature. If I become suddenly cool the landscape changes and the once welcoming vapor is now a show of crystalline rigidity. Cold to the morning light I am brittle and snap at even a tentative touch. For want of passion I have replaced it with definition and structure I can not absorb. I am outlined clearly but no longer myself. I am frozen, formally changed within and without. Warmth is necessary, but how to start my own fire? Learn, I must and quickly lest frostbite set in.

Wear your mantle don’t leave it to the fireplace


*

LONELINESS EATS MY LUNCH




There are days loneliness eats my lunch
And I can't fight back.
How can I stand it,
How can it still be this bad?

I pull out the old chestnuts.
If I'm not happy with what I have
How could I be happier with more?
Even tickets on the 50 yard line don't interest me, I came to play.

I think of other slogans, the tidbits, the smiles and hugs.
I roll them around.
Still, there are days my lunch is gulped down
And I sit with my plate empty.

Pickle juice, coleslaw drool is small comfort
Actually, it's a jeer.
I stare at my empty plate
I turn and twist it, stick my tongue out at it.

"Your good company." Says my sponsor
Then why am I alone, if I'm so good
If my company is worthwhile
Why do I sit her hungry and desperate?

"Are you sure you are?"
It sure feels that way.
"Well, it might be true and it might not."
I get it.

I am unhooked from myself
I am ignoring the multitude at my elbow
While looking for someone in my lap
I'm holding out for old terms from a new contract

I am loved by people
Who aren't trying to consume me
And I am letting my expectations
Dine for free.

[LeftWriteFemme]

January 11



Pepo


My father used to destroy a perfectly good watermelon by cutting a triangle in the top and pouring a bottle of vodka into it. I used to destroy my perfectly good melon the same way. Emulating bad ideas in new ways was a onetime pastime of mine. Giving it up was harder than I had expected. Flawed thinking blends so freely with my mental landscape I have trouble distinguishing it. Condemning the action and not the man is not usually my preferred method. I would rather condemn the man, but this leaves me with the actions in place and him long gone. And though I prefer him gone I will recreate him within myself if I don’t flush his actions as well. I have a good pumpkin on my shoulders but it is my job to keep it intact.

No need to wait for joy, jump when you please



*

LIFE IS TOO GOOD





I know it sounds crazy, is crazy
But I hate having the fear, the gnawing gut, of WHAT IF
WHAT IF I can't maintain this, the sober life I live.
WHAT IF I get struck, unable to connect to my Higher Power?

I had a spiritual awaking
WHAT IF I get spiritual narcolepsy?
My spiritual cord was cut when I was young, not by my choosing
WHAT IF it gets cut again?

"WHAT IF this line of thinking cuts it?" Asks my sponsor
I hate when she's right.
WHAT IF this is a test?
Be like them or not.

Follow the path of the twelve steps
When there is no weight of need pushing me
When everything is going in my direction
I have to keep my eye on the ball for myself.

I am still not God
This is the lesson
The abusers never learned
The one I have to.

What went wrong was not bad people
Making bad choices, in bad circumstances
It was disconnected people
Making decisions without help.

I have to stay in your pocket
Never be a free bird
I have to remember what true freedom is
It's not being cut loose.

I have had that
And it never felt free
Keep your eye on the ball
And hold onto my hand.

[LeftWriteFemme]

January 12

Live Bait



Is being a taunt to others really a life? Dangling as the cover for a hook, luring intended and unintended to their deaths, is that living? Or if I draw you with my attack rather than my appeal is that a worthwhile existence? If I carry myself filled with poison praying for a strike is that anything other than a march to an unhappy grave for two, or more? Hidden under an avalanche of harassment strips me of my vital quality and my soul loses its true nature. I am allowed to transcend the setup of competition and social strife. It’s alright to be tempting with no agenda. I could be an appetizer if only I removed the barbs or better yet I could be dessert.

Tuck tiny wishes between your toes.



*

JOY IS NOT ENOUGH

I was driving around in my car
Eating a meltingly ripe persimmon
On the radio came a fiddle playing band
Performing their rendition of In The White Room

I was traveling with the three drafts of my first step
Version one consisted of 690-some words
And the final had only four, JOY IS NOT ENOUGH
That's it, the whole thing.

Today my life is unmanageable
Due to the fact that having a balanced life
Feeling my wide range of feelings, including joy,
Is not sufficient to eliminate the pain and damage of the past.
My horrific childhood has not healed
Has not mended seamlessly
I have joy today, everyday, at some point
In proportion to my sober choices.

I fail to realize the promise doesn't say, Heal the past
It says, I will not regret the past.
I don't, at least not any of the choices I made,
Other peoples choices are not mine to regret.

I will not wish to shut the door on the past
And I don't wish to.
I want it Healed
I may not get my wish

Just because I am doing my part to heal the past
Doesn't make anyone else do it
I can't strong-arm the perpetrators into recovery
The way they strong-armed me into the abuse

JOY IS NOT ENOUGH but it's a hell of a start.

[LeftWriteFemme]

January 13


Offset


I often feel out of round and unmatched to my counterparts. Awkwardly I sit unable to strike a plausible pose. I want my asymmetry to seem chic. I feel a victim of universal ugliness and gracelessly plod through my days. Luckily offset thinking, the partner of my offset soul, saves me. I see that I am uniquely useful, like a screwdriver set at right angles for use where a straight one could not reach. I am counterbalance and compensation. I may be lateral but I am also collateral. I am an embellisher, beneficial in unexpected ways and shouldn’t seek to be inline with the multitude. I am the new growth, the spur to the future.

Romance the noodles in your soup


*


GRAVITY WORKS ALL THE TIME

Limits and boundaries are a drag
I hate feeling tied to the ground
I know I could fly
If not for unseen forces

I sense myself lightening, smoothing
I drop my burdens, I pick up speed
Fourth dimension
Hell, I'm proverbial vapor trails

I should explain, when I get moving this fast
I inevitably wind myself into a position
Where my head is up my nether regions
A place it does not belong

I have slowly grown to love my limits
No restraint holds me back
In reality, I am supported, rooted as it were
I am not hydroponic, I can live in the real world

I am me
Encouraged by the wind and the rain
I am not a hothouse flower
I am truly free

I can walk where I was born to walk
I forget life has not been found outside my little world
And when it is
I am still better off being me

[LeftWriteFemme]

January 14

Specks




Spectacles are for specks; tiny things that must be watched. Commotion is nothing but a congregation of minutia with an audience. How many small things do I strain my eyes to see; then seek help to pursue further? Some of these are put on display fishing for voyeurs. Others are secreted away only to be ferreted out through magnification. Whether curiosity or contempt drives me to these pinpoints I must search my motives before I scan the plain. For truly if I am not careful I, myself will end up either speck or spectacle.

Let old wood and old women inhabit the shoreline of your mind.

*

NO MAPS

Maps have existed longer than I have
By the time of my birth there was aerial photography
Which had made pinpoint accuracy the norm.

I can be tracked by satellite on my daily commute
I can get a trip tic
And travel to the far reaches of this continent

"So what is your problem?" Asks my sponsor
There is no map for where we've been going
There are only the twelve steps, but after that-

It is all uncharted territory except of course-
For my families warnings about dragons
'Those critters stay to home mostly." She says

"You have bigger things to worry about."
So where's the map
I need to know where to go.

No Map, we go through this together
The pitfalls are similar, sex and money
There are a few others

What each of us finds on this journey is uncharted
Plus if you spend your time looking down
You will miss the view.

We prop each other up as we step off into the unknown
And reel each other back
If we start falling off the beam.

How do I know if I'm doing it right
"Are you still sober?"
Yes, but I'm unsure.

Lots of people are sober
Right up until the time they're drunk
"So true, it's all about motive."

It's difficult to chart a heart
"Do you have willingness?"
Yes, you know I do.

I have found that is the vehicle
To everywhere, So.,
Learn to enjoy the ride.