Friends of Bill W.

[LeftWriteFemme]

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

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

[purepisces]

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.

[LeftWriteFemme]

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

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