Friends of Bill W.

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 10


More Than a Fedora



I have no explanations only expletives, I wish I had something to say that you wished to hear, but that is not current events; foul humored broadcasts are what fill the air this day. Bad temper is tempting, but I can no longer be satisfied in this way nor is this a performance that you care to witness. I will play FCC to my ruminations curtailing this colorful darkness for my benefit and the clearing of the air. I have never shied from dramatic vocabulary and I do not now, but throwing out words is waste and I am learning to conserve. I don’t have to leak my power I can cover my head and close my mouth.









Know what you are holding on to

*

URBAN LANDSCAPE

I am taking this giraffe to the penthouse,
Do you suggest the elevator or the stairs?
Why do you chose these complicated tasks
To fill your days asked my sponsor?

You think this is beyond my abilities?
I didn’t say that, I do believe either you or the giraffe
Are likely to get bent out of shape
But that is the most obvious of observations

What if I told you being disproportionate
Is both of our natural states, I asked?
I know that too, my darling little lamb.

You may be a contrast to the multitude
But why make it harder?
Why not a ranch with a cathedral ceiling
Bay doors even?

You are taking out the spirit of adventure, I say
Baby, you may have confused frustration
With excitement, says my sponsor
Yes, but you have forgotten the view.

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 11



Out Standing in My Field



Trying to remove expectations is like trying to unseed a field; it is damn near impossible until something crops up, though when it does I must act swiftly lest things take root. Tedious as it is weeding the fields of unreasonable expectancy saves me from so much frustration later on. I don’t recognize it, but expectations are like little dictators forever ruling me; leaving no room for G-d or direction, not to mention flexibility or change. Tap roots dive for the vein and my life depends on fleet elimination of unsuitable desire. I can want. I can strive. I can not leave expectations to grow in my garden.





Screen your comments when you can


*

STRETCHING

Stretching is not equivalent to change
Limbering is nice
And warms the muscles, body and soul.

Over-reaching, over-compensation is trauma
It distorts the symmetry
And breeds erroneous thinking.

Extension beyond the bounds sets me up for a fall
I misinterpret touching with finger tips
With a firm and able grasp.

I don’t step forward because I believe
I have a hand on things
Failing to see how this is different from an embrace.

The sinew tears
And the fabric of life is destroyed
I lean forward but I go nowhere.

[StillettoDoll]

Gray's First Sober Year

by William Notter




This new life is better
than a dozen beer-joint romances
or a hundred drunks at fishing camp.
My habit now is not drinking,
and waking up where I belong.
I can see colors again,
and I don't feel like a turd in the punchbowl
whenever I go around people.

I'll mow the weeds for Sharon
and almost enjoy it. She's even given up
checking my breath whenever I come home.
I went shopping for our anniversary
and wound up crying in the store,
but not the kind of tears you cry
when your wife catches you lying in the shed
with your pistol jabbed up in your mouth
and vodka running out your nose.

The only thing she could think to do
was check me into another detox,
and this time it finally took.
This year has made me different—
vodka could never do that for long.
Some days when I wake up early
and listen to Sharon lying there breathing,
it feels like somebody snuck in while we slept
and changed our sheets.

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 12



Box-a-week Tao


I am going through so many changes surrounding the cleaning out and getting rid of process. The flat sided panic that I experience while even attempting the smallest disposal seems impossible. I would deny it if I didn't have the repetition of this experiment to prove it as fact. I have now moved into the part of the illness where I compulsively clean the things that I have emptied in order to avoid facing the next step, the next box, the next mess. This is a two part trap: part 1. If cleaning can absorb all the time I will not be able to do anything else. Part 2. If I can't keep it clean enough then I have an excuse to give up and not empty the next space. I am trying to keep moving without being mean to myself. Because mean is worse than mess.







Try not to lose things you never had


*

CHOICE

Growth is my decision
I don’t need conflict or catastrophe to bring me to change
I choose each day, come what may, to roll out the refuse
I am not tempted to leave it in to rot just because the sun is shining

Good days are good times to improve
How could integrity be retarded by joy?
I am not punished into recovery

I will never accept a Higher Power who set up a system like that
And give wide birth to people who claim their Higher Power did
My bottom may have been an inducement to start
But choice keeps me coming back.

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 13




Be That Girl


I have tried to protect the investment I made in the past by selling the soul of my future. I arrived self-possessed, a winning girl, but I slid the self from the scene leaving me simply possessed. I gained everything then lost it a piece at a time starting with the parts nearest my heart. I must draw the shards together once more and mend this lovely crystal. The art of living is insured by my action not by grasping at slivers in terror of what slips from my fingers. I am what I have inviolate and all else comes to fruition when I am pleased; when I am myself.







Be aware which pens are poison


*

SOOT

I diligently work to remove the soot.
The residue from the last time I tried to hot wire my brain
When I attempted the short circuit of my safety-thinking
I caught my life on fire and flames, though brief, were spectacular.

Electric fires are very jarring
The burning insulation toxic
It leaves bare, stuttering lines crossing and recrossing

My stable base, the methods I once used to keep sane, is shot
All because I wanted to go joyriding in my thoughts
Suspended reality sounds so good but always burst into flame
Leaving me with soot removal as a hobby

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 14



No Stone Left Behind



An anchor attaches at the lower extremities stabilizing me, an albatross is the thing weighing me down from the top, it tips me, throws me to the ground. I must remember to choose ferrous instruments over long necked birds. Often it’s not the amount of drag, but where it’s affixed. There are so many variables, so much to think through, yet I often react and pick up what seems as harmless as a flock of sea gulls and turns out to be worse than an iron maiden. Leaving no tern unstoned is bad, but do I really have the time to do it the other way around?





Visualize the vapor trails from your words as they fly away from you


*

CLOCKS

When the clock stops
I wind it up or replace the battery
I have to-----time doesn’t end
Because the arms grow slow.

The device wears down
But the day is not over
Even if my internal metronome is bollixed
The planets keep revolving.

I can’t step off the world
It doesn’t stop turning for me
I don’t always have to keep my head up
But I must always go on.

There is no going back
I can only remember yesterday
I can’t return to it though it’s so close
The flowers are still fresh.

Sometimes I struggle
To keep my hands off the past
Those are the days I secure my future
And wind the clocks

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 15



Madame Alexander




I am, too naïve; if you show me kindness I will believe you, follow you, obey you, so, I have rules. These rules do not protect me, but they do make a box for me to seal myself inside. Where I will ship myself, stack myself; hide myself so well, that even I do not know. I pull the flaps down and pray not to have to make any real decisions. I fold my arms and close my mind, believing I could never adequately open it enough to safely live in the world outside of this closet. Here I sit wondering what to write on this label in order to be left alone all the while longing for true love, a thing never given to a quivering china doll shut up in a carton at the bottom of a wardrobe.






Make a suggestion box for your heart


*


CELEBRATIONS

You wore a wrist corsage to the dump?
You said to celebrate every activity
I retorted to my sponsor
Yes, by doing them with purpose.

Not everything needs to be a production number
Sometimes just showing up is enough
Putting to much energy into preparation
Can leave you without resources

It’s okay to make an appearance
Do the simple act and move on
That is a celebration in its own way
Don’t squander your vitality on the mundane.

Do you know what I mean, asks my sponsor?
Don’t waste flowers on trash heaps, I answer
Yes, and don’t wipe your bottom with poetry
I mention this in case you get any ideas!

[Tommi]

Originally Posted by StillettoDoll

Gray's First Sober Year

by William Notter




This new life is better
than a dozen beer-joint romances
or a hundred drunks at fishing camp.
My habit now is not drinking,
and waking up where I belong.
I can see colors again,
and I don't feel like a turd in the punchbowl
whenever I go around people.

I'll mow the weeds for Sharon
and almost enjoy it. She's even given up
checking my breath whenever I come home.
I went shopping for our anniversary
and wound up crying in the store,
but not the kind of tears you cry
when your wife catches you lying in the shed
with your pistol jabbed up in your mouth
and vodka running out your nose.

The only thing she could think to do
was check me into another detox,
and this time it finally took.
This year has made me different—
vodka could never do that for long.
Some days when I wake up early
and listen to Sharon lying there breathing,
it feels like somebody snuck in while we slept
and changed our sheets.

Great poem..and hello. I saw this on TV last week, and cried, and laughed and cried. Our stories may be different, our sobriety and relationships too, but damn, that One Day at a Time, is oh so true for those of us on either side of the bottle, medicine chest, etc. . i saw my Mom in it, and I saw the little me, and the Big me.


[nomedia="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D7lP_wxoSmY"]YouTube - ‪When a man loves a woman trailer‬‏[/nomedia]. If you haven't seen it I hope you do. IT reminded me of so many things. My addictive personality STILL rages on after so many years of being clean and sober.
Thanks for keeping the light on.

[StillettoDoll]

Sober Song

by Barton Sutter

Farewell to the starlight in whiskey,
So long to the sunshine in beer.
The booze made me cocky and frisky
But worried the man in the mirror.

Good night to the moonlight in brandy,
Adieu to the warmth of the wine.
I think I can finally stand me
Without a glass or a stein.

Bye-bye to the balm in the vodka,
Ta-ta to the menthol in gin.
I'm trying to do what I ought to,
Rejecting that snake medicine.

I won't miss the blackouts and vomit,
The accidents and regret.
If I can stay off the rotgut,
There might be a chance for me yet.

So so long to God in a bottle,
To the lies of rum and vermouth.
Let me slake my thirst with water
And the sweet, transparent truth.

"Sober Song" by Barton Sutter, from Farewell to the Starlight in Whiskey.

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 25



Princess No More



Decent is less obvious than accent and so it is with dethroning; those who put you upon the gilt alter with much aplomb feel no qualm in taking you down with not as much as a word or a grunt. The wind has changed and your reign is over, the poor startled girl is suddenly in the street. For a scepter is not a club and why fight for a throne, which is proven to be nothing more than a straight backed chair once separated from its right relationships. The horror of unexpected common status is for the young bride an issue of safety and trust not of ego or presumption. Who is she without the Prince, the Knight, she is Princess No More.




Take time to wipe unshed tears


*

NO GOLD STARS

I look at my chart
Then my chest
There are no gold stars

I long for the affirmation
Of my Great
And seemingly endless struggle

I watch the movements of those shiny shoes
And hope to be awarded
With the gummed insignia

When I hang by a thread I desire corroboration
Of foil cutouts to assure me I have done the right
I have stayed alive

Punishment I fear less than lack of consolation
But no one truly knows my bravery
And if I want these paper emblems
I can just go and buy my own.

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 26



If Garfunkel Was Here



Speak of the dead and paint the living. Paint them in a good light when you can and into a corner when you have to. Read the books of future generations rather than acting as the arrogant, who attempt to write these volumes. Expunge nothing leave it all on view, but move past it after taking in the implications. Water flows under the bridge until it collapses then it carries the bridge away. So, speak of the dead don’t drown them, paint the living don’t stain them, look to the future don’t dictate to it and let the water run.





Rinse off your first impressions


*
FREQUENTLY

When my daydream gets so threadbare
I no longer use it
I must turn to other sources.

When I cannot conjure on my own
And elucidation makes me cross-eyed
I must turn to HP.

I have puttered and prolonged
The way to naming this legendary
And fabulous enigma.

I drew out even longer
Any desire for close association
With the same.

I have milled with the millstone
And surfed in the whirlpool
Drug my feet and thrown a fit.

This only stalled the inevitable result,
Naming and interaction is the need
And now is the time

I have a Higher Power
And I chose to call it
Frequently.