Friends of Bill W.

[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.

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 27



ROUSs



Time passes, I clock it and count it and use its passage to construct a defense or accusation depending on my need. I use the calendar to condemn you because my feelings do not have sufficient leverage for my mental calculations. To prize disappointment from this scene I watch the water-clock waiting for adequate drops to lift the flood gate and free me from your unfulfilled promise and my unrealized hope. How long is too long to stand in a quagmire? Why do I feel the need for permission to leave the quicksand?





Match persistence with cheer


*
DOLL

Why is your face all red, asked my sponsor?
I didn’t get my way, I responded
And this crimson appearance is the result?

You see that it is
I was very careful about what I wanted
And worked hard to be reasonable.

And Baby , you were, you did nothing wrong
Your ego was in check
And you kept your expectations in proportion
Said my sponsor

Then why didn’t it work out my way?
I only have a sad and simple answer for you
The results had nothing to do with you.

Your wants, expectations or desires,
The whole experience boils down to only one thing
It wasn’t that type of party, Doll.

Oh.

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 28



Estranged


After long years I have made my own acquaintance, friendship is on a far distant shore. I know who I am and can recognize myself on the street or in a crowded room. I have a legitimate sense of wariness of the afore mentioned persona, nothing too nasty, just a discomfort. She is not someone I would bring home, maybe not even share a meal with but I can stand her, minus intimacy, minus any deep empathy. I feel an awkwardness in acknowledging her, strange as this might sound, she is no one to be ashamed of, not a truly bad actor and yet the reports say she doesn’t live up to her potential and I have it on personal authority that she actually surpasses it on most days and keeps this a closely held confidence. And there it is, I know her secrets but I don’t keep her. This is what makes me strange and her stranger.






Catch your reflection in the eyes of a friend

*

THE ONE I BOUGHT

There are fairy tales I never gave credence to
Multiple bear stories don’t move me
Cats with footwear have not warranted a second thought.

True love-----------
Now that one I still buy
Hook line and sinker.

Work hard---------
And true love will fix the rest
That is what I have always believed.
The evil spell I have walked under

During my sad little life will be broken
Only by the durable and fulfilling love of my betrothed.
Each time this plan fell through

The blame was left to the wrongness of the match
But not the wrongness of the plot
.
Anytime I work to be restored to sanity by one person
I have displaced a rightful power
And thrown myself to the sea.

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 29


Queens: More than a Borough


My drama is bigger than yours. My drama can kick your drama’s ass. Well maybe not, but it sure is kicking mine. Like a rain soaked grave, I stand in this muddy hole, sides slick, unassailable and count the piles of tragedy ,all the while knowing it will bury me not facilitate a climb out. I attempt to display the face of comedy and yet the mask can not fool me, my true audience. I think if I can keep it all up on stage I will be alright, but then the point of theater is that everything is carried away in the minds of all who come and watch. Silence doesn’t help either for there is little worse than a bad mime and doing it well just makes me Lillian Gish. So, back to Bohemia for isn’t it all a rhapsody, though it would all be so much better if Freddy Mercury weren’t dead.




String your dreams together and let them fly


*

HOSTAGE DOLL

A doll stands wedged between two mailboxes
Naked and exposed,
The edge of the road passing her by.

She is there to pay for my self-loathing
I throw my treasures in the air
As skeet to be shot and shattered.

Hate is the obnoxious microbe
Which sours my digestion
And rids me of nutrition and affection.

I purge love and tenderness
I rip the covers from my playthings
And leave them to bleed.

I hide in my self-destruction
I put garish displays streetside
And cry my tears alone.

I cannot ransom to pay the price of fear
I must bring in the broken babies
And put hate out on the curb.

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 30




RAID !!!


So, you stepped into a hornets nest and now how am I to respond? Blame you? No, I don’t think so, I mean you are the exterminator and some stings are to be expected, but this is far beyond even your honed ability to anticipate wasps. Cry, running from this ambush? Again, I decline I still want you after the war is over, even if I can not fight by your side. Protest, I try to refrain, I never want to make your job harder but I don’t want to leave the impression I have no concern, so I walk the fine line. Standing on the sidelines is harder than you think, I am helpless and lonely, not as exciting as your work and no comfort from this distance. I must hold my breath while you provoke the bees.








Stack your honest intentions as a hedge against a cold winter

*

TROJAN PERSON

I feel confused by the difference between love and war
The intensity and rush are too much
For my frazzled and betrayed emotions to sort out.

I feel like a Trojan person
I have all these children holdup inside
And they are waiting for peace and safety
So they can come out and sleep

For a time I allowed them to leave
For bathroom breaks one at a time
This was not a workable solution.

When these tykes would have a look around
They started to set fires and break hearts
Each child makes life a battleground
Fights and claws her way across the living landscape.

I must heal my insides from the center of my thoughts
Not send fragments of me to blend
With the unfamiliar and hostile world

Only when I can stand together
With my mind and heart safe within my being
Will I see a way to make love on my own terms
And leave war alone.

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 31



Black & Dedication



The brand of equipment endorsed by my Higher Power is built so that my hand is clasped inside lest I feel alone or unaided. A closed mouth and an open mind work very well when I can manage either of them and Step 10 works when I can’t. I am usually the problem in my life but I am always the solution. Others may change and contribute; I am the one and only one, responsible for my happiness. Dropping blame from my vocabulary and adding responsibility, learning to differentiate between what is mine and what is yours; these tools are keys and they open worlds of possibility to me. Also they shut out the demons of wrong thinking, wrong acting and desperation, which used to plague me. There are still greater tools I yearn for but like everything I must be patient and build my muscles to handle the heavier machinery.







Dine with hope


*

GULPING

The plug that lodges in my throat
From too much, too fast
Causes the anxiety to rise in me.

The panic fills my contracting muscles
Into rock solid revolt.
I can’t live, is the predictable result

Gulping attention, acclaim, excitement, sex,
Does the same thing
My heart clots and my personality stops in mid-flow

Everything in carefully chosen, well chewed bites
Makes the process proceed
My life works along workable paths

If I stay away from oversized freight
I can never swallow myself whole
Why would I keep trying to imbibe giants like desire?

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 1




I’m not Brian


I thought life was based on a system of ‘I will suffer and that will exempt you’. Then I would be horrified when you suffered, after I had already done so ahead of you. In an attempt to ease my dismay I would look to see who had broken the pact, you or me. Had I not endured sufficiently to protect you? Had you left the safety of the umbrella of sanctuary? Panic gives birth to blame and blame of course births nasty biting things that run loose and bury in all the tender spots. Now, the goals I tend are to end the breeding of those sharp and painful beasties, stop laying my neck upon the alter and start telling better jokes.






Scramble cracked perceptions




*


DANCE OF DEATH

Honeyed words pour from lips
Shades of doubt color my mind
Stained glass eyes look to blank walls
And picture the gallery of imagination
Attempting to sell it for hard currency

Sirens sing from the throats of mute men
The screams which rise in me fall on deaf ears
Paradox feeds controversy but it needn’t

Evolution from a cesspool is repugnant
Though process is steady made
Inertia is violent if that is from whence it came

Afterbirth is always bloody and humans not always nice
I must live and heal as others climb up and slide down
I must keep the beat and forget the dance of death.