Friends of Bill W.

[LeftWriteFemme]

Sept 15

WHINING BRATS


Some days whining brats come at me from all directions and my hair won’t curl. Apathy chases me around the house. I wonder how it has more energy than I do. My mind twists into a wrinkled mess; I drag my good foot and hop on the bad one. And even on those days I still rather be me; I never long to be the innocent victim or the spiritual leader, the tough guy or the PhD. No matter how bad it gets or what the struggle is, there is no place sweeter than in my head. Many are the days when I wished not to exist, not at all, but never to shuck my skin for the skin of another. Now that I manage, breathe right and face each day with cheer I know it was almost worth it and might be worth it yet.


Write your name on a piece of paper and slip it into your pocket.
*

Warhol Wouldn’t Be


There is no trick to art.
If I work to make my pieces fit with the familiar
I lose my individuality.

If I make what is truly me
I fear there is no line in which to stand.
I must make the work, find the market,
live life and die happy;

All this with no map
and a world filled with people
who tell me what to do,
but none who can guarantee the outcome.

My unwillingness to fight,
to look at and feel the ugliness of life
is at the core of my impediment.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 16

ROOFTOP COFFEE



Who is more powerless: the person driving down the road with his cup of coffee on the roof of the car, or the one who sees it happen? Lost in mental chaos, lost to the small things, I set the cup and forget, or content and serene, I am examining details and notice the oddness. When my mind wanders I am helpless in the whirlpool and suction. When I am grounded I am struck by the separate sealedness of the carnival around me. Potential rides on the top; will it fall forward or back? Will there be a sticky haze on the front windshield or the rear? Or I could remember at the stoplight and spare myself everything but the embarrassment. As the observer I try to be helpful, I point and jump and shout, calling the predicament to the attention of others in an attempt to increase my chances of success. We all stand as the coffee speeds away to unknown disaster.


Wear your boldness like a mane.
*

Hand Washing


I live a simple life now;
I handle life as it is dished up.
I no longer need to make use of the dish prison.

Living an orderly active life I find it untenable
to have my favorite spoon or bowl held hostage
until I make enough mess to run the dishwasher through.

I don’t live an ‘Eight is Enough’ type existence
and need not burden my psyche
trying to save my hands a little soap.

I save the Cascade for visits to waterfalls,
Jet Dry for landing strips.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 17

HATCHLING



When the shell gets too tight it’s time to hatch. I can’t tell you it’s safe out there, just that it’s time to go. The leaving is not easy. Exodus fulfilled by the use of one small tooth. This experience may or may not prepare you for the rest of your life, so much still depends on predestination and your attitude. I mean are you a chicken or a hawk? A peacock or dove? Or is there something of which I am unaware? Did someone sit on your nest or was it covered in sand? Are you turtle, lizard or snake? See, so much is out of your hands, but still your actions are your choice.


Touch your books and pet them.

*

Ovoid

I can pretend at this normal life for a period of time
then the plaster starts to crack on this white picket fence
and it’s all down hill from there.

I am better than I was;
I am happier and more well adjusted,
yet I am still far from fitting with the standard fittings,
I am an off size, my threads run counter to the average fixture,

I spent too much time on the rack
to resemble anything from off the rack.
It’s not that I am so special;
it is just that I am Special Ed.

Performance anxiety and paranoia regularly take me out of round
though even with these kept at bay I am not your normal nut.
I assure you that you can dress me up and take me out,
just don’t try to take me home.




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

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 19

HUMILITY


A great woman walks my street everyday. She carries a tall walking stick with a loop for her hand. Each morning I see her low crown of hair and the half-smile, her friendly wave when I catch her eye. Each morning when I see her I see the secret play across her face, humility. This is the secret she cannot share. I know she would sing it from the mountaintops if it would help, but humility is not a secret you can tell; it’s a secret you have to live with. As I slowly learn this precious thing I see it shine in others. Recognition of the persons with inborn dignity and a keen understanding of their personal value lights inside me. When I see this fine woman walking with purpose, I appreciate myself better and am so very grateful for those who keep humility alive by living it.


Know your friends well and your books better.
*

Toolbox

I know just how hard it is to pick up the right tools.
It's like I know I have a hammer in the drawer,
in fact I have two, so, why oh, why do I feel compelled
to hit things with the heel of my shoe?

Trust and believe it is ineffective at best;
additionally it is embarrassing.
I wish I could say I have done this a handful of times,
unfortunately, I have done it over and over,
it’s hell on my shoes and worse on my morale.

Using what is at hand or foot may seem practical,
but it is not prudent.
Walking myself through the step by step process;
reading and following directions is easier
but only when I disengage the lie that says it’s harder.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 23

WILD


When I run wild through the rain my hair streaming behind me, water fleeing my face, I see with my heart the thousand other rains pouring from my past. How I peel from me the soaking luggage covering my naked pain. Nothing drives me to the cozy retreat of my bed like the humid chill of an early fall drizzle. I slip my trembling skin between the comfort and the comforter, flex my toes, towel my hair, wipe scenes of lost love from my pale, pale soul. Leaves rush my gutters, clog my mind. I see the change in me as I turn heel to heel, trees spinning bare in a blank wet world. I know this ever relived fluid, this recycled life.


Interest yourself.

*

What is Dear?


I am angry that I was taught I must hold on for dear life
instead of being taught that life is dear,
but they couldn’t teach me what they didn’t know
and couldn’t know what they had not discovered for themselves.

I wish I had learned earlier
to love the life I was taught to cling to,
but I am grateful I have been bound to life
long enough to find the joy in it.

I have found that knowing joy
causes me to cling all the more,
cling in sweetness to what was once such a bitter task.

I am angry for what I wasn’t taught,
but sadder still for what they didn’t know
and all that is lost in their lives to ignorance and tradition.

I wanted better for them
and they wanted better for me
and this is the circle which closes
around the dear that I hold onto.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 24

WORKS



I cry the waterworks so necessary to the healing of my heart. I explode with the fireworks required for anger to set living boundaries. I sleep the sleep of angels, as I link to dreamworks allowing mental maintenance to occur. Slipping into my political face I make time for public works. I return to my abode, call the pie maker and order ‘the works.’ Have it delivered so I can face the mountain of homework waiting for me and bearing my name.


Suggest solutions in your diary.
*

No Dialing Tonight.

When it is late at night and I can’t sleep
I wander and putter and plan my dreams.
I hold out hopes and wash their faces;
pray for rain and clean all traces.

Thunderstorms rumble and lightning strikes;
I tune up the plumbing and wipe down the pipes.
All the paint and promises in the world won’t change me;
I’m still lost in the dark without you.

Tear stains are friendly till I wash them away
leaving blotchy eyes that can’t be explained;
an aching heart that keeps on ticking
and wishes that can’t come true.

Sunday morning is here, too soon
and life rolls on whether you think it should.
Tiny thoughts come out to play
and sad, sad fears keep them at bay.

But the dog is curled up under the covers without a care;
I long to disturb her but do not dare.
She is the queen here and I’m but the naïve;
I’ll tend to my writing and try to be brave.

For the dawn will follow this endless nocturne;
the whole world will be safe once more.
I will cry but it’s all too late;
though you are merely a phone call away.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 25

OPTICAL ILLUSIONS


“Like my new frames?” I ask my sponsor.
“Who wrote your prescription?”
“Oh, the lenses aren’t new, just the frames,” I reply.
“You want to be seen differently but you want to see things the same old way. My question still stands. Who wrote you the script for those funhouse glasses you have used all your life? Did it ever occur to you the distortion is ground into the glass? Remember, some people need you to see things as other than what they are. Unhappy families look great if you can’t see them too clearly. It’s hard to know what to say to keep the peace, said Grandma. She never took off her specs to see there was no peace to keep. So, I will ask you again. The view of the world you base your choices on, who chose the color you see it through?”


Breathe to improve your mind and mood.
*

Green Wood

When a nail is hammered into a living tree,
the tree is forever changed.
Even if the barb is pulled out
he 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.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 26

SCREAMING LETHARGY



The screaming lethargy of being alive after many years of wanting something else, the exhaustion of pulsing, breathing, waves and waves of thinking. Yet as tired as I am, I am. Here without a doubt, I stand. No crawling for I have not fallen, no climbing for I have reached the plain. I wait for the rain to wash over me, the truth to run through me, time to pass by me. As if on a free trip to an unwelcome destination I arrive with randomly packed bags and low expectations. I’m here now. The train doesn’t seem to be moving on. I might as well leave the station, nothing to do on the platform. There may be points of interest or flowers to be smelled. I step haltingly and fear making any connection to this unbidden place. My name is unknown; I befriend the lamppost, the birds, the street. I am tired of travel, fearful of arrival. Fury courses through my veins but the weather is pleasant, I might take off my coat and stay.


Plan a trip with no destination.
*

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.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 20

JUST A TASTE OF SUNSHINE


The sunrise is so beautiful I want to taste it. Like a child who needs to put everything in her mouth to really know it, I feel the need for a bite. I want to participate in every way. I want to blend with the color of the sky, join the horizon and dip beyond. Look at me, who in the past sounded every retreat, now I leap toward life. I stretch my arms to take it all in, merging with the continuum on this greatest of adventures. The sun raises the charge and I lick my lips in anticipation.


Find the stop signs in your life.

*

Mercy

The rearview holds the vision,
the sad figure on the corner as I drive away,
all that is left to me are memories of God,
the rest I ejected and sped from as fast as I could.

I cannot face what is left
when I make God homeless and unloved.
Though living together was tough sometimes,
living alone is unbearable.

Nothing cooks right, cleans right, tastes right or smells right,
even the moon won’t rise right when I am strictly on my own.
And God wasn’t built for the streets,
that corner is not someplace my Higher Power fits in.

We are meant to be together
and apart the world spins off its measure.
Pitiful is what I am, so I swing around the block,
fling open the door and take pity on God and go home.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 21

SELF-SEEKING IS A DEBIT



Trying to get credit for everything I do has run me into debt in my anonymity account, which draws directly from my humility bank. I cannot expend my resources seeking acknowledgement and expect to retain much dignity or class. How can I build within while constantly grasping for nods and smiles from scenery and landscaping? I want approval so much that I have lost my center. In an attempt to top the charts I forgot my song. My ego writes checks that my soul can’t cover. I run my potential into the red looking to get my name in black and white. If I keep my name out of lights I have a chance of building up my dignity.


Own your own blocks.

*

No Jinn

I molested the touch control lamp.
I had no trouble turning it on,
but could never figure how to turn it off;
therefore I let the light shine in the daytime.

I called looking for guidance,
“lick your fingers then try again,” was the glib suggestion.
I offered that I was not interested
in becoming that intimate with said lamp.

Sometimes connections are made easily,
other times they cannot be made at all,
still there are times the renewal of a connection
is determined by my willingness to up the ante.

Am I willing to put a little spit into the effort
or will I leave the light to burn?



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 22

MEGAPHONE


The point of surviving, or maybe the goal after survival, is enabling the voices of victims to be heard, starting with my own. I allow the surging waves of thought and feeling to rush the gates and exit. I try to bleed the bad with and without the use of leaches. So much is stumbled upon rather than sought after. Some things hound me; I run down the street with memory at my heels. I must let the screams out or become them. Today I talk, tomorrow is for others. When I pour forth, I open the way for the rest. I have become the megaphone rather than the cheerleader. It is good to be of use.


Pollinate ideas.

*

Peace Time

I have been to the wars and through the wars
and now sit on the stoop and wonder;
will I learn to live here in the world of everyday
after having had to spend so much time running for cover.

Each time I return to what I believe is my home
I sit and rock trying to pour my soul back inside
from my hipflask where it was held for safekeeping.

I try not to spill a drop
for it is worse than shed blood and harder to rebuild.
My soul has grown pale from confinement and lack of sun,
but it still exists and for that I pat my back
and suck on my Lifesaver;

I could have done worse, was unable to do better.
I console myself with the knowledge
I never started the conflict just learned to survive it.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

September 18

SMARTS



Intelligence should be used as a tool not a weapon. Intelligence is as common as silica and can be used to do anything, so, why not as a helping hand, lifeline, foothold? Intelligence doesn’t preclude ignorance, arrogance or stupidity. Nor does it eliminate selfishness, greed or anarchy. Intelligence is not a substitute for wisdom and cannot hold a candle to kindness. Intelligence makes things possible, help and hurt; intention makes the decision. Intelligence is like a hand full of sand.


Pair your books for companionship.
*

Buffoon


Never juggle knives and butter at the same time
or you will just spread your problems around.
Passing on the knives is the first best idea,
leaving the butter in the dish is the second.

I have gotten many funny schemes into my brain;
gotten them in with ease,
it is the getting them out of my brain I struggle with.

Crowbars and coercion have been my favored tools;
ineffective though they may be, I am persistent,
while wishing to be dexterous.

It took me years to realize the problem with juggling is
that it begins with me throwing things
and ends with disaster if I can’t catch it all.

What slips through my fingers
through daily living is hard enough
what I throw into the fray for showmanship is, too much.

I needn’t be the fool flinging my pins
when my goal is to stay on them.



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