Friend of Bill W.

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 18



In Training

Like a faithful dog that was hard to train, patience is a thing hoped for yet peevish during the breaking in. Stanch companionability is hard won, but worth the cost of acquisition. And what is the price I truly paid in the end; whatever I gave in the pursuit of patience was a cheap babysitter and kept me from far worse reformation. For what would I do in this late day and age as a tempest torn toddler, no bottle to sooth my woes and bothers. Strictly speaking this is a world ill suited to the edgy intolerant masses and only seems to fit those who can mark time and bend.




Be careful what you do with idols



*

SERVICE & SACRIFICE

The difference between life and death in my recovery
Is the equal difference between service and sacrifice
If I offer you what is in my hand, fine
If I also give you my fingertips, I am lost.

Service lightens the load in my heart
Sacrifice removes my tools for living
When I go into debt for your existence
The cheer and optimism is sucked from my awareness

My eyes go dead and soon I follow
The cingulotomy of obligation crucifies my future
And murders true hope and love
Service feeds my heart and yours

Renovating makes space
It builds the muscles for joy and contentment
Pumping and refilling
My plate with spirituality.

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 19



Ground Floor


Step 10 is the place where the doors slide open and I discover I am out of the basement. I have to pay close attention to where my feet are; it is so easy to stumble here in the light of day. Oblivious limitations and universally accepted interpretations are pried from installation and put on trial. Never is it acceptable to allow my alcoholic thinking to make decisions for my sober life. The road to my door must be kept clear so I can get out to do my part and so G-d can come home to me.






Spin heads, spin tales, spin dry

*

CHAPTER & VERSE

I remember being trained and rehearsed for finding the words
Which would release my soul from bondage
The scrupulous concern for detail pointed me to heaven
And yet I drank.

Inside these rooms the path is wide
Judgment is suspended and I have the right to be wrong
The penalties for error can be great
But the privilege and risk are mine

As in all things, the extremists come
They have come to this place too
Thumpers hound and belittle
Threaten and cajole

They tell page numbers like punch lines
And narrow the field at every opportunity
I can't stay sober sitting on my old stool
I can't maintain desire by their chapter and their verse.

[barnesthestud]

"Forgiveness will never fail to free you."-- Jerrold MundisHow do we forgive when we’re angry and hurt?As a first step, we can be willing to truly feel our anger and hurt. Honoring our feelings by being fully present with them helps to release the feelings themselves.And it helps to remember that people only hurt others when they themselves are in pain. When we can recognize the other person’s suffering, our heart can open in compassion. We can also remember that at some time or another, we too have hurt someone through our own unskilful action.Only love can heal the rifts caused by a hurtful deed. Forgiveness holds immense power because it mends separation. It moves us towards the unity and love that lie at the core of our being. It is a fundamental part of the healing process."Forgiveness does not change the past, but it does enlarge the future."-- Paul Boese"God has a big eraser."-- Billy Zeoli

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 20




What I Take from Laban’s House


If I have the audacity to have a problem I must provide the instantaneous solution or be the cause of world-wide panic. Additionally it is the height of rudeness to have open-ended dilemma. It makes the gods uncomfortable, don’t you know, makes them shift in their seats and wish me away. I prevent banishment by either, being problem free or solution-full and when the answers are not to their liking, I exile myself saving them the inconvenience and me the embarrassment. It is never good to implode the household deities; you never know when you might need one for historic perspective or a door stop.






Inventory your reservations

*


WHEN A SNAPPER CROSSES THE ROAD

What should I do?
I see the soggy green/gray lump creeping the macadam
Too slow to survive for long

The urge in me to aim
And end the duckling-eaters life
Is short lived but a palpable surge

My Disney style justice is dismissed
But heard from nonetheless
Shall I pull over and assist?

This turtle is as ill equipped
For this stretch of road
As I am ill equipped to aid in its conveyance

Should I reach with my fingers or toes
To something I know can extend its neck
And sever me from parts I hold dear?

The ever present missionary in me has spoken and is silenced
In fact what I can do is slow down and give wide birth
I know this creature is a danger but never more so than me.

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 21




Bound


The reason the sleeves of my disease wrap around and tie in the back is so that I will struggle with change. Alcoholism is my straightjacket and my goal is that ‘loose garment life’ I’ve heard so much about. The sweat I work up from railing against my confining existence causes petulance. Frothing and enervated, defeat is the landing on which I collapse, acceptance a flight of steps away. My ailment leads me to believe I have nothing to hold onto as I adjust; and though this isn’t true, the fact remains that this is still a process of letting go.






Have a parenthetical lunch with a friend

*

PINK CLOUD




When the pink cloud lands in my valley
My task is to walk
The pleasure of its presence can never outweigh
The practice this cloud affords me.
Walking in a haze of cherry blossom lightness
The future is a blur I do not fear
Forward motion seeds my inertia
I will keep on.
When the test begins
And I must proceed in the obscurity of night
The lively steps of pink-cloud days
Will cheer and empower me.
I can imbed my future with right action
And bank the confidence I feel today
Saving it for the rain swept days which come to everyone
Progress is positive even when made in bliss.

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 22



Bummed

I accept change like coins slipped into a cup that sits beside me on the curb; never did it occur to me that I look in need of pity or alms from strangers; which is to say I don’t accept much these days, yet I do not fight it either. I keep my head down when I can no longer fend off the inevitable. I may not win control or compliance, might not remain strong enough to fight another day, but this too is a blessing somehow. A laying down of arms and money in my pocket makes the world a funny place to endure when I’m living in the tiny room in my head. What good news it would be if I learned to throw the windows open and let the day take me, though this time it’s G-d that needs to wear the ear muffs and lead me through the coldness of change. On my own I just walk further down the blind alleys and fold myself on this sidewalk in exhaustion. I don’t like the tea or the sympathy, but I don’t think I would mind if G-d took me in.






Alphabetize your expectations

*

HOLD CARD

My bottom pulled my hold card to the tabletop
I turned it over and found I have a bit of value
Each time I turned over my will
My value increased.

After many spins, the face cards appear
I’m the Jack, the Queen, the King
I revel in the times and practice it has taken to get here
I play my hand and take my chances

I have been privileged to pair with wonderful sober partners
Who turn themselves over and transform before my eyes
The years raise the anti
And I play close to my chest

The stakes are high
And if I turn in the wrong direction
I can be the Joker once again.

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 23


Exposition


Is there a difference between being discerning and being critical? Is it in the direction from whence I came or the destination to which I am driven? Does performance to an audience, even if it is the one in my head, create the line of demarcation or is it all one big bowl of goo? Does putting too fine a point of everything pierce my serenity and prick my skin? Is it the grating unplanned nature of life that bothers me into commentary or is it my in born desire to dissection that pushes me? And where is there room for kindness; is it in my dissertation or could it be in my critique?






Bury ideas about nuts

*

THE MEAL

Home cooking is the key
I want to order in,
Have my life delivered to the door

The takeout menus entice me
From three courses on china
To burgers handed through sliding windows.

It all sounds good and I request all for take home
But this is not the way
I must light the flame and chop the veggies

I can’t have a life prepared by others
I can share recipes and suggestions
This is help not displacement

I can stand and cook with others
And together make a feast
I can not sit and wait to be served.

I stand at the range while the sauce simmers
And it comes clear
I am my own meal.

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 24



More Better


When I take a break from my idyllic life, trading up to paradise, I balk at thoughts of returning to the simply marvelous day to day I have worked so hard to attain. Self accusation floods under the door, but I whimilate it with fact. My reluctance to turn my back on a good thing is an asset which many days keeps me sober. I greedily seize every improvement and hold on for dear life. If reflections of the past even held a glimmer for me I might worry; I turn from all but the highest good. I don’t regret the past but I shall never return to it.







Glance at the path you feel lead to

*

REALLY RAINING

Why do people ask if someone is really sober?
They’re checking for winners, I guess responded my sponsor
But what does that mean?

Well, when the clouds roll in
And the next thing you know it’s really raining
You can clearly discern the difference between that and just a shower

The commitment of water saturates the atmosphere
And rain is the undeniable certainty
That is what people are looking for
And they ask to discover if the person even comprehends the concept

What do they do if the person is really sober?
Stand next to them
And soak it all in.

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 25



Coming Home to Work


I have arrived home to a beehive; everyone industrious, everyone filled with purpose, everything buzzing right along. My response to this of course is anger. I have a sting and I want to use it. I have a place it falls into yet I fear falling. The living world is now opened to me, but my destination had been death for so long that the prospect of diligence ignites steel blue fury. I divide my time between gratitude and rage. I want to accuse myself, rescue myself, then I remember everyone in this place has a buzz, a stripe and a stinger.







Hum in a foreign language

*


DESSERT

I have to be my own appetizer
I have to be the thing which entices and intrigues me
I must be the roughage, the salad full of color and variety
The entrée must be me, as well.

The things which sustain me
The meat of my life
I have to supply and swallow it down
I can be all this.

I run to the sweetness of others
But this cannot be my source of sustenance
The greater part of me
Needs to derive from me.

I can set the table
And fill it with the fullness of who I am
I am enough and others are dessert
Twinkies will never be sufficient, they can only be a treat.

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 26


Imperturbable



Perfectionism is a cover, a blanket of lead; hard to move and rich with poison. What it tries to hide is my unwillingness to struggle and strive. It’s not a fear of failure, but the horror of success after a long hot pursuit. If I can stall on the intricacies of the first move there is no further movement. If I can fail before I begin there is no sweat, no stain, no stink. Catastrophe is no bother, but skinned knees are my undoing. Winning is not so important to me; my unfortunate goal is to look untroubled.





Snap a picture of your beliefs


*


TRANSITIONS

During the months of winter
The trees stand tall and leafless
Static in their appearance, frozen in direction

The insurgence of spring brings to life the truth
The buds and flowers show the draw of the their owners
The pull of life from the earth and sky.

Other trees have begun to restore the gifts so graciously given
These leafless giants open themselves
As home and sustenance to the surrounding community

Returning favors and flavors, coming to terms with wholeness
Celebrations of all I have, call for me to give back
Even during the time when we all look the same.

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 27


Blinded


Alcoholism hits me like a kind of blindness. I stagger through the living room cursing anyone who changes familiar placement or published timetables. Like every aspect of this disease shocked sightlessness is mine to deal with. I must pick up the white cane, procure the Seeing Eye pup, learn to read clustered braille. When my vision clears in these well worked spaces I am relieved, but I must accept that when I walk into a new room more often then not I will be blind again and must pick up my walking stick once more.







Apply a timeframe to misery


*

STREET SIGNS

Hanging out on the corner of Disillusion Boulevard and Grief Road
Then returning to that special spot on Despair Avenue
Was my daily routine.

I made the circle and never looked far afield
Widening my circuit
Allowed me to find Anticipation Place and Hopeful Terrace

I pushed my search and found roads
Whose existence I never fathomed intersected
Creating areas of intrigue

Optimism Court interfacing with Realization Way
Is the fairest of my finds
But many a fine street corner has me lurking

Catching stray sunshine and encouragement
I make my home wherever the hospitality is available
And return less often to the dark and stifling places of the past

Happiness is where you find it
Just make sure to read the signs.

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 28




Perkiomenville

Being actually alive does not feel as good as I imagined the relief of being dead would feel and therefore I have anxiety and dread, or is it disappointment. I feel like a failure when I am in the process of trying and I want to throw the pieces in the air and run. Does this mean I’m weak or does it mean I am frightened? Or is there some heavenly host of other reasons why my crêpe paper soul twists and turns in the breeze of the marketplace? Some part of me was auctioned off and its removal left a psychic scar that even equanimity can not ease. I am all things wonderful and yet there is this flaw, this toe tied thread which holds me back, holds me down with painful accurate precision. I look for the knife with which to cut it all the while wondering if this will turn it into a toe tag or a price tag.








Police your self destruction
*






K-TURNS

I do not believe in a universe that makes complete sense
I often find myself trapped
Because the things I pull into no longer feel firm.

I attempt K-turns in alleys far too narrow for the maneuver
I can’t back myself through the passages I plunged into willingly
My faith doesn’t compute in reverse and I find this disconcerting

I may walk into the face of fire
But find it impossible to turn my back on the flame
Today a one-way faith is fine
As long as I am moving forward.

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 29




Would You Rather a Lamp?

I am a girl filled with expectations. Like a ginger jar filled, stuffed caulker block full, though the filling is the part which is unpredictable; it could be match books, or seashells, acorns or all those pretty capsules. This makes me erratic and sometimes volatile. Are you strong enough or far too sane to stay and help me sort the contents? It’s lonely work without a witness or a spotter. I rather be alone than with you reluctantly, so please try to shuck that husk and remain. Yes, I am sometimes capricious, but I try never to be cruel. I know sometimes you convince yourself that leaving me to my own devices is the wisest of courses, but don’t be fooled; you disappear due to your weakness not strength and the worst part about the price of abandonment is that everyone has to pay it.





Design a window that looks out on your dreams


*



THE SHINY THING

The starling stands with the candy wrapper in its beak
The cellophane flexes in the breeze
Here is my life

I have the shiny thing in my possession , What do I do?
Do I give up my intended tasks to attempt dominance
Or control of the shiny thing?

Do I release this thing of intrigue and beauty
I am drawn to the shimerance and sparkle
But shutter at the price

The world is filled with shiny things
I can enjoy them
But leave them where they lay.

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 30



Jane Street

The space between wanting to live and not wanting to hurt is the alley in which I live. This lane is not as narrow as you might think, in some places there is room for parking on one side. Since I reside here more often than not I have filled it with many of the appliances, which allow me to pretend at life. It doesn’t afford a truly clean or cheerful locale, but there are laughs, sometimes flowers in the spring. Finding my way out of this is tricky. When unlocked I find these are backdoors to commerce and though better than being sold wholesale, retail is not what I was hoping to find as I wrest myself from a confined existence. I have heard of those who drive through plate glass ignoring the structure. I think this is less workable from the back. What is left when I can’t bully or climb? I guess I will have to throw my hands up and pray.






Acknowledge a myth about yourself



*

ROLES

You don’t have to give up playing God
Because it was a bad thing to do.
You have to give it up because it doesn’t work
Said my sponsor in her most gentle voice.

In a world seemingly spinning out of control
You, brave child, stepped up to the plate and took a swing
That is heroic not demonic
But impractical nevertheless

You have to be your own full-time job
Even when it feels like there are other jobs left unfilled
You don’t have to run around finding the feet
To fill those empty shoes

Maybe those empty shoes are just bait for a bad trap
Keep on your journey and you will come to a place where the work
Is being accomplished by a surprising cast of characters
You will be free to stick to the role ahead of you.

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 1





Terry Bradshaw

When someone wants to take the easy way out I condemn them for wanting ease and fail to register that they want out. I hear a whine when in fact it’s a cry. A challenge is rarely passed up by the able bodied, but must be foregone by the injured. Carried from the field is no personal victory, not a goal for sure. When I would rather watch than play I need to check for wounds not inflict them. It is not natural for me to sit in the stands, but accusation is never the way to get me on the field. Suit up when I’m whole and hide when I’m not. Absence is a fallback position for the fallen; I have to help myself to get back up.







Recognize friends as art


*

PIGS

Talking to a chrysalis about flight
Is like talking to a fetus about dry land.
Descriptions of future events
And possibility are lost in the translation.

To the uninitiated these realities sound like gibberish
And flight of fancy or foolish dogma
Yet I am drawn to talk of these things
Imagine and describe them.

I am changed by this procedure
I am transformed in the details
When I can accurately depict it
I am taking the stride into living it

I am my own pig
I have taught myself to sing
And have wasted no time at all.

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 2



Reguess

When in my sarcasm I suggested that you ‘guess again’, I realized that you were in fact guessing, guessing about everything, guessing in order to create a process of elimination, a tool on which I now recognize you entirely depend. Guessing as a way of life is a tragedy. I’m not saying that trying to know every last thing in the world is an acceptable alternate goal, but to reach an adult age and not even be able to work your way up to a possible hunch is scary, scarier than even my sarcasm, which at this moment seems interminable, but I’m sure you guessed that.







Make a list of your favorite fingers



*

ON COMING

Anticipation of the approaching traffic consumes.
The tiny spec grows and develops into the arriving vehicle
50 miles per and the rapid succession of the coming
And those leaving eats quickly at my heart.

The pain seers me
Why are these who travel from the direction of my destination
Passing me by?
For miles and miles they appear to be greeters

The breeze created by their passing chaps my face
And questions my goals
How can so many abandon my objective?
But flee they do.

My hunger does not diminish
And I press on
Of course if we all went this way, we might tip the globe
Maybe that’s what they fear.

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 3

Van and I
(Happy cleaning windows)



When the fog clears and I still can’t see, I check my optics and wash my windows. The mundane upkeep hones my pursuit. After the weather and housekeeping concerns are managed, eye exercises are next on the agenda. I have to strengthen my equipment, stay fit or fall prey to vagaries of nearsighted limits or farsighted failings. Myopia is an ever presence danger I must guard against as well. A fixed focus is a death trap. I must learn to track a moving target while I wend onward. Nothing in life is stationary; concentration and a decent line of sight are priceless rudiments. Continual practice with the tools and tactics build my confidence and sharpen wit. Burdens are lightened when I see my goal in stark relief; I can chart my path and make my way. Sobriety means if I can see it I can believe it, so I best go get the Windex.



Lock your doors when you need to, open windows when you can


*

MY SOBER HEART

The heart I have today
Is not the heart I have had all my life
Cells age and are replaced

I slough off what I can no longer use
And rejuvenate with fresh layers
My sobriety is the same.

Past step work is revamped and approached in innovative ways
Yesterdays prayers are replaced with today’s
Today’s meditations will be dispelled by tomorrows

The function remains the same but it is constructed with brand-new work
Service I render is always for my sobriety
But I work to strengthen various quadrants

My heart is not as young as it used to be
And vigorous action remakes it new each day
I rebuild my sober heart continually because forever and today
I have the mind of an alcoholic.

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 4



The Wake Up Call


I wake early and watch the lazy rain fall in slow fat random drops. I view it with silent awe, only part of my recently somnolent mind bewildered. Dawn advances toward me and I register a new concept: snow, it is snow; the sky had been, too dark to allow me to see the white, all I could comprehend was the fall. The lighter the sky becomes the more the precipitation behaves like snowfall. I muse this to my sponsor and she laughed, “Well, we all misname things in the dark, Sweetie, lighten up and give yourself a break.”







Look for the secrets you keep from yourself

*

QUEEN’S COUNTENANCE

I know the 7 P’s of preparation
I set the table for those I know
The unexpected arrive clothed in time and tradition

They seat themselves at the table with the naked
They become mute
We prattle and pose
Rarely glimpsing the goals sitting at the unset seats

What we need to become
Is far from what we are
I can not even call it other

It is within when we make room
And ether when we won’t
I can wait and try
But the juice is deep with the pulp

I get myself in line for the future
And wait for the clothes offered by my guests
I sit the emperor and rise the queen

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 5


With and Without


With my sponsor- Without my drinking buddies

With my Big Book- Without my contrived dogma

With my home group- Without my dysfunctional family

With my step work- Without my mental masturbation

With my sobriety- Without my insanity

With all this I can live Without all that




Appreciate the strength of your neck


*

THE LONG VIEW

The long view requires an enduring embrace of the past
It requires a great love of people
The race and individuals

I cannot see what we do and flee
I can own what happened, what happens and what is to come
If only so I can ratchet improvement into my own behavior

I can see and feel change, cringe if I must, but go on
The horizon is there to set the stage
It hangs long and low

It stands guard for the life there is to live
I will view it
And use it as my gauge

Keeping perspective is the key
I know it for what it is
And that makes me,----me

The short sight and the long view
My open arms hold it all
My sight brings it all into my heart.

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 6


Yield Don’t Stop


If I let amazement stop my progress I will become landlocked instead of becoming free. Picture wagon wheels planted in Kansas when the destination had been California. Yes, the plains are great, but if that was not my aim it is a far cry from heaven. Arriving at any haven is tempting; when it crosses to captivating then to captivation, here is where the problem lay. Steps six and seven changed me and this is good. If I allow this to halt me this is disaster. If the wheels fall off the wagon I walk. If I grow too tired to walk I pant with my friends and we carry each other, we don’t stop.







Pickle the pretty fruit from your labors

*


BRATZLOV

If all the world is a narrow bridge,
I must broaden my mind.
If all the doors are closed to the passage of a hallway,
I must exit through the window.

Never again can I stay and shelter
In a small and confining refuge
A womb is a place to come out
It is never a place of return.

I am not to seek overexposure
But I must ever widen the gate
The brave face I show is the gift of a tight world
Owning me for far too long.

Fear is never meant to be larger than life
And the world should never collapse
Around the sweetness of a smile

Today carries us.
Tomorrow draws us.
The world is a bridge.

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 7


Pinocchio as a Girl



I should be painting today instead of reframing the future, an unnecessary and ephemeral job at best. Kind of like lassoing an unborn colt, I try to put a rope around something that cannot get away. Outcome hasn’t much to do with foregone conclusion and wouldn’t I be better mixing colors and wetting brushes than cutting slices from a pie in the sky? But tomorrow seems more spacious than this crowded present and I con myself into believing this is a harmless trip to the fair. I lose my light, my thought, my sight with these thieving sojourns; leaving me to creak around because all that is left is wood.






Nothing gets in the way of something


*

MAIL

I form my query
Fold my mind
And mail it off to God
With a stamp of approval from my sponsor

The questions sent are of no great interest
But the responses are a spellbinding group
What is returned unopened
Is a wide array

The circuitous route taken by some
Is a charm of elucidation
I rub my finger over the intact seals
And marvel at the travels of the wax

I mourn over the defunct gods
And their public relations organizations
Slow is my resolve to pour over the replies
I get easily caught in lackings and shy from true contact

The equations embedded in my heart read the letters
And sing the notes, these songs are just for me
I know them like my name
I turn the envelope and see how old the postmark is

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 8



A Good Ship



Recently my life has taken on a surreal quality. I stand in front of myself as if I were a business to be run or a project to be undertaken. The intensity, uncertainty and drama seem to be on the wane. There are choices to be made and outcomes to be determined, but this is all work and numbers, nothing at risk below the skin. My heart is secure, true love its protector, faith its inborn light. I am docked in safety harbor; the waves may rock me, but my anchor holds me fast.







Follow your lead

*

ALL- BETTER NOW

Mother kissed the booboo
And I wait for the admonition to take effect
Waiting, I count the problems
Like telephone poles on a long journey

What will it be like
The world all- better?
The anticipation nearly breaks me for awhile
Until waiting turns to disbelief.

A chill fills the space
And all- better becomes the cry
My sponsor calls for moderation
And lowering my expectation

The child’s ears ring with the promise to be fulfilled
She cannot give herself over to a world
Where band -aids are not a cure-all
But only a cover for the slow work of internal healing, scars and all.

Sheer survival is not sufficient for the screaming toddler
Heartbreak from injustice calls for more than endurance
But alas, a kiss is all we have.

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 9


The Little Black Dress


The holes in my pockets cause me to feel naked. Though it is an inside pocket and no one can see through I feel exposed, my thinking changed and for that matter chained, one link looped through the next. I start with a hole in my pocket so I know I can’t stay in this dress all day. I know I will need the storage later as time wears on but I can’t change now and I don’t want to waste time putting on my tights. My legs are cold. I fly from room to room. I gather my keys, but forget my phone. I am bare legged and unreachable, overexposed due to a hole in my pocket.








Keep in mind that love doesn’t conform to opinion, even well meaning opinion


*

SLAYING OLD DRAGONS

Your roar is Doppler-low
And I can feel my steps move the earth
As I go forward.

Former dominator
Scary from every angle
I come for you today

The scales are falling, I don’t rip them but they fall
I can breathe at the heights of you lair
I am not shrinking

The booming voice you had is gone
The power spilling away from you
I don’t fly from you

Gone is the tremble you once instilled
The curtain has parted
And you are revealed

[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 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!

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 16


Life Events in Burlap




Two left feet in a gunnysack allows no forward motion and creates only a windmill that screws us into the ground. There is more perspective, front and back, more view, but nothing to do with it, nowhere to go. We are better off as book ends than this awkward foolish pairing. You go your way and I go mine works fine if we are cut lose, if any one person can be free of any other. You offer to change your perspective if I change mine. I smile, almost laugh at the idea of two right feet in a gunnysack and no improvement in sight. This is not grade school, not field day, I must turn to you or you to me and nothing else, no fair is fair, no turn taking. Because my past is not your future and your future is not my past. Face forward on both accounts and then we run the race.




Allow your imagination to put on a slideshow for your resistance

*

THREE ROOSTERS

The three roosters came to the meeting
To hear themselves crow.
The membership purely spectators
In the longest, lowest, loudest sobriety competition.

Those of us in the fray, we are like picked-on puppies
Who learn slowly not to put our heads up
To spare our eyes and hearts.

The same noise comes repeatedly
Suspicion is never aroused
The heads nod at all the right places
Orchestrated for ego and nothing else.

The meeting is closed with a momentary prayer
For the still suffering, in and out of the room
I pray that will be enough.

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 22




Inspection



My disease paid a discourtesy call on my bourgeoning sobriety; peeked in to look for cracks in my foundation, weaknesses to exploit. I recognized the patch job I had toyed with would have made the easiest of targets for this eroding thug. I am ever so grateful that I cleaned off all the bricks and made new mortar. Built on bedrock my re-laid block will withstand the indignity of the pounding, prodding sickness, which used to inhabit this once dilapidated space. I can keep the villain at bay and live my cozy life thanks to a true level and the handsome turn of my trough.





Personal knowledge is not the same as group knowledge

*

SPACE

I stand behind the podium
And talk about the event horizon
Which brought me into these rooms.

My audience, other unwitting astronauts,
Whose lives, like mine were deconstructed
By the Black Hole of addiction

Though the time and place may be different
The physics of compulsion and allergy
Are precise and repetitive

Nodding heads affirm my calculations
To be accurate with the vectors
And trajectories of their own experience

I conclude, with the gratitude of a reassembled life
And pray, with gravity
For my feet to stay on the ground.

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 23




The Delano’s


Indifference is the backbone of power. It is a state of faithlessness, not infidelity, but rank apathy, saving every ounce of ardor for the prize you seek. I thought I was the prize and I am; I’m just no longer yours. Cast aside for the leviathan and the miscreants I wonder what I could have done to hold your attention, the answer is nothing. Nothing could be done. Blinded by the ambition of heroism the struggle is the goal and no gem no matter its brilliance can check your drive toward a place in the epic narrative. Tis the hero’s lament to save every life except your own.






Bend with the tracks or don’t take the train

*

SEASONAL EXPECTATIONS

If I am out of sync with the way the world turns
I can be nothing but disappointed
I arrive with ice skates on the hottest summer day
And grieve the loss of spring

I shiver in my sandals and ponder
The need for a windshield scrapper, the autumn so long past
I must orchestrate my moods and movements
With the evolution and revolution about me

I will learn to sing with the doves in the morning
And the coyotes come the moon
I can spin with the stars
And grow with the grass

I don’t need to counter-balance life
If I learn to bend with the tides
It all comes around again;

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 24



Balustrade



Just because you appeared from the dark doesn’t make you a wizard. Just because you make the world safe for mankind doesn’t make you Hercules, nor does your power and foresight make you his father. Your resourcefulness and guile doesn’t make you Ulysses. And just because you spend so much time strapped upon that cross doesn’t make you, well, we all know the rest of that refrain. Human is what you are whether I see that in you or not. Human is a blessing even if it feels to me a curse. I need the superhuman strength you seem to offer but I must live in the world of what is real. I want to be stolen away to the safety of your lair and not live on my feet and fight for my life. I have to stop wishing to be your captive and work harder at simply being your friend. If I can let you down off your pedestal perhaps I could then climb down off mine.




Inscribe your heart’s values on your mind


*

MYTHIC ADULT

My mythic adult is seen by the crowds around me
Never is the charade exposed
Close inspection has been suspended
So we can keep each other’s secrets.

Circulating through the crowd
These children are impoverished
From carrying this load of pretense
Dropping this burden is a risk far too great.

Exposure invites attack
Stand tall, act brave, unreasonable expectations,
Are the water which moves the wheel
The power that generates this ongoing play.

Hamlet is dead, yet I reprise the past daily,
Daily I watch my fellows do the same
I mimic a ghost I never knew in life
Did it ever live or is it only a mythic adult?

[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.

[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.

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 2



The Attention Tax


Paying attention is the price exacted for living in this society. A taxation which is like a leach; it takes the life force, diverts my brain waves, claims the water rights to my river of thought. What is left I use to wash off what I can, never quite managing to feel clean or clear. I sit in the mud puddle still unsure if I understand what just happened; harboring a dark fear of the wave to come.





Cultivate creative ambition


*

BOTTLE THE ACID

My sponsor said “bottle the acid” and I did
I sat back in smug reflection until the plumbing backed up
I grabbed the fast solution and poured it down the drain.

My sponsor smiled as I learned ----
The baser things will eat my life away too.
I can never just decant power and expect it to clean sweep
The clogged pathways in my recovery.

Sloshing caustic medicine into open orifices brought me here
I long for the ease of a liquid resolution
In the end, I must clean the pipes myself.

The traps are simpler to cleanse the less I’ve lied
Telling myself I don’t have to get my hands
Or heart dirty is the biggest lie of all.

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 3



Soul Chiggers


If you can seed apprehension deeply in a generation, you can reap disillusionment for a hundred years. Bent foresight twists hindsight. Admiring ignorance, signs death’s warrant. Evil splintered to a thousand slivers burrows under the skin without killing their host. Death delayed spreads destruction along with melancholy; a septic contagion if ever there was one. And how do we fight this systemic blight? It is embedded in the water, the air, the mind, and try what I might; I can’t seem to live without any of these. Chiggers of the soul feed and breed no matter how I scratch and chew. I am raw, but still infested. How do I kill what is in me without killing the me?




Step up to indecision



*

THE WORM

Because there is never enough punishment
For those who inflict pain, I punish myself
Only I can tell if the depth of the pain is a match
Only I can judge when enough is enough.

This is the turn of the drunken worm--
Who lives in my brain
The belief that what began in pain
Must end there too.

Even now in recovery I persist in hurting myself
In a thousand tiny ways, setting trap after trap,
To catch the perpetrators, making my heart a mine field
A place unfit for me to live

I must sober the worm
And let myself off the hook.