The Potential, the Promises and the Power

I came to believe that a Power could
where I was impotent,  inadequate, a failure.
I decided to offer my life, my will
daring to believe the entanglement
of knots I'd tied, trapping me inside,
snaring me into bondage, would fall aside,
that I might be freed of all the difficulties,
that my impediments would disappear.
But I skipped over phrases like "as Thou wilt,"
"that I may better do Thy will,"
and "to those I would help."
As long as it's a me thing, I stay impotent,
and the Power stands aside, not really welcomed in,
standing there, still the Power with potential
to make all the promises gloriously true.

The Self-Pity Problem

When the whole world
is against me, when I can telegraph
just how bad it is, how wrong,
then you can see what a martyr
I am. I can wallow in self-pity
and be succored by yours.
But real healing, real solace
comes from taking the hard steps,
from removing the cause
of the need for concern.

The Trouble Is Thinking

Whatever the precise definition of the word may be, we call this plain insanity. How can such a lack of proportion, of the ability to think straight, be called anything else? 

You may think this an extreme case. To us it is not far-fetched, for this kind of thinking has been characteristic of every single one of us. (Alcoholics Anonymous, page 37)

Justification is a simple exercise
in validating my yens and yearnings
when voices in my head argue I’m playing
stinking thinking games. I can solve most problems,
but most of the time my solutions
are worse than the problem. I often find
things that I think are true, I made up.
When I’m explaining it to you I’m hearing it,
and when I’m hearing it, I’m believing it.
I’ve lived my life trying to think my way
into right living. That’s never worked for me.
Using the steps, I can live my way into right thinking.
But until then, the trouble is thinking.

Stamp of Approval

What do you call love, hate, charity, revenge, humanity, magnanimity, forgiveness? Different results of the one master impulse: the necessity of securing one's self-approval. ~ Mark Twain

One master impulse - securing self-approval.
For years I tried devious, negative means,
never feeling approval from others, so not granting
my own. Then, dismissing the goal of crafting
others' acceptance, looking only to accepting me,
love, charity, magnanimity appeared bringing
validation all around.

Keeping Score

You hurt me so I pay you back.
You retaliate and I counter,
revenge for tit for tat,
in kind for a taste of medicine.
Is this the game of life,
maybe love tennis style,
but none for real?
Certainly nobody wins.

I Don't Love It

Every April, every November,
he sets out a list of poetry prompts.
Every Tuesday he gives opposites,
"Two for Tuesday" he calls it.
And every year, twice a year,
the prompt is to "Write a love poem"
or "Write an anti-love poem."
What does he get paid for poetry prompts?
Doesn't he owe me original?
Don't I deserve innovation?
Why does he cheat me?
Why doesn't he love me?
Well, I anti-love him. He owes me fresh.
Why? Why can I not be grateful
for fifty-nine days each year?
Even if he's paid, it's not from me.
I could republish an old love or anti-love piece.
But why? If he falls down on novel,
is that license for me to renege as well?



http://www.google.com/search?client=safari&rls=en&q=site:http://www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides+anti-love&ie=UTF-8&oe=UTF-8

On Awakening

On awakening let us think about the twenty-four hours ahead. We consider our plans for the day. Before we begin, we ask God to direct our thinking, especially asking that it be divorced from self-pity, dishonest or self-seeking motives. (Alcoholics Anonymous, page 86)

God, direct my thinking.
I tend to worry about my body,
remember what's scheduled,
reprimand myself for well-intended plans,
laid, not implemented. I concern myself
with food, meds, calls to be made,
the oppressive to-do list. Maybe I read
so I can check-off "read recovery lit daily"
but the mind wanders, unless you kick in
in the words of the reading or just breaking through
the mind meddle. And when you do,
and when I pay attention, all my plans and regrets,
lists and shoulds, line up, organized, doable,
ordered, and I can approach the day
prepared.

Not My Side of the Street

You offend me, you seem to be doing this on purpose,
intent to rub me wrong, to impose on me,
to belittle me, to humiliate me. Have you set out
to cause my thoughts to center on you day and night,
every minute of every hour, obsessively?
Maybe.
Maybe not.
Probably not.
My guess is you think of yourself
even more than I ponder you.
But that's about to change.
No, I don't propose to change
your cognitive behavior —
nor verbal or corporal.
No, when you embroil my synapses,
I resolve to remind myself I can't change you,
ask for wisdom to recall that, seek serenity
to accept this limitation on my sway,
to know I can change only my thoughts, words, deeds,
and to mind my side of the street.
I will recall what you think of me
is none of my business, and I will decline
my inclination to sit in judgment
of you.

Skip the Microscope

Analytical, logical, a tinkerer,
needing to know just how it works...
I know you for you are me.
I understand frustration at inanities
like "Just do it" and "Act as if,"
to "Don't think your way
into a new way of living but
live your way into a new way
of thinking." You grit your teeth
at "How does it work, it works just fine"
and "Would you like to be happy or right?"
An intellectual awakening brings no recovery;
a spiritual one does. The other Big Book
got it right: faith is confidence in our hopes,
being sure of what we can't see — or prove.

Let's Imagine

You tell me you want nothing of God,
that He's never listened, didn't care,
wouldn't help no matter how earnestly asked.
You say an angry God punishing children
and their progeny generations and again
turns you off, sickens your soul.
You shun a God who condemns to Hell
for weakness, for failing, for caving to addiction,
who declares sins mortal, unforgivable
but expects you to forgive. Well, okay.
You need not accept such a god.
Instead, figure out what kind of god
you would want to have, to accept,
to yield control to. Let's imagine a god
you could admire, you would respect.
Find a god you can understand, as you
understand him.

One Year

It's just a plastic disk,
sometimes a cheap metal
but a mere token, pretty much useless,
A bauble. But its more, much more!!
It symbolizes a whole year abstinent,
clean, released from the insanity
of compulsive eating, of gaining meaning
from what I put in my mouth.
It means recovery of body, spirit, mind
and freedom from bondage to food.
I understood when the Tuesday meeting
had no year chips; I would go the old group,
the meeting that's been there decades.
But they were out of one-year coins!
So I sit here, a year – the last token that counts
for it's the gateway to so much more.
I know I'll get it, later. I know I've got what counts,
I've got the year. One year. Hooray!
Really. Hooray. Thank God!

AM Donuts Apple Fritters

Apple fritters and Blizzards
and Perini's bread pudding —
what does life offer better?
For years the question stood stark
unanswered, a rhetorical query
expecting nullity.
Then oxymoron of conundrums,
bewildering wonderment,
the answer emerged, miraculous,
unforeseen. Twelve principles,
creating a wondrous arch,
triumphant, through which I passed
to freedom.

Odd Lot

We are people who normally would not mix. But there exists among us a fellowship, a friendliness, and an understanding which is indescribably wonderful. (Alcoholics Anonymous, p. 17)

Chewbacca sat down by Winnie the Pooh,
nodding to Jabba the Hutt.
Wimpy asked Henry VIII for a sniff of hamburger,
promising his thanks on Thursday.
Oprah gushed over Bess Marvin, asking of Nancy Drew,
while Fat Albert opened the meeting
and Barney Rubble, Eeyore and Edith Bunker
slipped in late. When Kirstie Alley
read about "Unity with Diversity"
everyone chuckled. Yep, this group
got the message, respecting our differences,
uniting us in the solution
to our common problem.

Welcome to Overeaters Anonymous

Okay, I'm here. Where do we weigh in?
No weigh-in? Cool. None of that facing the scale!
I've got a wedding I'm in in June —
Do you think I can get this off by then?
Where's the food plan? What do I get to eat?
Yeah, I know, what I weigh is none of your business...
What?? What I weigh is none of MY business?!!
You guys are insane!! No wonder you say that
right there on the wall, "could restore us to sanity."
But really, what's the catch? I like your ad,
"We are not a diet and calories club."
Okay, PSA, ad. what's the difference?
WHAT? You lost how much? And kept it off for —
Yeah, I think you're right, I'm home.

For Bettsy

What are friends for? For being there, for caring.
For opening heart and home. For tucking in the stray strap
while, arm around shoulder, sharing a confidence.
For donning a clown mask and presenting balloons to tots
when contracted entertainment no-shows.
Friends know all your buttons and bend backwards
not to push them. They argue with you only about taking
the lesser, the shoddier, the smaller. Friends have trust
gossip can't slash, confidence in me when mine dies,
love as endless as waves lapping the shore.
Friends have your back, your hand, and your heart.

Doomsday

The end of the world. At least for me.
Why go on? Armageddon sounds like a picnic
after today. I can't go on, won't keep plodding,
trusting "whatever gods may be
for my unconquerable soul." Bah, humbug!!
Who was I trying to fool? The whole world.
Who believed the crap? Just me. It's over.
There's nothing else.

What do you mean, when I've hit rock bottom
there's hope beyond me dreams? The old ones,
before they were all nightmares? You're loony,
but I'm here. I'm listening. Tell me.

Unlucky

Luck was a lady who hated me,
gave me dregs, left me outside.
Nothing was my fault, just bad karma.
Nobody understood, nobody there for me.
So I was my own friend, me and it,
my friend, my pal, my obsession.

Then it left me comfortless, forlorn,
alone without hope. But when I gave up,
admitted I'd lost control, never had control,
had nothing… then I knew. Knew I had help,
hope, luck. And luck was a lady who loved me.

Rabbit Season

Rabbit trails lead from the road to recovery everywhere,

invisible when I'm strong in program, centered, working Steps,

sure of step. Other days, careless days, distracted days, lazy days

neon lights appear lining the trails, beckoning, promising comfort,

telling me I've earned a break, one can't hurt, nobody need know.

I know better, know false advertising, bait and switch. If I'm wise

I call in help, read literature, find program people, resist the pull

if I'm wise... But if I'm not wise, I manipulate, rebel, declare open season,

and head down neon trails chasing wild hares, losing recovery road

for false thrills of rabbit season.

Winter of Our Discontent

Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer... (William Shakespeare, Richard the Third)

This, too, shall pass. No matter how dour,
despite strings of catastrophe, in the worst of times,
better comes. And not only better but glorious summer,
seasons of delight, of bounty, of blessings.
To dwell in downturn, to expect bad to bring worse,
is to deny the potential, the promises, of the Power.
We reclaim life and will, storm the bank at the first hint
of weakness. But Power is strength and forbearance,
endurance and tenacity ours to claim, ours to trust,
ours to adopt while waiting, trusting, expecting
that glorious summer.

Pleasant Plants

Life's forest intimidated me,
so stately, dignified, set in place.
I bumbled down the path, alone,
lost, no clue where to go,
unwilling to ask. Until my wanders
led to a clearing where young trees
swayed with breezes, had odd limbs,
seemed approachable, familiar,
like me. As we whispered,
exchanged birds, watched leaves
whirling, I knew others felt like me,
and the whole forest became like home.

Out of the Shadows

Shady's the cleaned up version —
honesty would lean toward unscrupulous,
murky, underhanded, devious.
My life made gangster films chick flicks.
I'd laughed at foolish promises of peace
with some kind of inventory then confession.
But while the way's still somewhat murky,
all kinds of people hurt, of debts to pay,
still, a glow to the east says darkness could end,
a path could open leading me out of the shadows.

Wordless

She never even said her name,
came in, nodded yes, her first time,
started sobbing before the serenity prayer
when Jackie told Sandra she'd made the week,
no drive-through Blizzards, no apple fritters,
just three sane meals a day. Sandra jumped up,
hugged Jackie, and the new girl's face swelled,
mouth open, eyebrows raised, realization stamping
what we've all found here, people who see food
our way. Jona handed her the Kleenex
at "Our Invitation to You," "in the clutches
of a dangerous illness, and that willpower,
emotional health and self-confidence,
which some of us had once possessed,
were no defense against it." She grasped
a newcomer's coin, nodded, even grinned,
about "You put it under your tongue,
can eat anything you want when it dissolves."
I'm glad she signed the book. I'll call her,
maybe even her the voice of my new friend.

Hidden No Longer

Present from creation,
the essence of life,
glory, love, grace hidden
through millenniums,
glimpsed in lives, hinted in peace,
recognized by few.
Present in flesh a few years,
hidden in crowds, obscured by ordinary,
blending with normal,
recognized by those wanting to see.
Raised in glory, recognized, honored,
revered, put on a shelf as too good.
Remembered but hidden, impersonal,
sanctified, beyond interest in folk.
Found again in my heart, part of me,
waiting for welcome, ready for real,
finally, for me, hidden no more.

Before My Time

I look around the rooms,
see people here decades,
see youngsters, teens.
At sixty-five, five years here,
I could feel cheated,
the secret not passed my way.
But I know I had to be readied,
prepared, that for me
it took six decades.
I got here when I was ready,
when the magic worked for me.
I got here at my right time.

The Program Packaged

One hundred sixty-four pages

and eleven personal stories,
one big book - made big
with cheap paper, large type,
sent out into the world,
"one man with this book
in your hand" and the belief
it contains all you will need
to begin. From three fledgling
groups, one hundred strong,
one big book was enough
for millions of people, hundreds
of thousands of groups,
and hundreds of other addictions.
One book, containing recovery.

100% God

...we had to fearlessly face the proposition that either God is everything or else He is nothing. God either is, or He isn’t. What was our choice to be? (Alcoholics Anonymous,  page 53)

Up or down, all or nothing,
God is or isn't. Nothingness
without beginning, lacking end,
zilch, nil, tennis love. Diddly-squat.
Neither here nor there.
Yen and yang, the whole nine yards,
creator and creation, night and day.
Sun, moon, universe, neutrino,
hydrogen, ununoctium.
God's not nothing.

Unapologetic

We never apologize to anyone for depending upon our Creator. We can laugh at those who think spirituality the way of weakness. Paradoxically, it is the way of strength. The verdict of the ages is that faith means courage. All men of faith have courage. They trust their God. We never apologize for God. Instead we let Him demonstrate, through us, what He can do. We ask Him to remove our fear and direct our attention to what He would have us be. ~ Alcoholics Anonymous, page 68. (emphasis added)

We never apologize -- times two!
For an author known for synonyms
avoiding repetition, a three-word phrase
twice in sixty words? Without even
an apology? In what spirit did he write?
Surprise? An agnostic transformed,
amazed at the fact?
An admonition:
Don't even think of calling us weak!
An argument - justification - defense
against long-held lingering derision?
Men of faith have courage, are admirable,
and by-golly we're part of them,
oh God make it true!?
No, none or these ring true. Awe.
Amazement. Awareness of a God
demonstrating through the powerless
the power of impossible,
the inconceivable transformation,
the capacity to eliminate fears,
to illuminate potential, to reveal in man
his soul's significance.

The Most Important Person

Come in, come in! We're glad you're here.
My name is Jean, that's Alice and Ron.
We'll be starting the meeting soon —
have you been to one before? No?
Well, we're honored to have you.
Your name's Andy? Here come John and Ann.
Here's a packet for you, helpful pamphlets.
This one tells you how welcome you are —
The newcomer is the most important person 

at any meeting, because we can only keep 

what we have by giving it away. 

We hope you'll come regularly, for you and us.

Those who keep coming back to meetings 

find strength and hope beyond our wildest dreams.

Welcome. Welcome home!

To God, Ourselves and Another Human Being

I'll tell you, I don't want to be here --
would rather be 'most anywhere else.
But then again, those words, "restless,
irritable, discontent" -- that's me these weeks,
ever since I got this darned list done.
You weren't joshing me, what you said?
That this would help? Can't see how --
sounds like trickery to me, way to learn
my dirt, my fuckups. But what the hey.
Never knew you 'till I came here,
don't have to keep it up. Can't hurt much
'cept pride. You like a lawyer, can't tell
nothin' I say? Anawhatamy? Never have
understood what that means. Whatever.
Anyway, here goes.

That weren't too bad. You didn't even seem upset,
kept acting like I ain't done nothin' you wouldn't,
you haven't. Makes me feel different somehow.
Kind of happy. More than that. Pleased, maybe.
Tickled pink. Haven't felt this easy, relaxed in years.
I ain't scared. You know, I thought you were loony,
putting that there chair between us, saying, "God's here."
But I'll be darned if it don't seem like he's sittin' there.
Like he's real, not some old man floating up there,
zapping sinners. He sure didn't seem any madder than you!
And I don't feel like running' to the bar when I leave here!
I can stroll down the street, and he'd match me, step by step!
You could have told me! Oh. Yeah. I guess you did.

Recovery in Action

Hug a stranger,
cry with friends.
Welcome home
your first time here.
Loathsome deeds retold
draw hoots of rapport
while a beetle's gently
borne outside.
Abstinence of days
or decades or yet
just out of grasp,
we gather, fellowship,
and celebrate a Power
who sets us free
from food and fear.
Three days of insight
sharpen tools and reveal
what God is doing for us
that we could not do for us.
Today we separate, assured
  We shall be with you in the
  Fellowship of the Spirit,
  and you will surely meet some of us
  as you trudge the Road of Happy Destiny.
  May God bless you and keep you—until then.