Spirit without Alcohol

I never…

I never heard the words said
to me in earnest tones:

This is my first time, too.

Enhancing brain cells, not killing
them was never in my mind,
mine letting in too many things,
the filter of Mom or Dad, Christianity
faulty and clogged, I had to replace
it at twenty-two when cornered in
A.A. I had to tell the truth.

I never gave up in all those hospitals,
one checking me in for “Self-doubt,”
I wrote it down and learned they
were not my friends, those paid a
lot of money to with me time spend.

I wrote Longfellow on the walls,
perhaps the first life coach.

I never saw certain friends again,
but hope to see them after fences
mend, the magic of the rhyme
ahead of me, games long and
heading toward darkness without
lights, but I charge on, charge on,
the game not over,

It’s where you finish not where you
start that will determine whether peace
of mind is mine and heaven revin’.

I never knew a bloke to choose the
baggage to tote down or up life’s golden
mazy lane. We are dealt cards to sort
out loud, some gifts we keep close
to the vest to make sure it’s safe to
share, we’re at our best.

We look left and right as the poet says,
standing up—

This is exciting, this sober life!!

One day at a time was all we ever
had. We never lived in others,
awareness is all, acceptance second
base, third to act and home the
dream fulfilled, the gay-meaning-
happy at-bat leaving you content
as you fade saying thanks before
the eyes close at night.

“To overcome,” is never the pair
of words you’d consider while adapting
with bad habits, surviving.

Then you are alone and must overcome
the bad habits you needed to be
safe years ago. Let go, rise up!!

Spirit without alcohol, the mall
with the girlfriend you never had…

Think on, think deep: God help
me be patient as I wake, to go
softly back to mend, advance, love
and never be mad

Their New Year

When is it safe to bloom?
You look around, the pink of day
on the horizon in the east, friends
locked in the same jail confer,
our hopelessness not as uniform
as our clothes, day to day going
to school, acting like John Stuart Mill—
all dog days, bark and shrill,
the dream of easy riches, oh what
a thrill.

And meanwhile the jacarandas bloom
in June or May, any time the sun
with rain confers its revolution, yellow
flowers springing up where they had sprung
the year before—

Survivors to their own new year’s party.

Sopping wet and stoned I sleep from mine
to get up late, drop in when it’s safe,
the song buzzing in my ear, not
knowing if it was cool enough for me
to actually be here.

We must know it’s safe!! We look to
left and look to right, the blessed planted
in those perfect zones, their dreams nurtured,
it’s okay to say “I love you,” no snickers
and sarcazo, as the Greek say—tearing flesh
a sport, a game.

To really care, to love another. The grand
purpose, above God and man and words
and John Stuart Mill:

He and many achieve despite cold
pursuit of achievement. Charles Dickens’
Mr. Dick shaking hands, hand after hand,
warmth and caring trumping towers of
fact and overbearing.

The zig-zag between Mom and theory,
what we are and what we leave behind,
legacy from luck we must rid ourselves of
must, and do the one thing we love.

Childhood Lost and Found:
A teaching in verse -by Bill Watkins

Part One – Praying

I can’t go back, the avenues
lost, seemingly too crowded as
I look back and cry at a Spring that
died.

Or did it? It never was
consummated or completed,
so sits bitter in the rear view
mirror every alcoholic has. We grow,
we overcome, we move on somewhat,
but we are anxious to complete
the incomplete, make amends,
let those people know you loved them.

I pray before I list the names; I am so
sorry I wasn’t a better person when
I came through middle school. Now
I’m middle aged, and know that
“better people” just means honesty.

And to get it, if you are alcoholic like me—
or maybe even if just shy—
You must pray, have a Higher Power,
a source of courage and strength.

Alcohol failed at that, became a lower
power… So did Doctor-prescribed drugs,
these substances never a substitute for
morals, ethics, will.

God, grant me strength, peace,
sunshine in rain to know that
under You I am alive and dreaming.

Help me to complete my childhood—lost
years ago in an ugly haze of traps
and dishonesty. When I loved
I did not let them know, and now
I grow old, certainly a failure.

I am at your feet, dreaming still dreaming
that I could embrace the people I loved
if only once to let them know

Amen.

Part Two – Love

I am lost and hopeless, but yield
to a Power that gives hope, believe in Today,
where all of life lies in wait, hopeful itself—
just ask the birds!!

Spring came and went in my life. I had
no idea I was failing as badly as I was;
achievements in sports and the classroom
allows a young person to hold themselves
up

“I can’t go on, I must fall down!!!”
Is sort of what I said at Betty Ford in 1995,
black social worker, Lee Harris guiding me out
of pain, providing a platform
for spiritual awakening—just calling for
and getting the truth when I could
tell the room was safe.

33-year old virgins was not on my
mind then, but when they taught that
“Abnormal Psych” class in college
I listened intently as the forty-year
old virgin was discussed. That was going
to be me, I feared. This was long
before a movie with Steve Carell about
the topic.

Love instincts, crushes and the ability
to be a friend was what I had. The
vulnerability required for intimacy would
have to wait for sobriety and spirituality.

I loved, indeed I did. But I never told her
I loved her, never came clean.

Part Three – Paradise Lost and Found

Lee Harris, Betty ford, Al-Anon, then A.A.
Shovels and tools, excavation devices looking
for Spring and paradise.

Truth would be the great tool. Only God
could power it…

Vroom, vroom, the path goes back
to apologize and be real—try
to salvage a real life!!

On human power it’s silly, so
many of those I hurt have
moved on… Then, the irony of them
being afflicted possibly, with the same
disease!! Just because you are ready for
action, doesn’t guarantee they are!!

The art of patience comes in, my gosh,
Paradise was lost, indeed, but in honesty
I found it—that peace of mind from true
efforts, that inner smile, a real outer one!

Sitting with dogs now, reminiscing…
I’m lucky to be here, I have hope!

On Higher Power all is possible, perhaps
even a late Spring, a sign in the undergrowth,
a silver lining!

The weeding is laborious but manageable
in small doses every day…

Part Four – Every Day

How can I say it better than James Taylor?

Everyday, I get stronger
Everyday, The Path is clearer
Everyday

Part Five – Found

What a hopeful paragraph with
so much work ahead. I dream
of more, accepting less by the imaginary
fire next to laying dogs and self-respect.

To know you didn’t know, and can’t
know ‘til you know is nice,
But better is the relentless effort
stopping short of self-will
To hope and help your past shape up
to support your present and future.

I repair holes, say hello to
wonderful people who deserved better
years ago.

They deserved my truth and got none.

Who knows, their tears have become mine
as I take in the pain of missing…

Emotions go on hurting, but thankfully
Peace of mind requires only maximum effort,
And peace of mind is still my Heaven.

“Found” is too soon, I’ll return to this
some day I hope, an achievement or two
more in hand—not from the arenas of work
and play per se, but from that third
area so bereft in my past.

Love

Passage Ways

In part of my heart is a hole
called regret. Nostalgic rhythms
remind me, take me back to 1984
when all was hope and song…

I regret not telling her I liked her,
wanted to spend time with her.

Third grade was hoping I’d see her,
sad when Summer came and I
had not said a thing.

Hope died completely by ’85,
when Ryan and I stole into
our parents’ cabinet and killed
ourselves slowly. If at first
you don’t succeed, try and try
to die over and over again—then
watch friends actually pass away,
be grateful that although you
missed the consummation of Spring,
you at least saw it dawn—

I shall be telling this with a sigh,
sometime like Frost, between
injury, peace and rhyme—at
least once before bed YELL it out!!

God, at least amends are there
to be made, reaching back with
band-aids and lemonades, quenching
the nostalgic curse of broken
dancefloor dreams, death, the
cycle led by devils of feeling, hiding,
dishonesty and beer.

Homeless I walk away, a shirt on
my back awaiting the honest ask.

The way back is there; Poverty
a friend when it teaches us what we
need, don’t, who’s our real friend,
and what Jesus meant when he
spoke of family being those
who do God’s will.

Regret: part of my heart, the dancefloor
old but for hot memory. I choose
a different path today, and what’s
more—

I bring roadblocks and signs to
warn youth away from my
mistakes.

Drop the act, wear a helmet
like the law says, and be a nice
person