A Slightly Sober Shuffle
The Twelve Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous
There once was a fellow in Kent
Whose paycheck on whiskey was spent
In Step One he confessed
His life was a mess
And unmanageable meant what it meant
By Step Two he admitted with care
There’s a Power more steady out there
That could mend what he’d bent
And restore what was spent
Including his tattered old stare
In Step Three he decided outright
To hand over his will for the night
To the God he defined
As understood in his mind
Which he hoped had recalibrated right
Step Four brought a ledger and pen
Where he catalogued folly and sin
Every slight and miscue
Got its own careful review
With a sigh and a thoughtful small grin
Then in Step Five he shared it aloud
To God and a friend as allowed
The exact nature named
Every folly unframed
Not dramatic just soberly proud
With Step Six he grew ready at last
For old character defects to pass
Though some habits he liked
And a few he had spiked
He surrendered them steady not fast
Step Seven was humble and plain
Please remove what keeps causing the strain
Shortcomings laid bare
In a quiet small prayer
With a hopeful deliberate refrain
In Step Eight he drafted a list
Of the people whose trust he had missed
Every bruise he had caused
Without clause or applause
He wrote down with a tightening fist
Step Nine sent him knocking on doors
Offering amends for old wars
Where repair would not harm
He extended an arm
And repaired what he once ignored
Step Ten kept his mirror in sight
When he blundered he owned it outright
No delays no disguise
Just a candid reprise
Keeping conscience respectfully tight
In Step Eleven he sought daily grace
Through reflection and prayerful embrace
Not for riches or fame
But for will and for aim
To carry out what he could face
And Step Twelve found him sharing the tale
With newcomers weary and pale
Awakened not grand
Just a steadying hand
Proving quiet small changes prevail
Unity in the Key of Anonymous Grace
The Twelve Traditions of Alcoholics Anonymous
There once was a fellowship wise in unity’s space
Who knew common welfare must anchor the place
With servants, not kings
And one God who brings
A conscience that steadies the group in its grace
It opened its doors with a singular creed
No résumé asked just a desperate need
Desire to cease
From bottle find peace
Was all that was wanted for membership’s seed
Each circle autonomous tending its fire
Yet mindful of harm that might travel or mire
One purpose held fast
To reach those outcast
Still drinking in silence and sinking in mire
No gilded endorsements no profits pursued
No tangles of property proudly accrued
Self-supporting they stand
With hat passed by hand
Unbought and unbossed in their livelihood viewed
Nonprofessional still in spirit and art
Though workers may labor in serviceful part
No rigid design
But committees align
Responsible always to those they impart
On matters external they simply decline
No quarrels of politics welcomed as mine
By attraction they grow
Let humility show
With anonymity guarding the line
For names fade away but the principles stay
Placed over persona at close of the day
Twelve Traditions declare
Through conscience and care
That unity lights up recovery’s way
A Pocketful of Hours
A Limerick on Living Just for Today
There once was a soul in a fretful dismay
Who tried to fix life in a single grand day
He trimmed it to twelve
Left “forever” on shelf
And found peace in the span of just one small today
He’d wake with a habit of wrestling years
Forecasting failures and stockpiling fears
But just for today
Kept tomorrow at bay
And shrank vast catastrophes down to their spears
He’d choose to be happy by simple decree
Deciding his mood was a matter of key
For most of the cheer
We claim disappears
Is fashioned in mind far more than decree
He’d bend to the weather instead of command
Adjust to what is not demand what be planned
Call fortune what came
Neither blessing nor blame
And fit his own sails to the lay of the land
He’d strengthen the mind like a muscle at play
Read pages that asked him to think and to stay
No loafer upstairs
No drifting affairs
But effort and study to brighten the day
He’d practice the soul in a quietly sly way
Do good and let credit go wandering astray
Do chores he disliked
Keep pride unspiked
And swallow the urge to display disarray
He’d polish his manner speak gently and low
Dress neatly let needless complaints simply go
Reform but himself
Put critique on the shelf
And leave other citizens room just to grow
He’d sketch out a program imperfect yet clear
Guard hours from hurry and dithering fear
Though plans might go wide
They still were a guide
A railing when choices grew foggy or drear
He’d claim half an hour of silence alone
To loosen ambition from iron to bone
In stillness he’d see
A larger decree
Perspective replacing the rush he’d outgrown
And fearless he’d stand at beauty’s display
Unashamed to enjoy what brightened his way
Believing the sum
Of gifts that we’ve done
Returns in due season though not on our say
So here is the wisdom both candid and spry
Not shouted from rooftops but said with a sigh
When life looms too grand
Shrink time to your hand
And live it in slices that fit in the sky
