Category Archives: Poems

The Third and Fourth Generation – A Poem by Steve Snyder

The Third and Fourth Generation

There is no sin,

As we have no gods to offend,

But offenses there are,

One human to another, in great regularity.

The offensiveness of familiarity

Nests above all in families dysfunctional,

Each alike in their own different way.

No gods need destroy, nor drive mad,

Those who burden themselves

And their descendants,

Unto the third and fourth generations,

With false guilt, shame, anxiety and worse.

Rather than the elders

Being weighted with millstones

And cast into the sea,

The thrust off these crushing weights

Onto the necks of the weaker and younger

Of their own households and families.

Social Darwinism starts at home.

– Steve Snyder


“So You Want To Quit Drinking”

Frida Kahlo Quote (2)


Below is a link to a fantastic poem* written by the author of the Running On Sober blog, which LifeRing member Dennis shared in one of our e-mail groups and that I thought you might really appreciate, as well.

*For those of you who really, really don’t care for profanity, please stop here and consider this work simply not your cup of tea.

Everyone else, please click here, and enjoy.



“For An Addict”

“Maybe the journey isn’t so much about becoming anything. Maybe it’s about unbecoming everything that isn’t you so you can be who you were meant to be in the first place.”  — Unknown

Below is a link to a YouTube video reading of “For An Addict”, John O’Donohue’s powerfully rendered and heartbreakingly accurate poem about the heart of addiction, introduced to me by one of LifeRing’s e-mail list participants that I thought most worthy of sharing with you here.

Psychotherapist Declan Tarpey introduces and then reads the poem, and something he says at around the 2:07 mark absolutely represents what my addiction was, in large part, my attempt to address: An escape from my true self – someone I felt was hideous and disfigured and thus, needed to be hidden, and hidden away from.



A LifeRing Keeper: A Poem From an Irish Convenor

Philip H., a LifeRing convenor in Belfast, Northern Ireland, wrote this chilling poem about his late former wife:


Two dead mice.

One fresh, one slowly desiccating. Its head chewed, eyeless.

A new lock on the dingy door and new keys.

Inside the wooden floor was covered in something dark, like tar.

A chair upended.

Bottles, more bottles, one open, musty smell.

An expensive wine glass with some wine left.

Defiance and style to the end.


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