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a five inch wide vine
five hundred years old teaches
me humility
Glenn Currier Sep 19
I have heard the word as a condemnation
by a religious hierarchy
which meant a severing of ties with a wayward sinner,
ostracism the worse thing for
one interested in staying -
this loneliness and pain desired by the keepers of the norm.

But I think of those with whom my communication is ex.
Al, my former close friend who turned his norms onto me
Jackie, a good and loving woman now gone
James, a man who no longer wants to have lunch with me.
There are a few more
who’ve wittingly or not
closed the door
but in every case a kind of sad weight
abides near my heart, a pain that literally aches
with tears just behind  my eyes.
I am grateful to fellow poet, Christine Ely, from whom I stole the title and idea. See her poem:
Glenn Currier Sep 17
To feast one moment at a time
on a bite of eternity
what a blessed gift!
This is based on a short poem by Rumi who reaches into my heart from eternity.
Glenn Currier Sep 10
Do you know someone
who’s in the background of your day
and when you pause
if you’re lucky
you remember and smile
can’t suppress a thank you
but feel just a tint of sadness
they’re not in the foreground?
Her dark hair, red lipstick
slightly weathered but alluring face,
the swift efficient way she poured our coffee
a slight sheen of sweat on her cheeks
evidence of her ownership
and hard work at her cafe.

My friend and I having fished from the shores of the nearby lake
from first light
now basked in Pat’s femininity
strength, confidence, and congeniality
as she took our order.
We smiled knowingly at each other as she left our table
our mouths watering as we thought about
her and her pancakes-and eggs-breakfast.
Author’s Note: Delicious memories of earlier times with my fishing buddy.
All the wax spent
flame went
wick yet glowing
as if to whimper
I don’t want to die.
Alb blowing casually dancing
enveloping feet glad he ignited
joyous kind loving musical noise
overthrowing Puritanical quagmires
ravaging searchers trying undertaking
valuable xercises yielding zeal.
This is an abecedarian form inspired by vb and his/her poem. “A beach chirpy dawn.”   The first word that came to my mind when I decided to make his poem a challenge for me was alb. It is a word that Wordscape and other games do not recognize but from my earlier Catholic days I knew albs as white garments worn by priests, deacons and other liturgical celebrants. From there, I just let my imagination wander the alphabet looking for a story of sorts. It was a fun write.
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