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The smell of new rain
permeates the air
the first heavy drops raise little puffs of dust
in the dirt.
Covered porches protect her
from the storm outside
and the dread inside
where benign neglect reigned
ennui and death strained
children’s hearts
threatened to pull apart
the joy sleeping in their wondrous souls
that lived beyond the confines
of the dark brooding grip of family
inside the ancestral home.
Inspired by my cousin’s memoir. With gratitude to her for this courageous masterpiece. I hope this will be the first of many poems sprung from this work which has shed revelatory light on my personality and familial past. I will refer to these poems as “Teche Series”
Glenn Currier Jul 22
Here among the trees
leaves, birds and bees
breathing in summer air
the sun embraces me
into its life-giving energy
I feel loved
and part of the great mystery
each day is a homecoming.

Here I can just be me
fearing no judgement
or condemnation for my sins
but pure acceptance
and bliss.

This day, each day
is my birth day.
Glenn Currier Jul 20
In snowy peaks
and gray valleys
grassy plains
and lower back pain
the falls
and rivers of grief
thorny branches of the bois d’arc tree
the womb
of a lily or a lady
pioneers and sinners
losers and winners
on the road
in the heart of home
what you imagine
and what you dream.
My muse
Glenn Currier Jul 10
I am on the tense edge of fatigue
its gray snare
its numb mute grip
squeeze out  
my vigor.
My mind is plowed with deep furrows
a thousand canals
through which hapless fantasy
rushes with such ease.
But on occasion
when I least expect it
the realms rain upon that soil
sprout seedlings
that glisten and giggle
turn this way and that
wild and tender
and full of life.
It cracks me open -
this time with music and muse.
My pen punctures a hole
through a membrane
of routine and lazy habits
into my darkness
stale air escapes.
This writing lets in light and life
it is water on soil
a flowering.
Oh how I have missed writing during this period of back pain. It is regenerating me, awakening something in me. Isn't it wonderful?
Piano and violins
in the hands of artists
string me along
in a peaceful stream of joy
their delicate threads
wrapped around my heart
on a gray morning
to quince my loneliness.
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