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Glenn Currier Oct 2020
Again I come back to you
head bowed in shame and guilt
like Israel of old who abandoned their love,
the love they could not hold
against the lure of glittery gold
and empty promises of pride
and ego we can barely hide.
  Oct 2020 Glenn Currier
jdmaraccini
Deep asleep my heart stops beating,
why am I here this is a mistake.
Lost in darkness my skin is freezing,
I fell asleep but did I wake.
I do remember a porcelain plate,
I held a cup I ate and drank,
Hemlock soup with a Death Cap steak,
Oleander tea and a Ricin cake.
Poisonous dreams betrayal and scheming,
was it dinner that sealed my fate?
Looking down I am not breathing,
I feel no sorrow if it ends today.
I see her face but she's not speaking
as I drift into the dark decay
JDMaraccini
2020
Glenn Currier Oct 2020
I stand before the narrow window
and see more clearly more deeply
in this smaller space
than my years with the picture window
and its crowd calling for attention.
I do not negate the immense value of a life filled with variety and richness, but lately with a smaller aperture, it seems I can see some things more clearly, more deeply.
Glenn Currier Oct 2020
I watch Paul putting his ladder in his truck
atop the plywood to begin his day
on the road to a job.

From my perch slightly uphill
seeing him and his wife,
partners in the seasons
walking in their yard barefoot
looking at plants, watering them,
speaking softly to one another
puts a kind of fragrance in the afternoon.

This tandem talking and walking
a sweet intimacy that assures me
in spite of turmoil and conflict on the planet
here in this small patch of earth
things are as they should be.
Glenn Currier Oct 2020
Silence silence nothing
at this moment of now
this nothing is not nothing,
but a delicate challenge
to a mind used to saturation in noise
goals busyness
purpose.

What do I fear here in this now
what phantom do I imagine
lurking in the darkness
basking in this brightness?
Glenn Currier Oct 2020
Before dawn the front thundered in
launching with its deluge
the first glimpse
of an approaching winter.
To how many more autumns
will I bid farewell
before my own returns me to heaven?
Glenn Currier Oct 2020
The builders let me visit here
free to roam the halls.
They’ve built some walls
and stairs
to upper floors with streaming light
and to a darkened basement.

I’m honored to be allowed here
to write words on the wood
to see pages posted that could
render me speechless if I let them.
But instead, these writings of pain
these revelations of shame
are like knives that pierce my heart
and I pour it out on the floor
and ceiling and dark corners
through the windows
into the night
into the light.

The builders nail their dreams
and desperation and beams
of hope, desire and grief
and lattice of love and belief
trying to do their part to complete
the work of this edifice rising
each day each hour
we builders immigrants
looking for home.
Dedicated to the poets here on this site, other fellow writers, and to my wonderful wife.
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