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Glenn Currier Jan 2022
Our family room has a vaulted ceiling.
Facing each other in that place,
our eyes meet and in this gaze
across the room
we take flight
through hot afternoons
into cold dark nights.

What we reveal in this air
is the stuff of dreams and things
of joy, pain and sorrow washed in tears,
and when the clouds have cleared
there we are in a sacred space
in the wind and tide
where a mystic spirit
arrives and abides
for quiet moments,
and on this holy canvas we spread
the blush of eternity.

We bring memories of our dances
and missteps where we fell
into each other’s arms and laughed
at the folly of two fools
who leapt across their rifts and fears
across dry days and long years,
sank into the hearts
of each other
and flew to vaulted horizons
where together we reached
to touch the face of God.
My wife and I were sharing tonight and reflecting on the experiences we have had together, sharing a spiritual, emotional, and relational journey including the many places we traveled. It was an intimate moment in which we were aware of the sacredness of this space in our cozy home. We both felt inspired, our eyes glistening a bit, and I told her I needed to write. We are so grateful as we begin yet another year together. Yesterday we celebrated 52 years of marriage.
Glenn Currier Dec 2021
Thinking of my closest relationships
makes me marvel at what a fool I am.
A map of the streams of my loves
would show small settlements
tiny villages where I’ve rested
from my frantic search for meaning -
spaces made by nights of talking and sharing -
spaces of kisses, cries,
shouts and whispers that kept together
the threads we coiled into a chord
of memories.

Memories of foolish leaps we both made
into a friendship, a kinship, a marriage
a co-creation.

What faith abides in me that causes
me to abandon logic for love?
It is a mystery to me
how I can stay in this embrace
despite our divergencies?

But it is a splendid mystery
I celebrate.
I bow to my new friend ruqayyah I met on this website. His poem, “keep your friends close” caused me to write this poem. It is about the trust necessary for close relationships of all kinds. I think of my relationship with my relatives, my friends, my church, my wife. All of these are based on some degree of trust.
Glenn Currier Dec 2021
What a day to see light and its colors
catch the human heart
in its glorious song of love.
For just one day may I see and say
joy and peace and signs of creation
signs of life on the dark landscape.

New beginnings that thumb their noses
at my old and aching bones
and every muscle memory of failure
every nodule of shame trying to grow inside.

For just one day let me glow inside
reaching with care everywhere
I dare to believe
there’s someone who deserves it -
or not – I give it anyway.
Stoop to look into sad, bleak eyes
that they might see the light
the passion and kindness
that stirs inside.

Let’s have one day of light.
Glenn Currier Dec 2021
Rumi urged jumping into the boiling sea of passion
and grief would run from you.
I have been in that sea.
Swimming in those waters
caught up in the currents
keeping my head above water
there was no time for grief.

Now, still, there is passion
but more like a vat of rich soup
about to boil.

The tentacles of loss
reach out to wrap themselves
about my wrists and ankles.
Age, a slow moving barge,
moves up on me
but my arms and legs splash,
and determined,
I inhale a rich tide of inspiration
from courageous friends.
I breathe love
in poems, whispers and music
and battle the sinking.
Glenn Currier Dec 2021
It is predawn and still dark outside
but I cannot sleep.
The cool of aching winter calls
but the oaks, still green,
soon their leaves will fall
like me who so easily slips away
from the grasp
of the universe
that always beckons me to join
the elements of its peace.

But too often
I choose the storms
the collisions
and scattering properties.

How sweet it is to close the distance
between us
to find each other
and dwell together
in moments of love, respect,
mutual admiration,
and laughter
that seem so rare
out there,
to abide in sweet and precious harmony
for a while.
The last three days I traveled south to visit with three of my relatives whom I have not seen and hugged for far too long. We shared meals, a few card games, a little music, and a movie. These have been times to cherish and remember in the long months we will again find ourselves apart, at a distance, all trying to avoid the loneliness that haunts humanity these days.
Glenn Currier Dec 2021
“Look for the soul,
you become soul;
Hunt for the bread,
you become bread
Whatever you look for,
you are.”   – Rumi

A glorious magenta thistle blossom
a humpback whale breaching
a haiku by my friend John
a kitten swatting at a bouncing string
a silent moment just sitting peacefully
Debussy’s La Mer
a giggling baby
a golden leaf falling from oak.
This morning I had a moment meditating that brought tears to my eyes. It felt like drops from heaven. As I wrote the above piece, I thought of Rumi and looked over on my bookshelf spying a decorative box: “The Card and Rumi Book Pack.” I took it down and opened it. Inside the book cover was a well written affirming inscription from the one who had gifted me this beautiful volume in 2001 upon my reception of an “excellence in teaching” award. It was from Valerie, a former student who is Native American. She ended her remarks with “Aho!” a Kiowa word that means thank you. I opened the book and turned to a tabbed page and read this quote from Rumi: “ At every moment, Love’s voice talks to us from left and from right, all we have to do is to know how to listen.”
Glenn Currier Dec 2021
Listening to Leopold’s symphony
for two minutes,
I was bored.
My mind wondered.
I recalled the dramatic first chords
of Wolfgang’s symphony 41
how it awakened me
how I was hooked by his energy and zest.

Even though Leopold taught his son,
the fame of the impulsive and creative Amadeus spread
as he wrote and played
and captured the attention of the world.

I wonder what poor Leopold thought of his own work
in contrast to his prolific son
a son who seemingly created great music
from nothing
who freed himself from tired conventions.

A creator makes something from nothing
and I wonder if being lost in nothingness
as we poets sometimes are,
if letting go of the familiar
makes it easier to create.
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