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Feb 12 · 266
Winter Serenity
Glenn Currier Feb 12
Deep in winter
the cold seeps to the bones.
Has the warmth of love gone
lost in another season?

It seems time’s pace is slow
fervor and inspiration
low or hidden well
beneath dead leaves
where grieves
my heart now
for not lingering
in the sweet glow
and smooth surface
the pausing pace
of serenity.
Feb 8 · 349
Sustain the Weary
The wizened old man told me -
sustain the weary with a word
for many a one has none
to bring love and light
into the blight of their dreary days.

I asked which word
and through a wan smile
he said - you figure it out.
Maybe poets are the best ones
to discover and uncover the light
hidden in the weary and the dreary
Jan 30 · 368
Pain must be earned
Glenn Currier Jan 30
I have spent so much energy, time and money
avoiding pain
not realizing that it is a gift
its own reward
only earned
by enduring it
securing it

Can’t get it just by sitting

But I can earn it
by listening
The crime
is not taking time
pain is earned
with time spent
with the climb
into someone’s tortured heart.

Pain must not be spurned
it must be earned.
Author’s Note: With gratitude to Jason for his poem, “Chained,”
Jan 30 · 46
Inbox Burial
Glenn Currier Jan 30
You were so far down the list
it was hard to find you
buried there among news items
groups begging
ads egging
service notices glaring
poets sharing.

I almost couldn’t find you
my love
and when I did
my phone kept blinking  
wanting my fixation.

Oh how easy it is to forget you.

My love gets buried…
yet that love is what keeps me awake and alive.
Diving deep into you refreshes my soul
like nothing else.
Jan 24 · 51
Momentum Took Us
Glenn Currier Jan 24
We were both feeling a small joy
at some long-awaited good news
our conversation crept in a soft light
but then you drifted
into your dark valley of anger and angst,
life circumstance
overtaking you like a black cloud
full of rain and lightning.

The momentum of this moment
****** me into your pain
but how could I choose otherwise
and still say I love you?
I bow to Frances Raeburn and her poem, "Ten," [ ] for the inspiration for this poem.
Jan 24 · 80
Virtue of Winter Grass
Glenn Currier Jan 24
The drab day is clothed in gray
yellowed grass
lays silently soaking up rain
patiently awaiting a distant spring
not yet ready to sing its lively green.
Hoping for inspiration
I almost overlooked your present virtue -
Jan 17 · 562
Take it
Glenn Currier Jan 17
Here it is right at hand
nothing startling or grand
but it seems such a climb
to simply take….. my……... time.
Written after reading RK's poem "With Reverence," [ ] in which she speaks of a pacemaker surgery procedure. Such a procedure of the heart tends to get one's attention and gives a greater appreciation of the importance of treasuring every moment on this beautiful tortured planet.
Jan 16 · 177
Winter Senryu
Glenn Currier Jan 16
Gently softly now I float
a small wispy whitish cloud
unto your ocean
A senryu, like a haiku, is a three-line 17 syllable Japanese poetic form that focuses on human nature, usually consisting of three lines, with syllables as follows: 5, 7, 5.
Jan 15 · 107
A Spicy Plea
Glenn Currier Jan 15
The sage bush
waves in the wind
spreading its subtle scent
like incense for the Earth
a plea to passers-by
to pause and breathe
in peace.
Jan 15 · 481
A Letter in Time
Glenn Currier Jan 15
Every letter I type is a drop of me
eyes so full of life
they drop a tear
and in that bead
that pearl rolling down my cheek
is sadness, joy, care or grief
the sweat of my heart.
writing takingtime slowdown poetry peace life
Jan 9 · 90
Gift of Time
I sink into this sweet moment
not of lightning and hail
but soft unveiled convection warmth
of the south
in early afternoon
of winter.
I find my center
here in time
more precious than rubies or sparkling of diamonds
what a crime
I will persist
in it
this gift
this present
Inspired by Thomas Case's "Time is a thief."
Jan 8 · 237
Have your way with me
I cannot resist your wriggle
your movement wrestles me awake
from my routine slumbering lumbering day
your breath
your wind are my oxygen
telling me I’m alive
you move from heart to fingers
and dance on the floor
of this keyboard
with your partner
pen on the smooth flat surface of paper.

It is more vital to write my heart
to write write write as I MUST
than to obey some poetry manual
or imitate Longfellow, Rumi, or Frost
or any other.

Writing your movement is like breathing
I cannot go long without it
you impel me to this place
this oasis
this pure land
these tropics
where I let you speak
and have your way with me,
you my magnificent muse.
Dec 2020 · 165
One more day
Glenn Currier Dec 2020
I woke up this morning
feeling gratitude
even in the warning
my legs gave in my first steps,
gratitude for one more day
for one more hour or minute
on Earth now in my brief stay
on this tortured beautiful planet.
Happy, Poetic New Year to you all!
Dec 2020 · 127
Here Now
Glenn Currier Dec 2020
Just to be here now
nowhere else but here
is a feat for me
in my erratic mind
but now it’s just you and nobody else
no beauty queen
with voluptuous ******* and sparkling eyes
just you in your magnificence
I melt away my I-ness
and fall into your love alone.
Dec 2020 · 74
No Joy
Glenn Currier Dec 2020
Worldwide they sing of joy
at the birth of that baby boy
but I have to say that this day
I feel as empty as a holey vase
from which all the water has leaked
dry, unable to feel,
lifeless as a brown fallen leaf.

I wish I could feel his life inside
this empty vessel
feel his tiny beating heart and collide
with angels hovering around
hear their celestial sound
but on this day - of all days
again I feel a sadness
as silent as the night
he breathed his last breath
empty as a cave of death.

But a small crack on the side
lets a beam of light
in this night
so maybe a particle of hope will abide.
Let it be enough
to help me rise
to make another start
and give some life
to this dry heart.
Dec 2020 · 264
Near Approach
Glenn Currier Dec 2020
Here in the gray light of dawn
I see you, gentle and tender,
approaching us
and I am in wonder
thinking of my ignorant and obstinate species
and curious about why you keep coming back to us
you beautiful being
each morning and twilight.

My deep sleep dreams disturb
confuse and trouble my mind,
but awake here and now I find
the placid lake of your presence
and abide in your uncanny arrival.
I have been thinking about the recent alignment of Jupiter and Saturn in the twilight sky. This alignment  of the two planets and ours is called a conjunction. The last time humans saw such a close conjunction was 800 years ago. And the experience of this near approach reminds me of the awesomeness and force of the universe, yet it seems such a tender quiet moment like the arrival of dawn.
Dec 2020 · 157
This Island
Glenn Currier Dec 2020
I come here
to this island rich in growth
clear warm fluid
to catch its currents
and swim its nurturing depths
where I can breathe underwater
and leave traces of my darkness
to float like drops of ink
in a glass bowl.

These tropics
reside on the map of my heart
for me to locate
when covered
by layers of sand
in the desert
on gray slate days
barren days of lost inspiration
when I am turned in on me
and my tottering self
the me I see
on my pockmarked well-traveled and aged face
each morning in the mirror.

I arrive here
each time with a glimmer
a hope I can find
within me a point of light
some soft and pure place
a source a force
where I can rise again.
This site is a place of encouragement, inspiration and nurture in the midst of this ****** pandemic whose news has gotten me down, along with just fricking getting old. Thanks my friends for being here, for reading my droppings, for enduring my idiosyncrasies and limits, my peculiar faith, and all the rest. I love you. I really do.
Dec 2020 · 55
Uncertain Journey
Glenn Currier Dec 2020
The simple peasant girl
received some blessed news
that would overturn the world
she grew up in, the life she knew.

Chosen to receive a special gift
she was confused and dismayed
to get this favor she had not wished
for which she had not prayed.

She felt unworthy, confused, and awed
she knew not whether to make this start
on this journey to which she was called
but said yes and opened her heart.

I wonder if I would have the nerve
in spite of feeling so unworthy,
knowing this gift was undeserved,
to be open to such an uncertain journey.
Dec 2020 · 166
Ode to a Small Tree in Fall
Glenn Currier Dec 2020
I see the ebb of your small life
preparing for a new season
you have turned amber gold
as you fly on the wind
luminescent in the morning sun
as you join your tiny breath
to the great murmur of earth
sweeping across the landscape
here in the december of this sad year.
Dec 2020 · 73
Glenn Currier Dec 2020
I always thought prodigal meant
profligate, dissipated, or debauched -
such unpoetic but robust words.

There’s the story of the prodigal son
the young man who got an early inheritance
from his old father and left home
to spend the wealth
on ******, and sinful living
yet when he returned home broke and broken
his father received him with open arms and tears.

Sadly I can identify with that son
having spent so much
in such a way
over my lifetime.

But a man told me it should be called
the story of the prodigal father,
the daddy whose love for his son
was utterly lavish, reckless, and generous.

Oh, to be a man
with such an extravagant love!
Dec 2020 · 70
Remember the Greek
Glenn Currier Dec 2020
I told the wise old man I didn’t like the word, “sin.”
     He said:
          “My son, remember the Greek
          an archery term – to miss the mark -
          no human always hits the bulls-eye
          just practice your aim
          train your muscles and eyes
          so next time you release the arrow of action
          you will come closer.
          Practice practice practice, my son.
          Don’t wallow in shame
          it will bog you down.
          Instead, stand up, pick up arrow
          check its feather
          raise bow and arrow together
          open your eyes and again take aim
          release yourself from darkness of blame
          and again join the human race.”
Nov 2020 · 307
Don't Wait
Glenn Currier Nov 2020
Don’t wait
til it’s too late
take time to love now
don’t put it off til somehow
or sometime I will find the time
to spend a moment with you, to speak
to listen with great attention and reflect
on what you say to find your soul and connect
with it if just for a moment a moment of eternity…
I woke up this morning thinking about the things I have learned during this COVID crisis. This is one of them.
Nov 2020 · 120
Fear of Breath
Glenn Currier Nov 2020
A tragic result of this virus
is our fear of others’ breath,
of being right next to death.
Yet when poets breathe
it is the words they leave
that render light and life.

May we again
on our faces feel the wind,
a gale of passion
a tickling breeze to tease
our imaginations and wit.
May we soon smile
or even laugh in a little while
and be close enough to hear whispered
a naughty limerick
or an intimate loving verse.
Nov 2020 · 142
Homage to Books
Glenn Currier Nov 2020
If I were to reflect on my life
with books
if I were to spend the time
such a reflection deserves
I would be here for a week
seeking just the right words
to speak the inexpressible gift
of authors who gave their love
to finding themselves
binding themselves
to an idea
that deserved
and emerged
as new life.

The sheer volume of these gestations
trumpets and sings
anthems and hymns of grace
broken through inside the human heart.

I would not be who I am
but for their inspiration
and daily dedication
to pressing pen to page upon page
so I could turn a new leaf
and become all I was meant to be.

Books are acts of making love
right there on my table
day after passionate day
long after many have passed away
from the mornings they woke up
to this work, this play
with words
that would open worlds
for me and millions
to create something
ordinary or magnificent
for our presents and futures.

I bow to these small lumens,
authors and makers
who birthed their creations
and bound them together
from genesis to revelation.
Inspired by a few words in a poem by Sarita Aditya Verma.
Nov 2020 · 116
Finite Me
Glenn Currier Nov 2020
It’s so easy to fool myself
to be a dual self
one comfortable floating in delusions
the other in truth.
There is one me
lurking just beneath the surface
in the shadow hour,
the one who hasn’t called the lonely man
to see if there is anything I can
to help him peek out into the light
he has missed since his mother left
him alone after her death.

Is there a me  
one of the two
who’s whole and true
ok with being ordinary
ok with my immutable limits?

What freedom this would be
to accept this ordinary me
not living in a regret
of never being ideal
but instead living free
to just be me – finite and real.
Nov 2020 · 54
What We Need
Glenn Currier Nov 2020
What would we do without our lovers
to prove we can think about
and cherish someone other
than ourselves?

What would we do without autumn
so show us the flow and passionate ebb
of life’s force?

What would we do without birds
to show us the possibility
of flight?

What would we do without suffering
to lead us beyond our painful confines
in search for joy?
Nov 2020 · 104
questions - answers
Glenn Currier Nov 2020
There are lots of big open questions
but most answers are small
and that's ok
better than none at all
Nov 2020 · 350
Elm in Fall
Glenn Currier Nov 2020
My energy ebbs
in this autumn
like the yellow leaves
falling from mother Elm
calling goodbyes
slowly departing for another realm.
Nov 2020 · 317
Dreaming Again
Glenn Currier Nov 2020
Now I can float with you
on dreams of possibilities
daring to hope again
for a season of light.
We are partners of the universe
in flight
not fright.

Dreams are made of possibilities
not of economics or hands
and bare-***** probabilities
but of living tissue
of heart.
I bow to and send thoughts and prayers of gratitude to Cne for her poem, “It’s Good to Dream” on her page on here:
Nov 2020 · 84
One Flame
Glenn Currier Nov 2020
You are the single flame in my life
when I focus on you I can dance
I have passion red and damp
I can burn until I am light.
Nov 2020 · 117
Glenn Currier Nov 2020
By Glenn Currier

I saw the woman kneeling at his grave
weeping at his premature departure.
Were her tears a liquid bridge
between their love, their passionate past
and a new still aborning present?

My heart ached for her
thinking of the way they gave themselves to each other
and to a greater cause
and hoping
his life was a small stone
for building something
I recently saw a documentary: “Section 60 – Arlington National Cemetery.” It was beautifully done but it was so painful to watch, these women and men weeping and lingering at the grave sites of their loved ones fallen in the Iraq or Afghanistan wars. I had trouble articulating my feelings and the reason I sat through those painful beautiful scenes until the end of the film. I also wish to thank Sharon Talbot for her poem by the same title and for the idea for this poem. Sharon’s page:
Nov 2020 · 62
american dream
Glenn Currier Nov 2020
There was a man who for all appearances
was living the american dream
fine clothes fancy sleek black car
women at his beck and call
celebrity and media attention
awards and accolades
but he was lost and empty
mostly miserable
weepingly lonely.

And I wondered if such a dream
is really a nightmare
if there is nothing deeper
beautifully silent
then I do not want that dream.

I’d rather be awake in wonder
in the richness of now
in the arms of my old lover
reading a good book
or asleep at home
under the covers wandering
a bright afternoon
or the shadowy byways
and rocky crags
of the universe.
Nov 2020 · 206
Glenn Currier Nov 2020
What is it I love about autumn?
Is it the syncopated falling -
an umber mirror of my life
the chronic crawling
back from a dying state,
the challenge of letting go,
hope of writing a clean slate
or is it the blessed wait
of this transition season
for the coming blast
and its harvest
of accretion?
I’ve always said that autumn is for poets. I think about how autumn is a season very reflective of the process of creation. Just like giving birth is full of pain and suffering, without it there is no new life. Just about the time we think we are in control, basking in the sun of late summer, we are thrown into a state of dying in this present season, this present reality. So in a way, autumn is a natural process of growth. The adolescent must let go of the joy of childhood. The adult must let go of the passionate soakings of adolescence. Definition of accretion - an increase by natural growth or addition, (astronomy) the formation of a celestial object by the effect of gravity pulling together surrounding objects and gases.
Nov 2020 · 463
Glenn Currier Nov 2020
The ants
                      are crawling

                                          on this screen

hoping like me

                                                to find the inside

                       of this light
Dedicated to shamamama on this website – see his pages at: . Thanks shamamama for the idea for this poem in your poem: "apple light."
Oct 2020 · 97
Emerald Days
Glenn Currier Oct 2020
The afternoon sun shines green in the Elm
bathes the day in transparent glory
autumn grants a few more emerald days
in a clear bright sky of blue.
Oh how the wonders of this earth
cast hope to me
piercing shadows with what is true.
Oct 2020 · 264
October Muse
Glenn Currier Oct 2020
I embrace you in all your goodness.
I embrace your spirit, the breath of freshness.
I embrace you the creative force in the universe and in me.
I embrace you in all your humanity that I love,
in my humanity I love.
I am waking up to you in my day dreams
where figments of you
sneak into my psyche.
If I but take a moment to laze, to relax
and give the slightest effort
to place myself in your presence
you creep up into me
and even in a shallow breath you enliven my lungs.
You are here in the slow cool breath of winter,
hardly seen in the young tallow trees
whose hearts are just barely moved
but even in what cannot be called a flutter
they shrug the change of the seasons
as if to say to you:
we are here, ready to be transformed.
Oct 2020 · 50
Glenn Currier Oct 2020
How stubborn am I
switching off the guy
who dares disagree
or who once offended me
like the pious phony pols
their oily speeches and hollow calls.
See what I mean?
I can’t resist a keen
cutting critique of my doctrinal foes
in my poetry and my prose.
Why can’t I give up judging
and like you, be stubbornly loving?
Oct 2020 · 333
Glenn Currier Oct 2020
This place is an oasis
in the midst of loneliness.
How could I be so lonely
while wrapped in your embrace?
For the poets on HePo
Oct 2020 · 66
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 · 322
Narrow Window
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.
Oct 2020 · 78
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.
Oct 2020 · 96
A Delicate Challenge
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

What do I fear here in this now
what phantom do I imagine
lurking in the darkness
basking in this brightness?
Oct 2020 · 57
The Front
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.
Oct 2020 · 97
Glenn Currier Oct 2020
Walking down a forest path
I encountered a puddle.
Upon stopping I could see
a thin coat of oil floating there
the sun caught it just right
to see a rainbow in the glare
and tiny luminous unfixed bubbles moved by air.
Confined in this small muddy world
the oil and each of its parts
glowed as if to assert its beauty and freedom.

My fascination
became a reflection
of my confined small worlds
but floating and free
as I try to be me
in this sea.
Oct 2020 · 105
Glenn Currier Oct 2020
“Don’t fall in love with lonely because you’ll end up that way.”  -  Bruce Springsteen

The day is cloudy
I’m overcast and lost
in my little world
trapped by shrinking horizons.
I hear a cardinal singing
look around for his red glory
wonder where he has flown
he in his freedom to roam.
I envy his winged flight
the whole land in his sight
his mate and sparrows and jays
up there with him beyond the haze
of these sad and lonely days.
This COVID thing seems to have shrunk my little world, now even littler than before. The other night I saw a beautiful movie about Springsteen and got the above quote. It occurs to me that his advice about lonely could be said about many other emotions or psychic states such as fear, lust, or depression (but not clinical depression).
Oct 2020 · 51
Writing is Breathing
Glenn Currier Oct 2020
For some it might be arduous
an obligatory response
to get from here to there
so you’ll know I’m here
to see if you’re there.

But for me it is air
my oxygen
inspire – to catch your spirit
expire – to leave mine.
It is how I renew my life
how I die… just a little
with each stroke of the pen
each tap of the keys.

It is living.
Without it
I leave you
I leave me.
Oct 2020 · 89
Glenn Currier Oct 2020
I strum these lines
beat the drum of their rhythms
the dark of their repetitions
are the veins of my redemption.
poetry writing darkness imperfection redemption
Oct 2020 · 241
Glenn Currier Oct 2020
My lines are letters to you
and when you reply
your words are blood of your life
not so much a flood as arteries of light
and along these lines your grace tries
to reach me and squelch my lies.
Oct 2020 · 463
Slow Goodbye
Glenn Currier Oct 2020
My erratic heart
won’t allow
a warm, steamy, delicious cup of coffee
nor a refreshing potion of gin
the sensuous dissolving of a bite of cheesecake
in my mouth seems a distant memory
all these minor losses
accrue into a long slow goodbye.
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