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3d · 122
The River
When I stop
I notice your unwavering presence
your persistence surprises me
because I neglect you.
Lovers don’t do that.

In my dreams you are there
passing through my imagination
like a genie yearning to gift me.
Your stories teach me about your desire
to interrupt my ordinary.
I even remember a few of your tales
and try to figure out what they mean
for my dull self.

I know. You don’t like me discounting my self
because when I do so
I discount you my precious one
and the awesome power of your love.

Inspire me today
a day of needed and neglected work.

You are here my love
in every fiber of my body
every impulse of my mind.

I will dive into the river of your compassion
and be refreshed by it.
Mar 2 · 136
Why the Heart?
Why is the heart the icon of love?
Why not the finger or the thigh?
Would it be just as compelling to say
He loved her with all his mind?
The mind is surely involved in loving -
deciding to do the dishes rather than watch football
or to be romantic when she touches your cheek
while in the midst of writing the last page of your novel.

Why didn’t I ever make love to Mabs
in my twenties rather than discuss politics?
Oh! She was so cute
and smelled like heaven
but our kisses were dry.

I gave my heart to Helen tonight
and she gave me hers
we laughed and teared up
as we shared romantic memories.

And why can’t I feel the heart of Jesus in me?
Is it some spiritual vapid void?
I love and know him but having his heart
escapes my grasp.
I hope before I pass
I will feel him pulsing in my veins.

Maybe another poem
or five or more will help,
for I know my  muse knows
the springs and streams I seek.
And here on these pages
may be an answer…
Feb 25 · 103
Late Saturday Night
Glenn Currier Feb 25
Lightly my fingers rest on the letters
hoping to coax  out of them
a lyric or a prayer to end this day.
I love these letters
who open the universe,
who touch the cheek of God
and fall here like shooting stars
or small planets
for you to see.

I miss a stone and step into the shallow stream
like a child hoping for an adventure
from his misstep into the clear water
where he can fall into the sky
and ride a cloud to Odessa
Pikes Peak or north to the Cascades.

I remember when the soles of my feet
were calloused from running across lawns
sidewalks and streets to play
ball or adventure into the nearby field
where we fashioned a fort our of tall sticky ****
and made up rules for initiation into our club.

What a life I find in these letters
who surrender to my touch so easily
what a symphony to match the music of Mahler
coming across the net falling here into my ears
like undeserved grace.
Feb 22 · 36
Here in the Darkness
Glenn Currier Feb 22
I am here away in the dark.
Outside the winter trees
sway their million two hundred twenty five
artistic fingers
against the twilight sky
beckoning me to leave these shadows
and just for a moment
feel the black life coursing slowly
through their bodies.

They dance so quietly
no one but I
notices their intricate
artistry waving goodbye
to the daylight where throngs
of my species  made their
tiny marks upon the history
of humankind
in these northern environs
lost in the minutia
of us who scarcely
notice the human tragedy
of a suffering Gaza.
I was enjoying a quiet moment at home in our garden room overlooking the winter trees through the windows in the back. I felt at peace. But I had read poems of my friends here on HePo referring  the the human tragedies and suffering in Gaza. I felt a little pang of guilt for my peace and comfort while many in Israel live in fear and hunger with untended wounds. I cannot be truly human without feeling at least a thin line  of pain within for suffering humanity here and around the world. These pages provide me an outlet for these contradictory feelings and thoughts. This website is a field of creativity and pain, light and darkness.
Glenn Currier Feb 19
This morning before my body woke up
my mind was unleashed in a dream.
I was back in a classroom
at an college campus somewhere
in an inconceivable city.

Not totally unlike my actual classrooms
of decades past when the culture was in ferment
and freedom reigned
rained a storm of acceptance
beyond tolerance where everyone
had a chance to become great.

This dream was a pulsing field hospital
where healing permeated everyone present
where our combined body heats generated a sweet aroma
of intellectual and spiritual sweat
that transported each of us beyond
the confines  of our individual biographies
and stories of human suffering

We heard poems and songs composed
by students eager to learn from the oversouls
of everyone present there
students of every background imaginable
we were a single body
a collection of lungs breathing as one.

Thank you Great Dream Weaver
only you could extend my soul to the Universe
in one glorious magnificent moment
greater than time itself.

This old teacher was young again
in a mutually creative minute of sleep
regenerative  and artful
beyond the confines of flesh and blood.

Gratitude is such a weak word
for what I feel
now for this marvelous scene
more than any puny fact or actuality.
Glenn Currier Feb 18
Oh how sweet it is to be in your presence
to have our minds intertwined
if only for a few minutes.

This love making refreshes my spirit,
lifts me from the windup mechanics
of my daily waking up moments.

Watching the smoke from the candle’s end
rising, twirling, twisting
in the final gray waltz of its life
was a moment of joy.

I was grateful for its small life,  
for its beautiful final breath
an artist’s farewell leaving
of its finite tapered brilliance
that leaned my soul
to the pulsing sojourn of the universe.

Oh what a journey it took with me
as I reached into the animated depths
of my self
for the short pausing pilgrimage
of this composing.
Feb 17 · 283
A Poem, By Francie Lynch
Glenn Currier Feb 17
A poem is like a tickle,
it gives both joy and pain:
with blissful tears and tearful giggles,
you'll read that poem again.

A poem is like a damaged heart in need of surgery:
a cut that heals,
a line that leaves a scar
along your heart.

Francie Lynch
From his portrait on HelloPoetry.com
https://hellopoetry.com/francie-lynch/
My thanks to Francie Lynch. This is actually his poets portrait on his pages on this website. Posted without his permission.

https://hellopoetry.com/francie-lynch/
Jan 20 · 125
Lightness of Doubt
Glenn Currier Jan 20
I feel it creeping up on the outer margins of me
like one cloud trying to overtake another
or dusk draping itself onto an old oak,
a dream trying to invade the probable.

Uncertainty seems like home to me
because when I think I have the truth
I find my way back home
where I can be the dismembered me
and grace seeps into the interstices of my mind
reflecting light in the puddles collecting there.

Doubt seems a dangerous companion
but I take its hand and pull it along with me
because it awakens me from my dusky comfort
and beckons me to the sparkling lagoon of inquiry.

Uncertainty is a favorite cousin
who on occasion texts me
with a pithy Punjab proverb
revealing a mystery worth chasing
to the dark side of the moon.
My thanks to Rob Rutledge and his poem, “Ripple in the Dark” (https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4793114/ripple-in-the-dark/) that inspired this poem.
Jan 13 · 588
Stars Swallowed
Glenn Currier Jan 13
Tonight after an isolating illness,
propelled beyond my darkness,
I walked into a universe of light
where stars are swallowed
into black holes
spreading their energy and light
into and beyond the shame or blight
dragged along by each
stumbling with the baggage of their histories,
then recovering
his balance.
I wish I could attach the image that partially inspired this poem. It is an image of a star or galaxy being swallowed by a black hole or at least that is what it looks like to me. The image: https://www.pexels.com/photo/red-and-orange-galaxy-illustration-41951/
Jan 3 · 65
Wet Light Dancing
On my way to the car
I glanced at the sage’s leaves laden
on what had been ground dried
by two dreary desiccated months
of a blustery autumn
aching for the  moisture of winter.

This rainy cold night
seemed to be saying don’t go out
but there was something
that beckoned me beyond the warmth.

Wet streets magnify the lights
dancing on the pavement
as if to deny the darkness a victory
******* up the day’s grim mood
into a mass of grass and mud extruded
by the slow mushy pace of my boots.

The changing seasons
have the mysterious mission
of rustling us
out of our fatigue or ennui
hanging mosslike on our battered psyches.

Maybe the seasonal shift was that beckoning
into the rainy night
to transform me by its cavorting light
to come here and write  
on these pages rich
in dreams, imagining, and flight.
I was cavorting a bit with this piece, letting my imagination shift here and there, defying the rules of good grammar. But maybe that is ok in this season of transition and challenge.
Glenn Currier Dec 2023
The breeze stretches and cools the season
along the country road
variegated light, leaf-filtered
from trees that lean
in rivalry for my eager eyes.

Their foliaged arms dangle, then drop
an amber snowfall all around
as if to awaken me
to the autumn creep
into my bones that click and tick
with each tottery step.

Earth awakens me to the beauty
in this splendorous season
of the gliding swaying passage
of life in alteration
and spiritual invitation
to bathe in the slow current of creation
along this road
and its cool and bright possibilities.
Nov 2023 · 90
All the Little Things
Glenn Currier Nov 2023
I dropped the pencil
had to pick it up
bent over my big belly
with a huff and a grunt.

Late for church
forgot to shave
with three days of stubble
I stood in front to sing
a sting and a red face
when I felt my cheek.

Didn’t feed the cat.
Forgot to get the eggs.
Left the lights on all night.
Forgot her birthday.
Oh me!

Each small thing
mounts a minor chord
sheds a shadow
of fear
what’s next?
       .       .       .

For all the little things
and the big ones
every day’s a hunt
running from the hound
in ceaseless pursuit.
I drop scraps from my stride,
dive into the river
and go with the flow
to yet another innocence.
Nov 2023 · 183
Dancing In Mansions
Glenn Currier Nov 2023
I’ve been thinking about death
almost obsessing on it.
Then I decided
obsessing is stupid.
A lesson I’ve tried to avoid
as the decades piled up
on my skin and bones.

Coping with my stupid compulsions
a mountain I climb daily
surely I should have muscles
to show for it

and I do

but you can’t see them
can’t measure their mass
or flex them for cameras
they are noticeable
to those who know me.
Friends and kin are the ones
who detect the trace of my thorns

and

the sum
of what I’ve overcome.

But what of this muscular brawl
with death?
My best conclusion-
let go
and daily do
what God has led me to.
Love the ones I’m with

and

my enemies.

Death is not punishment
but a chance
to be make sparks
and dance with the divine
in the mansions
here and after.
Oct 2023 · 133
Sower
Glenn Currier Oct 2023
Down from the gray mountains
you caress the emerald foothills
bejeweled with low lupine and lilies.
Storming across the plains
and fields of lively grain
you rain your glory on red winter wheat.
Barley and corn
spring up from ancient soil
eager to be young again.

By the time you ruffle the hair on my arms
you have inhaled gold
vital essence
spread it lavishly on the land
and so you arrive inside me
and sow your quiet liberty
and wisdom in my soul,
you my lovely magnificent muse.

Welcome back.
Oct 2023 · 224
The Blink
Glenn Currier Oct 2023
If I were blind
I’d still be able to enter the deep cavern of my mind
filled with eight decades of your creation,
and sensations as deep as earth and high as its sky.

Here am I Lord ready to jump as high and as deep as you will.
The layers of my life as uneven as the thrill
of color in strata of the Grand Canyon
as sure as you, my dear faithful companion.

Here in the green meadow of your peace
I find a place to release
all the conflict and pride I’ve amassed
in this long life passed

in the blink of your eye.
Aug 2023 · 344
Breadth
Glenn Currier Aug 2023
In the soft tinkling of the piano
I hear the gentle peace
of the meadow
and feel the breeze
tickling the hair on my arms.
In the coffee the rich warmth
and wisdom of my muse
trickles down my throat.
The noise of the day
switches off
reshaped into the fullness
and unbridled breadth
and splendor
of the universe.
Lately I have been somewhat bewildered by the onset of serenity, Somehow the aches in my joints and my frustrations with missing names in my brain have eased. It's nice. And welcome.
Aug 2023 · 125
Bathing
Glenn Currier Aug 2023
When I pause here
in this private spacious room
and allow the silence to swirl around me
I bathe in love and anticipation
of finding a free spirit
in the small details of my day.

Here I don’t hear the sounding horns
the low moans of trucks
the frenetic exclamations of TV mavens.
All I hear is a quiet voice
calling me to stay here
my attention undivided
if only for a few moments.

In this quiescence I discover
the depth and the richness
of just being.
Jun 2023 · 3.3k
At any moment
Glenn Currier Jun 2023
I can decide if I will let go
and enjoy the moment
with the crepe myrtle across the way
and swing in the breeze with the sunflowers
or
if I will pull the shade of fear over my eyes
and attach to my feet the weight of worry.
Jun 2023 · 218
Damage Control
Glenn Currier Jun 2023
On the news I see video
of fallen trees and devastated homes
wrought by a tornado -
too late for damage control.

But I have in me
fallen trees
crumpled garbage cans
wrecked plans
vertical vehicles
dead pets
stacks of regrets
and borrowed sorrows.

So here I am displaying my damages
spilling my darkness in this light.

Thank you
for abiding for a while
in this modest attempt at damage control.
Dedicated to L from Boston and grateful for his poem:
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4723041/all-i-know-now/
Jun 2023 · 1.6k
Summer
Glenn Currier Jun 2023
Two birds
waiting for seeds
squirrels hog the feeder
boy girl cardinals a patient
red pair
My first attempt at a Cinquain. I probably did not follow all the rules. I do not have the patience of Ron Sparks    https://hellopoetry.com/ron-sparks/    in his clever poem, So Many Years    https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4720050/so-many-years/
Jun 2023 · 245
Invisible?
Glenn Currier Jun 2023
Looking out the window I see
in the cup of a single holly leaf
a drop from last night’s rain
gazing glinting into my eyes
sun beams in that little drip
as if to herald the cosmic curator
of the visible.
May 2023 · 178
A Scent of Mystery
Glenn Currier May 2023
I dive nose first into your inner essence
there in your yellow *******
your mighty flowering all the way from your roots
in the succulent whiteness of your blossoming being
you reveal to the world what it means
to disclose, expose and surrender
your deep secrets
to all who stop to take notice,
to him who planted and nurtured you
to your magnificent wholeness
to the creator of the universe
in which you flourish.

Your scent is a hint
of the mystery which is you
my sweet magnolia blossom.
My neighbor provided me with several blossoms from his tree and I promised a poem to celebrate the state tree of my native Louisiana.
May 2023 · 184
Shiny Box
Glenn Currier May 2023
The old man stooped down
in his veiny swollen-knuckled hand
a box smaller than a tennis ball
wrapped in silvery paper
the child took it
raised it to his ear and shook it
no sound at all
without a thought he cast it aside
and turned away in a desultory stride.

Even at this young age
the silent shiny gift bored him
as did the kindness toward him
he seemed unaware
of the elder there
or his value
not worth even a smile
or a flicker of respect.

I wondered
if this was a child
of abundance
or neglect
too much presents
or not enough presence.

And what was in that shiny box?
May 2023 · 1.2k
The candle
Glenn Currier May 2023
flame jumps and waltzes
reaching for the heavens
pointing there
not entire here
it can’t contain itself
its inner being too wild
for this air.

I am its cousin
kindred energy
in our genes
our lives short but full
the future not our thing
we burn now
knowing we live
in this moment.
May 2023 · 190
I am your lover
Glenn Currier May 2023
But does a lover ignore his beloved?
Do I think you get used to it?
Like a flute playing in the distance.
Do I think you blind or deaf
to my silence
to the bustling dreary me?
Do I think you are immune
to my flight?
Do I hope you are dough waiting to be kneaded
assume you are accustomed to being unneeded
or do I wear
a dark cloak glad you don’t see me there?

How often do I blithely
utter, I love you
while wrapped secure
in the loaf of self?
May 2023 · 197
How can I hurt you?
Glenn Currier May 2023
Countless songs sing your might
and your brawny romance with us.
The kiss, the sigh I return in moonlight
seems so weak.
But that is my puny judgement,
for when I am in the clutches of love
when I allow its vast waves to overtake me
I can get up from my sleepy lazy state
and stretch my muscle and bone,
walk toward your pain or joy with a stride and demeanor
no masculine actor could ever emulate.

Yet you are the mortar full of feeling
the octane of which clamors a symphony of sound
I cannot even hear
but feel it in my chest and biceps and thighs.
Your sadness clouds the stars
your joy makes them beam
your anger burns bright and hot in them.

So how can I hurt you?
Above all, by my indifference
when I break free and flee your embrace
when I strike you in the face
and punch you in the gut
with my pride, lust
and magnitudes of madness
my shame brings tears to my eyes.
It is not a shame that disables me
but awakens me to my limits.

How you must fear my freedom
because of what I have done,
what I do with it in my life?
How lonely you must feel when I abandon you
in favor of pleasure or hubris!

If you are invincible and lord of the cosmos
how would you make yourself so powerless
and vulnerable to emotions?
Because you sparked the creation
of my species and my planet
and even became human
to show us the profusion of love,
sensations and sentiments possible.

Including hurt.
Apr 2023 · 150
The Clothespin
Glenn Currier Apr 2023
One of its legs was broken
right atop the spring’s coil
the edges of the old wood
rounded and stained from rain
and oils of veined hands
hands of lovers who chose to toil
for a month of years
for their sweaty families
in from fields and factories.

This fallen veteran of wars
its leg broken in battles with the wind
and the weight of wet sheets
battles for dignity and respect
walking tall in clean clothes
to Sunday church.

Church where the broken are joined
bound to brothers and sisters
in union with their God
hanging together on the silver spring of faith
and their resplendent love.
Apr 2023 · 171
A Sonorous Woman
Glenn Currier Apr 2023
Your voice crackles like red logs in a camp
singes the tiny hairs in my ears
burns in my numbered parts
eddies over the big stones
rolls pebbles left and right as if looking for a place
to lodge and rest, away from the pounding environment.

Your long and insistently unruly hair
tickles the tiny places inside
that never thought of being tickled
never figured to be touched by your hidden wildness
the disguised untamedness
stirs my groggy languid waters
your wild, full flushed heart pounds
rhythm into my flat languid and resistant plains.

I am a sandy arid desert dotted with cacti and pigweed
thirsting for the fluid you excite with ease
and draw up from my depths.

Songs erupting from the well of your faith
come forth from your sober mouth
and waft over our sallow selves
over our normality and our implacable comfort.

Your vocal chords echo Leonard Cohen
a pursuer who never found the object of his quest
but you do not deify the journey
like so many traveling troubadours.
You rest assured of your place up yonder
the place safe and secure in green planet that is you.
Apr 2023 · 105
Greens Bayou
Glenn Currier Apr 2023
“As a Royal you were always taught to maintain a buffer zone between you and the rest of Creation” – Prince Harry

I was a working class boy
from an oft-reeking neighborhood
there south of Greens Bayou
where a north wind
made us breathe rotten-egg air.

I was no royal.
But when I read the Prince’s quote today
I wondered if my mom’s childhood-induced fears
imposed a buffer zone on me
to protect me from the tough guys
whose dads ground pipes and did wiring
in local industrial plants.

Years of drinking beer sitting in the rear
I watched bar fights and felt Mom’s fear
as surely as if she’d been sitting near.
I didn’t stay in the Scouts long enough
to learn the stuff of being a man
didn’t hunt with my brother
and learn from him how to take a stand.

Now an adult, I’m sorry I wasn’t wild,
too bad I became too shy and too mild
shunned risk and danger, stayed too clear.

Was it some thin metal strand from me to my mama’s fear
that robbed me of things that make a man?
I know I learned empathy and gentleness from her
and hold not a shred of anger
for her or Dad who worked so many hours
away from that field of dreams.
I know their love saved me from violent extremes
and made me cherish God, music, and art,
tragic, as well as sensual, and exquisite scenes.
So here I sit writing
reflecting with preludes, green plants and memories.

Harry, Prince the Duke of Sussex, Spare, Random House, 2023, p. 54
Greens Bayou and the ship channel were largely responsible for the early industrial boom that made Houston, Texas one of the largest cities in the South. The paper mill there emitted the foul rotten egg pollution that often settled on Pasadena where I grew up. BTW many folks called it stinkadena.
Mar 2023 · 204
Lily
Glenn Currier Mar 2023
When I witness your beauty
mingle my soul in your galaxies
bathe in your sweet fragrance
see the piercing tumescence
of your desire
your passion to scatter your seeds
in waves of wind
upon the earth
into the most protected regions
of our minds
I know you are a poet
who cannot resist reaching
beyond the confines of your self.
Mar 2023 · 250
Fear of Fog
Glenn Currier Mar 2023
Traveling the dusty winding road
I reached the rain forest
heard the Macaw sing
saw its flash of glory in air
and I mused what I’d missed
in the dusty doctrines and dogmas
leather volumes
safe and secure at home
a home I feared might morph
into a wooly gulag
or a colonial province
where freedom groaned
and dragged like an anchor
in shallow water.
Mar 2023 · 109
Expecting a Fire
Glenn Currier Mar 2023
The cloudy mucky morning
portends this winter’s end
whatever dawning light
needs importing from within
to burn away
the showers aborning.
That’s why I’m here with you
so you can hear and I can read
the plot arising.

I’m awaiting
a vessel fit for floating
a song worth singing
a fire to light the candle
to connect the spirit in me
to the flame in you.
Mar 2023 · 106
Being a Slow Learner
Glenn Currier Mar 2023
I’ve said only half-jokingly
I’m a slow learner
of life lessons.
I was wondering about snails
if they learn as slowly as they move
but does our species
ever learn
really absorb
even the basic how-tos
of saving ourselves and our planet?

I might never sate my appetite
for ice cream, tenderloin, or fried fish
but sometimes
it’s hard to empty myself
and make room
for the other fella’s little world
or for God.
Mar 2023 · 145
Ready to Dive
Glenn Currier Mar 2023
My slightly shaky fingers
rest steady on the keys
poised to open my heart
to make room for  
a deep dive into the red fibrous
muscle of the cosmos.
Mar 2023 · 220
A Few Seconds of Now
Glenn Currier Mar 2023
I hear the deep soft clanging windchimes
and catch their movement in the wind
a sad flute sings an elegy
the green plants gently strain for rays
the sound of the heater
its warmth on my left leg and thigh
the wide body of the hawk
gracefully swoops down beyond the windows.

These seconds abiding
in the intense present
make long hours and ennui days
worth any minor miseries.
Mar 2023 · 131
Going Gold
Glenn Currier Mar 2023
The flute played a lullaby in the distance
calling the man and his horse into desert’s blanch
where even tumbleweed had vanished.
He saw the streaked banks of the arroyo
that told a tale of currents
whose power clashed and hurled taut soil west
where the sun was going gold.

His face etched by storms
in many forms
he tried to ignore joint moans
by whistling Cohen’s Halleluia
that wiggled forth a salty mist
in his eyes.

Halleluia for all the years.
He hummed the line
he heard Leonard say:
don’t dwell on what’s passed away
or what is yet to be.

The flute again cast its spell
not a knell but a psalm
of praise to make
and create what he could
be it on paper or carved in wood.
Mar 2023 · 175
Train into Night
Glenn Currier Mar 2023
I took the train into the tunnel
the car lit with candle glow
there standing just so
my brother with a wan look and a slight grin
I leaned to kiss his forehead, felt the taut skin
Mom across from him,
I placed my cheek against hers
two tears from the deep cavern of her sadness
fell on my constant brow  
Dad faced me with dazzling cheer
eyes full of joy that his son was here.

Awakening from the abyss of night
I arose with a smile inside
grateful for an intimate ride
with that poignant cast
an interlude to abide
and flutter in the sails of family
arrived from a pulsar of the past.

That day visiting with friends
I hugged every one tight
cherished the lush
precious
present
of the living.
Mar 2023 · 85
My Problem with Religion
Glenn Currier Mar 2023
I thought religion was it.
A gnarly piece of wood
always trying to fit,
I ran and ran as far as I could
took the road east then west
to find the one that was best
jumped in with both feet
since daddy always said
do what you do
work and sweat til complete.
My problem was I couldn’t stick
to this branch
whittle til nice and slick
that other branch looked too good
so I took it -
my piece of wood!
But it wasn’t
so I quit
to search again.
I had to seek
and find something new
risky steeper deeper
and true.
Mar 2023 · 121
Over Time
Glenn Currier Mar 2023
Slow and easy the old cells flake off
unnoticed as my body replaces itself
over time
not bound by one tiny galaxy
or even millennia
your pace is in my every step
shake of my hand
or moment
when one eyelash meets then leaves the other.
You are in the silent pop of synapses
emergent in an idea
in my chest swelling and tingling
with a notion learned between the lines of a novel
in the words of a wise old nun
in the feel of my body in my lover
the scent of her hair
the shake of  my chest
laughing at her hilarious joke
but especially when I shut my mouth
bear with the silence for a while
and listen to the peaceful
voice that speaks only in quiet
only when I can empty the chatter
and effervescence in my mind.
Mar 2023 · 281
Joy
Glenn Currier Mar 2023
Joy
Translucent and
undeserved mercy
streams into me
humbling me like giant sequoias
who draw my eyes to the heavens!
Mar 2023 · 127
Teal Pond
Glenn Currier Mar 2023
Breathing full
along the brown tree line
next to the silent teal pond
birds still singing winter.
I feel my chest tingle
like when I was twenty five
discovering scotch
a woman’s breath on my neck
still believing somehow God was in that host
the priest raised.
All was ahead of me
and, as now
unknown.
Mar 2023 · 229
Raucous Birds
Glenn Currier Mar 2023
It’s simple, simpler
when in my raucous brain
I well fight the warring birds
and focus on a single idea.
Feb 2023 · 115
Geographic Memory
Glenn Currier Feb 2023
I watched a movie last night
toward the end saw a couple on a boat
rowing toward the western golden light
then the clear Aegean
floated me into a cove in my brain
where mystery and emerald waters
became plain.

My memory organizes my life
by place.

The brownish sandy beach
where I whittled driftwood with my first Case knife.
The oleanders near the cyclone fence,
climbing the wiry fence tops chasing my friend Vince
who cursed those wires that caught his *******.
The river running through Tamaqua
on a family trip east as a kid
but I can’t see the faces or hear the names
of my New Jersey kin
I do see the wood box where me and my cousins hid.
Gone are the faint glimmers of folks
beyond the red-blooming poisonous bush
the names of aunts back east I wrote juvenile letters to
but I recall their ice cream parlor wall painted bright blue.

Closing my eyes
I see the yellow floor
and the bent aluminum legs of the kitchen table
I wiggled under as fast as I was able
to avoid Daddy’s long brown leather belt
and when he missed I heard his anger melt
when he couldn’t suppress a giggle.

Ah! the joy of my lively geographic memory.
Feb 2023 · 647
Banging on the Door
Glenn Currier Feb 2023
I was banging on the big wooden front door
with both fists
there were little square windows
each framed with four mitered corners.
I could see into the church
people singing and raising their hands
but I couldn't get in.

I have many dreams at night
almost all of them forgotten
but in this near-waking state
I knew this one meant something
I needed to pay attention.

Pay attention
what a phrase!

Moving my hands and arms
across the canvas
with the brush in two shades of red
lavishing the northeast corner toward southeast
next to blacks and blues.
Yellows now circling like covered wagons
into the blossom of a daisy.
These strokes took care
in praise of pigments
throwing a few coins for toll
just costly enough to
keep me moving west
the sun not yet setting.

There are always doors
or blinds I cannot open
nearly as easily as I would like
too heavy or out of reach.
Patience also costly.
Like attention.
Feb 2023 · 142
Heart of a Woman
Glenn Currier Feb 2023
Slender and humble in its youth
the oak grew in moist earth near the bayou.
Roots pierced the dark land
ate the rich gumbo
silently morphed facets of soil
into a heart
with unexposed power and poise.

Across the bayou
on a screened porch
a young girl watched the new rain
make puffs of dust in the dirt
she daydreamed in the drifts of clouds
and wondered where they were born.

A young man and his friend
off the beaten path of their travels
found the town pool.
Swimming, he saw the beautiful girl
perched above the deep end
and across longitudes and latitudes
of loving, laughing, and weeping
they birthed and raised a family.

The bark’s ridges and gaps reveal
centuries of storms and floods
the oak’s long limbs laden
with life, wisdom, and altered environments.

These two entwined lives enriched
by learning and prodigious practice
their wine a vintage
of passionate enchantment
imbibed by thirsty learners
across decades beyond ordinary borders.

But she like the oak
with open arms
her strength born in good soil.
Hers is a rare power of gentle love
hers a courage born
of some cosmic connection
at the heart of her beautiful humanity.

Dedicated to my cousin Melanie on her eightieth birthday. Both of us born in the Durand line in southern Louisiana not too far from the Evangeline Oak near Bayou Teche. Our lives were seemingly divergent but somehow parallel and ultimately connected, I think, by a power greater than ourselves. If you are interested in more, please see: https://www.currierpoems.net/teche-series
Jan 2023 · 876
Limits of Friendship
Glenn Currier Jan 2023
I went to my friend
almost afraid to expose the need
I found as I read the book,
not knowing if he would be deaf to it.
As I spoke of my father
who was not there
to show his boy how to be a man
I recounted my losses
and the load of grief I felt.

My sadness clung to me
a heavy suit of chainmail on a dark knight.
I could feel my face
drooping in lamentation
unable to be the smiling grinning buddy
I normally brought to the room.

Seemingly unable to enter into my pain,
my friend, a man of great intellect, character and conviction,
responded only with a litany of his own.
I tried to listen but my burden
made it a mighty climb.

Now I know my pal is only human
and I am wrestling
with my self
sweating MY
deafness.
Dec 2022 · 333
The Visitor
Glenn Currier Dec 2022
Driving home from the airport
from High Ridge Road we peered at downtown.
I told our visitor
this is the view tourists like
looking at the city from afar
or driving past its monuments.
But if you really want to see the city
you have to smell the streets the morning after
or visit Aunt Stella in her trailer.

That night we did just that
laughing with the folks
sitting on her old stuffed couch
and on rickety folding chairs
she’d fetched from the bedroom closet.

We listened to Fred
leaning over his old guitar
playing it as if it were a woman.
His voice was gravel
but when he sang falsetto
I could see him in his mother’s arms.

Stella quietly left for the kitchen
and brought back beers
and saltines and sharp cheddar cheese,
Fred still crooning softly.
We were completely mesmerized by him
and his humble country charm.

As I sat there with our visitor
I was again a boy at home with Mama
and Daddy who’d just got in from the plant
in his khaki pants and shirt  
smudges of oil on his sleeves
smelling of the day’s sweat.
Dec 2022 · 274
Profusion of Earth
Glenn Currier Dec 2022
It is a profusion of earth
direct to my brain
in one breath
its brown luxury
sensual and sultry
a lover's naked warmth
under heavy quilts o a cold winter's morn.

It ignores inner constraints
penetrates points of pleasure
hidden deep and unnoticed
until I open this new can of coffee.
Dec 2022 · 107
Human Batter
Glenn Currier Dec 2022
The slugger swept the bases
his swift run for home past third  
blew away the dusty traces
his teammates had stirred.

She precisely whisked flour
with oil, eggs, and spice
but played til such a late hour
she had to mix it twice.

The coach signaled a sacrifice fly
but he wanted to slam it
not a martyr kind of guy
so he hit a homer ******!

You might want to make dough
but you’d have to prove the matter
to get your fund and asset to grow
don’t forget you’re mixing a human batter.
Thanks to William J. Donovan https://hellopoetry.com/u850906/ and his poem, “Love is Hate is Love" https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4663899/love-is-hate-is-love/ for the inspiration for this tongue in cheek attempt to play on the final line of his poem.
Dec 2022 · 204
Dark Canyon
Glenn Currier Dec 2022
“To write is to go looking for what I don’t even know myself before I write it.”
- Annie Ernaux, winner of the 2022 Nobel Prize in Literature

I went into the dark canyon
not knowing where it would lead -
another adventure
taken up to pursue a dream,
my hand holding the reins
not knowing what lie ahead
nor what I was looking for.

The notion that led me here
words in my head
the meaning of which were a cypher so cryptic
I knew not what quest I would wrest from them.

But I had been told that this riding
was an exploration of the unknown.
That I was just a hapless pioneer
in a borderless land,
a wilderness
requiring a spindly surrender.
I posted a poem here recently (now deleted) that was based on a line I remembered from a dream. I had no idea where the writing (riding) would lead me. And I now realize, it lead me into an area in which I was unqualified to visit. But I had to take the leap into that unknown – which in a way I do every time I sit down to write a poem. Thank you my friends for tolerating my hapless surrender.
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