Soma that seeps
flowing
like little creeks
sprinkling
off the edge
wetting
a tongue outstretched
watering
wilted flower beds
feeding
that pretty head
cycling
arid to wetlands

She was the ***** of creation,
and her milk seeded the stars.
          Purity of white feeding light
                          into the endless darkness..


Her hair weaving
                     the constellations together,
  a thread of intricate gravity.
Holding every  moment
                          in a unity of creation.

Gazing upon the her gown,
                   supernovas bursting forth,
the old giving new beginnings to
                    woven designs, drawn up
before the first stars shone forth..

A mother of a universe, of old and new.
           For even one day she will pass,
but until that time she will be the milk
    suckling the stars to a life of new birth.

I Sleep ;
I Slip
In Doze, I Seep out into the Scenes ;

In Potions Deep
In Notions Cold and Preasuring
I Fit and Knit my Crown
I Coral
I Knot and Concrete a Frown
But though I Invite my Efforts
My Thoughting is Leaks and Tearing *

Over Whale but Underwater
I Recover Nothing Reassuring
Slowing to a Pale
In Ocean Cold
My Feedings are Slurring to a Drown
My Motions ; Enwombed and Collected
An Unfoetal, my Body Undertakes a Vulnerable Mould

Above
The Surface
The Ship Blinks, on Fire
And Gifts from the Broken Hold Sink to me
It's all a Wink Directed at me
A Humour

But I am become Prepared Still
For the Next Life
I Discard, Decending Still
A Treat Sunk Below
A Monsterous Breakfast

                                                 *note­ : as in, secreting saline, watery fluid

True love is:
                  A waxwing bird feeding
                  A cuckoo who was left in her nest
                  The starving cuckoo is pleading
                  The waxwing is doing her best.

In the long or short expanse of your life
can you say you have become a hero?
I often wonder if I’ll be remembered
for anything important when I’m gone.
No biological children to carry my name
no feats that brought me fame
no bravery to save a life in danger
no building or great wealthy gain
no great status or social changer.

But more and more lately
being considered or thought of greatly
is not my concern.
Now-a-days I ask myself if I’ve taken time
to listen or smile or write a rhyme
to pause for a minute or an hour
to stop, notice and smell a flower?
Have I spoken kindly in a bad mood
or shut up when someone was rude
or let traffic in my lane
or fed my soul as well as my brain?

Today I ask not if I am a hero
but simply if I am becoming.

“Becoming a Hero,” Copyright ©2017 by Glenn Currier

Love is a not war
But against ourselves,

A will changing
Passion lifter
Bone breaking
Hand scarring
Feet burning,

It has not much to do with the heart
As it slices our brain in half
And we love it
Like loony maniacs who never had a cookie in their lifetime.

Not exactly proud of it
Just don't have the time

No teeth or claws
Nothing really but hunger

Not begging or choosing
Just desperate for something to eat

And when we find something, anything
It becomes disgusting.

But we don't care
We don't have a choice
It's not like we will get to see
Another day

So we feed.

And we feed..