Glenn Currier

Roamin with Dave        Print this poem only

 

I thought I heard that great Bates boom

then I saw him in the back of the room

and from that practical critical mind

he spoke an idea he’d carefully refined.

 

Over West Virginia hills you can hear his voice

and for a good laugh the limerick is his choice.

From that active mind he liberally speaks -

by heart he can say poems for weeks.

 

His heart is as large as his country frame

and he cares not if you’ve got status or fame

he listens and hears the sound of your soul

makes a diamond from your hunk of coal.

 

If you’ve listen to his friends you’ve heard

that David Bates is a man of his word.

If he commits he carries through

and he’ll speak out for you if you’re true.

 

You seldom see him get haughty

but he does get risqué and naughty

with stories of body parts and congress in bed -

oh how he makes his poor wife turn red.

 

Yes, he does have a rough and tough side

but his eyes moisten with gentle pride

speaking of soldiers and valor and pain

the frail but the brave of the human terrain.

 

No other can compare or even come close

to the drama in his voice telling of blows

on the nails that hung Christ to that awful cross

to the sound of that pain and that terrible loss.

 

We are grateful to him for staying and listening

to our poems - for his eyes dancing and glistening

for the sound of his laughter and his praise

for the attention to our words that he pays.

 

We’re also grateful for his loving wife

who’s stood with him throughout his life,

for the interest in us she’s shown

for the support from her we’ve known.

 

As for Dave - who could be untouched or unmoved

or fail to have their troubled heart smoothed

by his poems far from the clattering mills

where we find him in his golden autumn hills.

​

Author's Note:  This poem was written to honor Dave, an active member of our local poetry group.  To see the poem that partly inspired it: "Roamin" click here.

 

Written 3-2-16

​

 

This Flowering Pair        Print this poem only

 

Oh what a sight to see

you my beautiful Bride

in the flowering pear tree

you do not shy or hide

your face from me

except to make me yearn

for your luscious lips

for the touch of your hips

and your chest to mine.

I take a sip of the deep red wine

to add to the delicious tension

of waiting for union with you.

Let me enjoy this glorious tease

your perfumed scent in the breeze

for unlike the waiting groom and bride

just seeing that veil of white

is a moment of your rushing tide.

The spring of this blessed interplay

is a season or a day

of sweet and luscious suspense

of going deep into your being

beyond time beyond mere sense.

I cannot even imagine the symphony,

the music of that union -

you playing the strings of my soul

me feeling the vibration of your tympani.

So, seeing the intricate delicate lace

of the flowering pear tree

is but a hint and a moment of grace

of readying me to join

the sweet eternal spirit

of your triune space.

 

Written 3-4-16