2017 Poems:
September-December

 

Poem List:  2017 September through December

 

New Tick-tocker        Print this poem only
 

Got me a new tick-tocker

From the good heart doctor

I got rhythm all the time

And even an occasional  rhyme

The medical peeps came through

Prayers from friends and kin were true 

Tonight God and Helen drove me home

A good place to end this little pome. 

Author's Note:  This was just a little quickie poem I wrote waiting in Tom Thumb parking lot for Helen to do some shopping – the day after my pacemaker surgery


Written 9-19-17

 
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Falling in Love        Print this poem only

 

She sees him walking toward her

their eyes lock

a rush of excitement

a tingling

a warmth suffuses their bodies.

They stay up til 3 talking and kissing

discovering, laughing, connecting.

This is how it begins.

But it blossoms

as they shed reluctance

lower defenses

let go

fall

in love.

 

This is what I want

I crave

for us.

Every bit of it.

Every increment

making me breathless

building building

into something special.

I want you

I want us to be an us.

I want a blossoming

of passion

I want to have you

I yearn for our union.

 

I feel it beginning

It is not that rush

nor love at first sight

but I am starting to let go

to shed my hoodie,

my vest, my armor

and piece by piece

off with my outer wear

until I stand before you

unprotected

defenseless

empty.

May I be shameless

in your presence

may I be blameless

and may we be pure

together.

 

May I tumble into you

and fall in Love.

 

Written 9-3-17

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tightrope        Print this poem only

 

You always call me to love

but with ease I do what I please.

You are a tightrope

for love is a choice and takes work

and I can’t seem to keep my balance

for long before I teeter and fall.

 

You are there for me

with open outstretched arms

to catch me

to cushion my fall

and help me stand again

against my weakness

and all the world’s charms.

 

You are the tightrope

and the safety net.

Written 9-4-17

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In Your Grasp        Print this poem only

 

What problem, what storm can wrench me away from you

when your embrace of my soul is so firm and strong?

Nothing can buffet me away from your grasp.

The gentleness and strength of your hold on me

suffuses me with comfort

and security.

Its brightness

freshness, lightness

lift me up in times of gloom

and save me

from the cold and sticky tentacles of doom.

 

All I have to do is awaken

to this tireless clinging,

to your potent and persistent heart

and the lifeblood it’s always bringing.

How can I slumber

in the grasp of this wonder?

How can I ignore or forget

your relentless presence

or evade the outrageous engagement

of you my tremendous Lover?

 

That your faithfulness

and untiring attachment
to my wounded soul

would remain

in spite of my ignoring

and my fleeing

is a mystery beyond my being.

 

Your love should be no mystery

for its long and enduring history

is written in the wombs of women

who daily birth new and lively souls,

all witnesses of your wonderment.

 

Bewildered and humbled

I swim now in an ocean of gratitude

I am not worthy

nor am I worried

that you will leave

my crazy heart

for I am sure

we will not part.

 

Written 9-5-17

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Night Prayer
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Dear Father, I now leave the things of this day

to enter the mystery of your being.

As I lay down for this night I pray:

use my sleep and my dreaming

to hug me to your bosom and prepare

your child to enter your Kingdom in heaven or on earth.

For all my sins I am sorry and it is my prayer

to receive this night your forgiveness and rebirth.

Written 11-11-17

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
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Heartfelt Plea        Print this poem only

 

Oh how your round beating mass

has so skillfully hidden inside me!

Has my neglect

taken your music from my sunny center

to a dusty deaf corner in me?

What offense has raised the ire

inside the labyrinthine wrap

surrounding my heart

and now exacting a daily drain

of my life force?

 

I beg your forgiveness

for ignoring you

abandoning your care

in favor of distraction

and some unknown impetus
to get lost in the electronic desert

so ready to surround and capture me.

 

Please forgive my weak response

to your call

send forth your spirit into the

poetic and creative environs

of this poor sojourner.

Calm the rage within

and bring forth the smooth deep waters

of peace and gratitude

and dedication to my soul.

 

Make my body whole again.

Hear my cry

my pledge

to nurture

my heart

and feed my soul.

 

Written 12-19-17

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I Will Remember You        Print this poem only

 

This poem was written to Jim and Ruby Ewell and presented to them at their home in DeSoto, Texas prior to their moving closer to their children farther north.  They used to attend our poetry group's meetings and were beloved by all our group members.

Written 10-20-17

 

 

 

 

Pilot Light        Print this poem only

Today the pain is strong

it is a gravelly nagging voice

speaking its own foreign tongue

or no tongue at all just groans

or whimpers, or random unexpected wails

but it is there

an unseen, unending presence

an implanted

galling calling

thorn.

 

She has been corrected

a hundred times

always with the idle reply “sorry”

seemingly

to placate and deflect

another chide.

Is she unable to learn

or just unwilling?

I have taken into me

her and her flaw

a scratching

bedeviling

claw.

 

Oh! the stories each of us could tell
a million moments of our little hell

but just as sure as those thorns

haunt us and bore inside

there also light abides

like current ready at the outlet

we can plug in when we’re beset

by fear, fatigue, and folly

or bouts with melancholy

maybe that’s what they call grace

maybe inside of us there’s a sacred space

where we can make our retreat

where our soul and circumstance can meet.

 

Being human

means having both darkness and light

always the dark is ready to bite

and pull us under

tearing our lives asunder.

Busy with a hundred tasks

playing our roles wearing our masks

we forget the calm within

and the deeper force under our skin.

 

The butterfly flutters by

autumn and snowflakes fall from the sky

we giggle with the little child

we brush up against the wild

write a poem, hear a song

breathe cool air sing along.

These tiny moments of grace

should remind us to embrace

and fan and make bright

the flame from that Pilot Light.

 

Written 10-10-17

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
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Into the Unknown        Print this poem only

 

The doc says Phil needs bypass work real soon

his heart is pumping badly and in stress

his arteries and veins are not in tune

his fear has spiked his life seems in a mess.

 

The bride still wonders if this guy is right

she’s seen his moods go dark and sour

she listened to his poems of love and light

and seen him laugh and play with kids for hours.

 

Yes Raymond dreamed of serving as a cop

he helped the frantic mother to give birth

busted dealers brought the vandal to a stop

but saw the cruelest wicked and the worst.

 

When first we rise into the breaking dawn

we know not what or where the day will go

what challenge waits what pain the day will spawn

but worry fear and fretting just bring us low.

 

The unknown calls us past our faults and shame

it pulls us forward to become our best

the unknown beckons calling us by name

to make the future sing to make it blessed.

Written 10-4-17

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How can it Be?        Print this poem only

How can it be

this strange and sunlit bond

of two men parted by

miles of Texas plains

countless rocky hills

heaps of pain and ills

days of rain and drought

three rivers flowing south?

 

But so many clear divides

and normal terrible tides

could not sink

their inexplicable

strong but elegant

link.

 

This tie was forged by

fingers typing lines

of verse and rhymes

two spirits and two minds

linked in air by seeming chance

touching in poetic dance

sharings of the heart

their precious marriage art

finding God on parallel paths.

They joined their hearts

beyond the normal math

beyond the cultural shades

or the places

of their working days.

 

But strangely now this friendship seems

a natural but uncommon gift
not by their driven grip

but by some force or power

of Nurture that made it flower.

Yes they Skyped

and oh they typed!

and talked by phone

but one of them worked and went off on his own

for far too many weeks

he did not reach

for his Alamo pal

yet that pal was there waiting

through his own trauma and peril

his kindness unabating

as he bravely fought for life

nurtured by his loving wife.

He who feels prodigal guilt

is now humbled

by a courageous man

who listened with care

past the spoken angst

when this friend had only encouragement

to share.

 

If you wonder how this friendship could be

you need only think deeply

of this Alamo man to see

his gentle caring soul

a faith and humility to behold

his tolerance and his smile

and nary an ounce of guile. 

 

If you ask: How can it be

that these two men

who never met

touched or shook hand in hand

could have a bond so deep and grand

 

just pause and read their poetry

and you will see

and hear their spirits fly

in their lows and in their highs.

 

You will hear two violins in their verse

and see there

the twinkling

of the Universe.

 

Author's Note: Dedicated to my friend, Roland Ruiz of Elmendorf, Texas - not too far from San Antonio - who calls himself “Your Alamo friend.” He is a poet possessed of  uncommon gifts.

 

Written 10-1-17

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Winnowing        Print this poem only

 

I know a poem is down there somewhere

so I close my eyes

and in the air

clouds caress me

in a clear blue sea

where I drift and sift.

The winnowing winds of summer heat

gather me up and beat

the chaff from the wheat

making pain into grain

in a harvest of glowflies

from the part of me that never dies.

 

Of course, it seems

there’s always a store

of darkness and drought

in that needy muddled middle of me.

 

The small silo of self

is formed from the labyrinthine moss

of saints and sinners

who sowed in me

seeds of success and loss.

 

I cannot count or recall

all the saints and sinners

who sowed the seeds

of success and loss

in the soil of my past

nor count the cost

of the sad nurturance

still alive in the shadows of my memory.

 

Looking back

again feeling those winds

brushing the hairs on my skin

I am grateful for that winnowing

and for the rich aroma

rising from this warm loaf

of poetry.

 

Written 9-5-17

Fall            Print this poem only

 

The morning sun kisses the pecan tree

and its quivering shimmering mantle of gold

outside it’s cooling but not yet cold

the air is poised for a new season

hanging like a mystery just out of reach.

 

How precious this moment of being

an earthling

in this terrestrial gem

ever changing always creating a new home

for the creatures in its embrace.

 

Fall! what a name for this season

yet the full fruits of its lessons

defy the confines of language:

 

An aging woman takes a tragic fall

drapes the sidewalk in painful sprawl

breaking bones but not her resolve

to stand again with pride, head held high.

 

The rugged-faced man hears the bottle’s call

the bottle: full of promise to ease the pain

but empty of joy in the fall.

 

We blame Adam and Eve for their pride

and the shame they shed

on their species one and all

the pain of separation from God

yet look at each of our daily falls.

 

So here we are in autumn

and its million transitions

leaves floating like golden snow.

What a dazzling colorful show

a diaphanous symphony of letting go

notes falling seemingly without reason -

is this the last performance of the final season

and do I hear the distant yearning call

of freedom

beyond this fall?

Written 11-4-17

 
2020 Copyright by Glenn Currier