2013 Poems

September-December

 

 

 

 

Absorbed          Print this poem only

 

Have you ever been so absorbed

you could not float into a conversation

and partake of the lightness

the airy wittiness men love

as if teenagers playing football in a vacant lot

on a crisp fall afternoon?

 

You - a log so full

of silence and blessings

you are suspended in depth

unable to float to the surface

to bob in the wake of banter.

 

You are an alien

in this all-man’s-land

too hallowed for the shallows of play

and the respite where men recharge

and shed the weight

of a long day’s labor.

 

You struggle to shed

the heaviness within

where you are anchored

you try to fit in once more

with smiles and chuckles

but they do not come.

 

You want to depart this company

for a no man’s land

some desert retreat

somewhere away

but these men whom you love

hold you there

with the gendered cherishing

you cannot resist.

 

Sometimes I lack buoyancy,

too absorbed in the middle depths

to find my place

around this table

in this circle of friends

to float into maletalk

and come back to the pack

where some part of me is at home.

 

Written 10-30-13

 

Acorns          Print this poem only

 

How do I see your face?

Is it trapped in the images

floating in the eye of my mind?

 

Or in the sidewalk's stress grove

like the acorns lined there in a row

or the fallen oak leaf astride?

 

How does it feel to be so trapped?

Are you as frustrated

as I with the rule of language

 

inadequate to speak

the  mystery of your heart

and the bright vacancy where you reside?

 

Or is it my blindness

where I am trapped

unable to find you free:

 

in the luxury of trees, quiet of clouds,

joy of daisies, drift of dreams,

and ripples of mountain streams?

 

The tilt of my head is down

and all I need is looking up

to see the mother oak

 

of those acorns

or look within to find

the wealth of life

 

the limitless source

and the sigh of peace

at the core of me.

Written 11-18-13

 

 

 

 

A Man Named Jim         Print this poem only

 

About to meet a man named Jim

I don’t know if he’s fat or slim

but I’ll look for a guy

with a glint in his eye

who stands tall and is full of vim.

 

Written 11-22-13

 

 

 

 

 

Arise         Print this poem only

 

From arms of Elm that dip and sway

like gold dust in the morning's glow

the leaves drift and fall away

dancing like amber snow.

 

They depart their mother tree

with momentary flying

to form a rippled showy sea

and take their place of dying.

 

How fathomless the wisdom of fall

in its gentle brave goodbye

as summer answers the call

to fly as frost draws nigh. 

 

Would that I could grieve so well

with such an admirable grace

when I am called not to dwell

in my snug and comfortable place.

 

When change comes for no reason

I feel confusion and surprise

let me embrace the new season

and let poetry in progress arise.


Written 11-7-13

 

 

 

 

 

Faces          Print this poem only

 

How do you feel about your face?

Do you like the texture of your skin

how the contours fill that space,

the size of your nose the shape of your chin?

 

You’re in a room with your mate

you count just two people there

two amounts of volume and weight

but how many faces to that pair?

 

You say “Well of course there are two.”

But notice how your mate changes

from the ball park to the pew

how different are the exchanges

 

between lovers or buds at a bar.

And what does your face look like

when unseen and alone in your car

or after that terrible third strike?

 

Two people but twenty faces

or thirty or a hundred and three.

I wonder if you can see the traces

of my crazy beloved family tree.

 

Do you see on my surface the wear and tear,

life’s lingering and tattered debris

and wonder wonder where

the other me’s might be?

 

I remember once being stooped over

with my face in my hands

wishing for a meadow of clover

but trapped in my shadow lands,

 

and a man clattered by

asked me if I was alright

I jerked up and smiled at the guy

and abandoned my face --- to be polite.

 

I left my face in my palms

the face I left when interrupted

from my dark and desperate psalms -

that face forever corrupted.

 

How many faces under my sun

is not as important you see

as whether I honor each one

as a stunning and sterling part of me.

 

Author's Note:  I bow in the direction of Rainer Maria Rilke who was the inspiration for this poem.

Written 10-7-13

 

 

 

Grow in the dark         Print this poem only

 

Sometimes I am a daisy

bobbing in the sun comfortable and lazy

Sometimes I am a mushroom

in a cave in the gloom

but even in the darkness I know

I can take root and grow.

 

Written 11-4-13

 

 

 

 

New Can of Coffee         Print this poem only

 

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 on a cold winter’s morn.

 

It ignores inner constraints

penetrates points of pleasure

hidden deep and unnoticed

until it engulfs me

the aroma of

this new can of coffee.

 

Written 11-22-13

 

 

A Night Without Pity          Print this poem only

 

Sometimes it lays like a gray cloud

or a thin unseen shroud

while I explore the badlands of sleep

and dive into its murky deep.

 

Under the covers with me

my parents and their family tree

infiltrate the land of my dreams

with hoarse moans and muffled screams

 

float and wrap their reins

round my neck and in my veins.

The guilt, anxiety and fear

from the womb and year after year

 

were well (if unwittingly) taught

and appear when I wake unsought

like ghosts from ancient pasts

in dramas with shadowy casts.

 

But slowly my conscious mind

stirs to tinker, twist, and untwine

me from the sweaty slimy grip

of my dark and unwanted trip.

 

Just as surely as mama’s fears reside

hidden and dormant inside

I stand on shoulders of light

and bravely I take flight

 

from that night without pity

to a glistening awakened city

where progress and grace stand high

and love and choice and spirit fly.

 

Dedicated to my cousin Rodger as he navigates his night.

 

Written 9-23-13

 

 

 

Planted          Print this poem only

 

Sometimes I am a daisy

bobbing in the sun comfortable and lazy

Sometimes I am a mushroom

in a cave in the gloom

but even in the darkness I know

I can take root and grow.

 

Written 10-22-13

 

 

 

 

 

Profusion of Earth          Print this poem only

 

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 on 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.

Written 11-22-13

 

Thanksgiving Grace         Print this poem only

 

Today we thank God for the Mills

and for our travels o’er the hills

for all these holidays and years

for food and laughs and even tears.

 

New babies and their parents too

experiences we’ve been through

sometimes we thought we were alone

that hope and tenderness had flown.

 

And then we get a call or think

about when we were on the brink

and someone in this family

reached out in friendly charity.

 

Through darkness and through times of fear

when things were troubled or unclear

we found each other in the mire

and knew that there was something higher

 

that held together this fine clan:

It’s love and God who help us stand

and hand in hand they hold us nigh

our bond that no one can deny.

 

With thankful hearts we stand and bow

for blessings past and abundance now

for us and those not in this place

we pray for love and strength and grace.

 

Author’s Note:  This is one of several prayers I have written to read at our Thanksgiving dinner generously hosted by my Sister and Brother-in-law Anita and Roger Mills.


Written 11-28-13

 

 

 

 

 

That moment before the thrill is gone         Print this poem only

 

Ah! how I cherish

that moment before the thrill is gone

when I am swept up

into the alert and captivating rush,

 

that moment before the mundane grasps my ankles

and pulls me down

slowing to a trickle

the fizzy wizard

of my attention

the razor sharp focus

that relieves the madness

and slows the scattered electrons

racing through the wiring 

between my ears,

that moment before the slowing of my breath

and the flattening of the waves.

 

That luscious moment is indelible

and sneaks back

to rescue me

from the painful plodding pace of reality,

a rescue I do not need

but I do so want.

 

This glassy-eyed wanting is so alive

it seems cellular, bone and muscle.

But it is a fraud

masquerading

as a knight waving the glittering banner of truth.

Sometimes I reach and grasp it

and plant it in well-tilled fields,

convince myself

and practice its blissful proposition

in idle increments.

 

And with practice

barely thinking

I chase that glittery ideal

until I fall into its thrilling abyss.

 

And then

in the moment after the thrill is gone

and my fall is complete

I stumble around the enveloping void

no razor sharp focus or fizzy wizard

to rescue me.

 

And there in that darkness

exposed in my naked weakness

I can see clearly

my insufficiency

brokenness

and need.

I can see clearly

only in the darkness

my no self.

In that moment of acceptance

in that space between the void and my choice

is grace and Creation

and a moment of salvation.

Written 10-1-13

 
2020 Copyright by Glenn Currier