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by Glenn Currierfiligree of blind surf
heaping waves of joy
upon the knighted moon
full of boundless puddled rays
and fathoms of furry diamonds
you baffle my dominoes
falling upward into the sky
leaning right then left not knowing
just flowing with white and dotted wings
into the gold dusty heaven
weaving in and out of clouds and banks of laughter
willing servants of daisies and purple iris eyelids
opening wide
lashes stuck in curved might
not the tunneled visionaries
never minding what is right
never leaving doors open when they can be closed
to keep out the dirty little artists
who care not what they create
vulnerable in their yawning nakedness
those little ones lost in a storm
found in the tsunami's waking morning
folded in upon the sandy seabed
eons of filtered pirates and dead dragons
rotting there to nourish little baby crustaceans
on the first ripples of their journey
water water water
blue and white swirling around my head
like cirrus clouds against an azure sky
ducking angels sent by God
for popes lost in the alchemic mines of law
never discerning the sun and freshness of life
open wide your mouths receive the Word
of your Body the Body you have forgotten
like Constantine's rumbling hordes
and crusading bands flinging their capes
into the horizon of darkness
and the empty power
at the bottom of the rusty drum
mixing with toxic goo bubbling there
"Hear Me you children of mine
your beauty blinds me to all your pretensions
all your fortune-filled predictions
all the sins you can think of closed in your brown isolate world
you cannot sway me from loving you
my tears are for your bright innocence
buried deep in the splendor of your souls."
04/25/2005 Author's Note: This is an experiment. It is pretty much a stream of words that came into my head and my mind's eye, not knowing what they mean exactly, just trying to be open and free...
Posted on 04/26/2005
Copyright © 2025 Glenn Currier
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 04/26/05 at 01:13 PM Being a dirty little artist myself, the difference being, I do care what I create and would never condemn, whatever that creation was, but that it was just that, a creation and an extention and the expression of an artist being and doing what was initate in him or her by the Great Creator himself or herself, I can well relate to the not leaving the door open so they can be closed. ponderous stuff, Glenn. |
| Posted by Max Bouillet on 04/30/05 at 10:00 PM A stream of consciousness that takes on a deific tone at the end. Strong images that freshen the verse and pelt the reader with different emotions. Great read. |
| Posted by Thomas K. Hunt on 05/02/05 at 03:01 AM A very beautiful mind trip........ |
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