Born to Paint: Two Brothers, Two Paths

  • Home
  • Archives
  • Profile
  • Subscribe
My Photo
Blog powered by Typepad

Search

Archives

  • September 2019
  • November 2017
  • September 2016
  • May 2015
  • September 2012
  • May 2012
  • February 2012
  • December 2011
  • November 2011
  • October 2011

Categories

See More
Subscribe to this blog's feed

The Poetry of Noble Wilbur Curry

Untitled Poem 1

If coarse voices outside our window

Are strange we fear them;

Hearing them we fear the one low

And different.

But the voice of a woman covers

Like a melody our fear.

Weirdly the male voices outside a window

Never have a sound that's soft or thin

When you're quiet in a room.

If you're quiet in a room you like it better

With no sound outside or in.

 

Untitled Poem 2

For the Mighty was lonely

And fearful, with Him only

To conemplate all

From His Kingdom wall.  

 

"With Me I want instead,"

A companion awhile-dead; 

From then continuously

Life and Death with Me.

 

"With Me I want to think"

A Being, and He to sink

In Death, and Life to send;

As otherwise I see an end.

 

Untitled Poem 3

 

I move slow and thoughtful among them

Unheeding: a flavored bed is the moss

And the floor of the forest.

 

The sky is like a blue glint

In a woman's black hair-

 

If leaf by leaf the blue

Is pressed reluctantly through

The trees, I lie and wait

For it's covering.

On my eyelids that close

I feel a touch

As if the storm, hovering

Is pleading to linger.

 

The greyness in the distance

Is an image of beauty,

Of travail done.

 

A Shower and a Forest

 

Two leaves pass apart-

Many leaves stir and glimpses

Between them tell of rain.

 

I ride a broad blown fancy

Before the rain and swing

Away alone-

Between the green, and streaks

Of the branches see the congregation

The hot winds have crowded

Seal grey in the sky-

 

Clouds are grey as a deer,

As an image of a fawn in a quiet forest.

 

Leaves that part tell of a spatter

Of rain, softly, a whisper of caresses

Through the warm slow breeze.

 

I guess just for you, and

For me at times I tell,

A closed wood is full

Of many, many things and a bell.

 

Beauty is a bell under hurried

Raindrops - a fierce and mellow

Wind driving.

 

Or Beauty is an image....

Is a woman.

 

Like a patter of feet the rain

Passes through the parted leaves,

Some creeping down the branches racing a squirrel,

Others falling straight with a diamond flash.

Some like the grasses curl

Fling themselves through the trees,

And fall together with a crash.

 

Jocelyn Curry Asher
Jocelyn Curry Asher
8 Following
6 Followers
Brookside Dog Care Dan Curry Deanss5 John Alex H. Loos Molly Hashimoto Marilyn McGuire Claire Russell

Pages

  • The Artistic Offspring of Noble Wilbur Curry: Patrick Frawley, Grandson
  • The Artistic Offspring of Wylie Warren Curry: David Warren Curry, Son
  • 20th Century Curry Family Homes in Columbus and Lakewood, Ohio
  • The Poetry of Noble Wilbur Curry
  • Partial Chronology of Exhibitions Which Included Noble Curry's Artwork
  • Noble Curry's Essays on Abstraction and Modernity in 20th Century Painting
  • Cleveland Plain Dealer Interview with Noble W. Curry
  • Born to Paint: Two Brothers, Two Paths
  • Powered by TypePad