OFFERING HELP

It’s that oak tree dominating bright view
through my writing room’s north double window.
Pin oak maybe, or Sawtooth (I’m no true
scientist, fake one either). When I grow
tired of my monitor, old fingers sore
from fiery keyboard dance, those right words slow
to fall in line, I’ll gaze out at its score
of sunsoaked (dawn, noon, or dusk) curios:
sometimes bouquets of hands reaching toward me
as if their caress will solve all. Sometimes
winter-starved bare limbs, fingers adoring
last light with clickings like ancient wind chimes.
Sometimes lapping tongues capturing manna,
or dragons’ heads nodding uh-huh, uh-huh.

Roger Armbrust
July 17, 2009

PERRY’S LAMENT

Great Caesar’s ghost! Are you blind as Homer?
Must I explode like a star over this confound-
ed mess? Your byline reeks of misnomer!
Crime reporter? When news breaks you’re never around!
Last week, when history’s greatest hero
grabbed a speeding bullet with his hand on
Metropolis’s main street…you scored a zero!
He leaps The Daily Planet, nabs a felon’s
helicopter…and where are you? An eye exam!
Oh, your gray suit’s always pressed. Your raven
hair’s cute forelock lures Lois’s leer. A sham!
Lois red-eyes stories! You just stay well-shaven!
She digs the dirt! Sniffs out stench with a hound’s obsession!
She’s got the strength of…Kent, you’re in the wrong profession!

Roger Armbrust
July 16, 2009

WHISPERS

Unwanted sudden surprises like that
stringy, rippling purple vein—the one not
there yesterday—climbing my ankle, fat
curling the hip, or old muscle scar shot
loose during a light workout. She always
sneaks up after a handful of cocktails:
Some great pros’cutor you blew it, she says,
hissing rapid-fire in my ear, her frail
hand punching my arm…‘member ‘89
drunk bum burn up in shack near building mall
you never check ol’ high school buddies fine
office tower they rise up there…That’s all.
She passes as I turn in the drive, same
as always, murmuring our grandkids’ names.

Roger Armbrust
July 15, 2009

SKELLIG MICHAEL

I have sneaked by night off County Kerry’s
coast to this forbidden rock, stark moonlight
my guide through spewing waves meant to carry
me here. I ascend grass and slate, where slight
slip could send me tumbling into crags and
dark, slashing Atlantic below. This path,
dubbed Christ’s Saddle, seems a broken headband
of thorns, turns to a blind corner, sea’s wrath
now my only sight. Patient till dawn, I
rise and inch my way up thin stones, pausing
to pray at sun peering through Needle’s Eye,
pass bare Oratory Terrace, causing
me to find brick cells where my footsteps cease.
I kneel, praising this penance I call peace.

Roger Armbrust
July 14, 2009

OKANAGAN

We have floated the river from its lake
source south, sighting Oliver grape vineyards
then on to Osoyoos, where we forsake
our voyage for shore, offer our regards
to natives as we forge up Anarchist
Mountain to view fertile valley. They smile
and call to us in Salashan. We’ve kissed
in sunset, held each other, watched curled miles
of water gather its golden glow. Love,
shall we stay here and live like ancient ones,
hunt and gather from the land, rise above
our stark greed and waste back home, grow alone
together, nurture one another, try
to conjure peace with chants to starlit sky?

Roger Armbrust
July 13, 2009

SONG: KILL MYSELF ALL OVER AGAIN

I kill myself all over again
kill myself all over again

Intoxication
much like taxation
and masturbation
just brings frustration
still I kill myself all over again
kill myself all over again

I’m goin’ out tonight
my body’s all uptight
filled with confusing fright
I wanna have some fun
I plan to just drink one
now the marathon’s begun
and I kill myself all over again
kill myself all over again

Jill says she’s gonna
smoke marijuana
Bill says he’ll join her
for marijuana
I don’t wanna
smoke marijuana
still I kill myself all over again
kill myself all over again

I stagger way out back
to find my old friend Jack
in a doorway smokin’ crack
I slur Gimme that crack
and I kill myself all over again
kill myself all over again

In trips our buddy Beth
We snort her crystal meth
I shake and fight for breath
while we laugh and scream of death
and I kill myself all over again
kill myself all over again

Now I’m really whacked
so it’s fine when I hear Jack
wheeze I got a bag of smack
so we stumble to his shack
and I kill myself all over again
kill myself all over again

Intoxication
much like taxation
and masturbation
just brings frustration
and I kill myself all over again
kill myself all over again
kill myself all o…
kill myself a…
kill m…
ki…


Roger Armbrust

LOOK FOR AMERICA

1968, I guess. Dad and I
finish watching some TV show. Surprise
as pro announcer lilts what’s next: Now! Si-
mon & Garfunkel…(quickly Dad’s blue eyes
glare)…Look for America! My pop’s voice
growls, Oh no! I counter, Oh yes! Dad, you’ll
like these guys. They’re balladeers. Mellow, nice
music. He relents. Halfway through he’s pulled
in, even laughs when Simon grumbles how
he hates his own 59th Street Bridge Song
as his guitar strums its intro. And now
Dad’s eyes tear to Homeward Bound. He belongs
with them. Then he turns to me with soft joy:
You know what, son, he sighs. They’re good ol’ boys.

Roger Armbrust
July 9, 2009