FIRE FALLING AWAY

What saddens me so about sunset? Fire
falling away can symbolize too much.
Passion fading in old age. Dwindling pyre
darkening open mind. Softening clutch
of your blazing hands following climax.
Flaming hearts simply running out of time.
Love, we’ve lain together, bodies relaxed
as silk scarves gracing shoulders of Wutai
Shan, watching night cover wavering light,
leaving us to mercy of stars. We’ve gazed
at Cape Reinga’s twilight, gasped in delight
at Tasman Sea’s glowing blood red, amazed
as we whispered in unison, Let’s pray
these leaping spirits gently lead our way.

Roger Armbrust
July 30, 2009

BIRTHDAY PRESENT

My old love’s gotten hitched, it seems. Her blog,
dated last Wednesday, sang out, We’re getting
married on Saturday. Such words could flog
a normal man, crack old scars, bloodletting
of what-might-have-beens. Here’s the irony:
Saturday was my birthday. My present
came with her next line: Called matrimony’s
approach her life’s grandest weeks. Can’t resent
that, knowing her: courage of a canyon’s
tightrope walker. Mind, talent and beauty
to match. Back when she had to abandon
ship, I felt I’d drown, sad captain’s duty.
A decade’s sailed by. While I still miss her,
I pray she thrives…but wish I could kiss her.

Roger Armbrust
July 28, 2009

LIGHTNING BOLTS

Neon skeletons flash dancing, distant
descent from dark-blue cumulonimbus
appearing and disappearing, instant
glances turning ocean surrounding us
to flaming sequins while you and I, love,
tremble on this dock like angels, humble
witnesses to creation, all above
ultra-violent violet—tumble,
rumble and rush of burning thunderheads.
We who came to celebrate sunrise now
know value of kneeling in breathless dread
to gods’ clashing egos, our arms somehow
enfolding each other, our pleading chords
prayers of yielding to their exploding swords.

Roger Armbrust
July 26, 2009

LUISA

Luisa lies sleeping, soft on my chest.
Your Luisa. Who I nearly cover
with both hands. So small. Three months old I’d guess.
Yet her breath matching my breath, like lovers
in rhythm. Earth lovers at peace with earth.
She sings in her sleep: her name and your name.
Too soft to hear, yet so clear. Sings of birth
from your body. Deep from your heart she came
almost without warning. Almost a dream.
I’m almost afraid to touch her smooth skin
lest I tarnish its color of pure cream.
I’m almost tempted to…I do pretend
she’s ours. Just for tonight, with this soft kiss.
Our Luisa. I smile as I write you this.

Roger Armbrust
September 9, 2003

“I’LL CHECK MY SCHEDULE AND CALL YOU”

Thursday’s sun was circled with haze.
From the sixteenth floor, it looked like red froth
falling into the Hudson. My silent gaze,
covered by some blurry cloth,
looked out to the south.
I saw your soft mouth
in the river’s curve.
My body was one living nerve.

The day crawled. You never called.
Still the phones howled like wolves.
The intercom droned through useless stalls
where frigid hands stayed covered with gloves.
Al said he had the flu.
Tom discussed the next issue.
I thought about life and choices.
I listened for you in distant voices.

Surprised to see me working late
Jan asked why I’d stayed so long.
I smiled like an ad for dental plates.
I danced and answered her in song.
She laughed. We spoke of promises kept.
On the bus ride home, I slept.
At Paddy’s, Bob talked of Oregon.
I watched your chair, and drank one.

I stepped outside. Street lights glowed
like your eyes. Friday it snowed.

Roger Armbrust

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

PERIHELION AND APHELION

When I turn far from you, love, I’m somehow
diminished, though mere phantom to your eye,
I’m sure. When I orbit closer, I bow
my head, body spinning with Nijinsky’s
grace, honoring your briefest audience,
focus of my eternal ellipse, soul
powerless to stop wandering space, tense
with fear of losing myself, my lone role
in our universe. You understand, I
know: It’s not distance deciding seasons
within me. Rather, gentle tilt of my
head and feet in endless dance determines
chill in my chest, my thighs’ constant burning,
fingers pressed to wet lips as I’m turning.

Roger Armbrust
July 6, 2009

READING LAMP

Does your brilliance know how you help me grow?
You brighten dim study and leisure space,
dark bedroom of night, gracious, loving glow
turning barren cold to warm holy place
for greeting greatest souls of earth. Shakespeare
holds court while William James chants of faith turned
to action. Akhmatova hosts small sphere
of clear voices old as Homer, modern
as Charlie Smith, earthy as Frost. Lowell
whispers his confession to Sexton as
they sip wry whiskey. It may not go well,
or it may. Still we let them raise a glass
to the Muse, her slender frame now in sight,
fiery eyes exploding within your light.

Roger Armbrust
July 2, 2009