NEW YEAR’S EVE

WQXR celebrates its
classical countdown, flowing from Wagner’s
Gotterdammerung to Berlioz’s
Fantastique to Mozart in g minor.
Two hours from now their marathon will end
with Beethoven, always Beethoven. We
flow with them, love, turning on our brave bed
natural as earth through ages, flesh free
of clothing except for each other, warmed
by our passion and rest, and music passed
down through aeons. We whisper how it charmed
kings and queens, how these melodies will last
long after we’re gone. But this night we trust,
with knowing smiles, they flow only for us.

Roger Armbrust
December 31, 2009

THE COLD’S DEEPEST PLUNGE

We’ve known it beyond those frozen moments
before the bonfire ignited after
our young hayrides. Remember, love, foment
of pouring flames toward heaven, our laughter
following bellowing smoke turning stars
to charred martyrs, once witnesses to our
rolling, uncushioned kisses and bizarre
caresses within that leaping boudoir.
Oh, let’s find those old wagons, sweet refuge
from authority, where we shielded hearts
from knifing winds with crushed hugs, knowing huge
blazes awaited, unaware we’d start
too soon fearing tyrant paychecks and bills,
fiery smiles fading to stark stares that kill.

Roger Armbrust
December 30, 2009

WINTER SOLSTICE

December 21st, near 6 pm,
you stand on Fifth Avenue, gaze immersed
in Bergdorf Goodman’s vast “Compendium
of Curiosities.” My mind forms verse,
not from etched, reflective reveries of
glowing glass throughout holiday windows,
but from watching you celebrate this trove
of art and artifacts. This eve bestows
winter solstice, love. All clocks mark this time,
though we’d never know now our sun stands still.
Snow clouds have rushed our night. Their stout forms climb
and mass, covering dusk’s light. Yet you fill
our space with stardust, praise crystal display
of unicorns. Your eyes chase chill away.

Roger Armbrust
December 29, 2009

WIDENING CIRCLES

Rilke wondered if he were a falcon,
storm, or great song. Bill Yeats’ second coming
complained his stirring bird couldn’t hearken
the falconer. I swirl here, love, sturming
through fir tree branches, books, and banal talk,
flicking page corners to hold simple thought,
find hope within a phrase, breathlessly stalk
others’ eyes to prove I’m alive. You caught
me on the building’s ledge at Christmas, knew
my ill intent, filled my hand with yours, stood
with me, invited minuet, then true
pirouettes of joy. Our spinning made wood
boards shake, the room’s walls swell, intense circles
sweeping wider, arms enclosing the world.

Roger Armbrust
December 28, 2009

HYMNS YOU NEVER HEAR

My silent songs of praise seem to follow
your every move. I celebrate your hands,
delicate as rain, aligning brief rows
of biscuits in buttered pans, rainbow bands
of roses among our school of vases.
Love, I offer mute paeans when you smile
at seeing me, your eyes brilliant phases
of moonlight, your soft kiss my chamomile,
instant taste of peace. When I sense you feel
pain or sadness, my being intones chants
of hope, prayers for help, simply to reveal
how I may salve your suffering. I dance
within to rhythms of your breathing, your
heartbeat, your slightest touch my saintly cure.

Roger Armbrust
December 25, 2009

CHRISTMAS CANDLE

Oh, how close I move to this glowing white
flame, stretching, flickering like a searing
saber nearly singeing my brow. Its light,
symbol of world’s salvation—appearing
a miracle floating on crimson wax
pool nearly cresting small tan wooden bowl—
suddenly softens, leans toward your relaxed
frame, love. Leans more, and I gaze into soul
of your candle eyes, their glowing white flames
singeing my frame, your candle smile calling
me to you, warm air caroling our names.
How close I move to you, our forms falling
as one, stretching, flickering like searing
sabers, world’s salvation all endearing.

Roger Armbrust
December 18, 2009

HOW DEEPLY WE LOVE

like our nurse’s needle drawing rich blood,
capsuling it to test our chances; or
our surgeon’s skilled scalpel saving our good
flesh while freeing our sockets of tumors,
gently resurrecting our blind eyes’ sight;
or ancient torchbearers descending through
shafts, faithfully bringing lost miners light.
We constantly heal each other, love, true
to our senses, sharing our secret vaults
of fear and longing, faith and confusion,
doubt and delight. It brings us to this, caught
in a blessed realm of passion and reason,
an endless depth lifting our souls to soaring
with what must be angels, singing, adoring.

Roger Armbrust
December 4, 2009

THE RAIN IS WRITING A POEM

Hear it telegraphing its metaphor,
love? Calling its falling an endless herd
of small ponies prancing (their hooves never
stampeding) across our yard. Every word
supports its rhythm, sends their dancing forms
forward, off across the countryside while
somehow remaining here with us. They’re charms
in its meter, dear. We believe its mild
voice whispering, its predicting our near
season when soft gaits glancing off our roof
gently signal landing, resting reindeer
lightly stamping, offering perfect proof
a saint will soon enter our house—even
here where we see no snow—bringing heaven.

Roger Armbrust
December 2, 2009

WHEN YOU SMILE…

…you may not realize how Sirius,
brightest of stars (its name Greek for searing),
grows brighter still. How brilliant Canopus—
its flame of white-hot sapphire appearing
in constellation Carina, jewel
of Argo Navis—energized by warm
rush of your glow, explodes: starlight fueled
by your inner sun reflected in charm
of your face. Please don’t fear as I tell you
this. Astronomers have sensed for a while
how, somewhere on earth, carbon burns into
neon, just as stars, through one woman’s smile.
They’ve testified in theses this is true,
confessing they don’t know who. But I do.

Roger Armbrust

TO HOLD YOU IN MY MIND

To hold you in my mind like a primrose
petal pressed under glass will just not do.
Better lily in clear pond floating close
as breath to clouds mirrored in water’s blue
reflection, as though blessed to float and fly
at once, ultimate life of freedom: What
we’ve longed for all this time. I can’t say why
I sit next to you, watch your motions, chat
one moment, speak heartfelt the next of friends,
family, body, spirit, our constant
thread of honesty curling through. You send
me to a new space, the outer you and
inner you flowing through my sacred door
like light, as though we’ve done this all before.

Roger Armbrust