DARK MORNING

I rise in dark morning, lava burning
through my body, my mind’s maniacal
editing session steeped in lost yearning
for you and yet beyond you, radical
voices screaming and whispering rumors
of what we’ve been and may become. I must
write it out now while fire brings light. No more
images spewing relentless. No rust
coating cold memory. Record the storm.
And yet as I write, I’m hearing again
Dvořák’s Cypresses, feel healing calm
surround me, caress me through gentle rain
of violins, reminding again how
all brings prayer: rhythms of words, music’s flow.

Roger Armbrust
November 29, 2010

VISION

Sometimes when I close my eyes, I’m floating
suddenly beneath strange pulsating sea
calming yet electrifying, something
like bright cloud yet not cloud surrounding me
in vibrating rainbow light. I feel you
with me, love, though you’re gliding out of sight
somewhere in our mystic ocean, its hues
a dream spectrum of mystery, like night
and morning weaved in silent meteors
blazing in slender streaks through gray-blue space.
Then I somehow sense something like splendor
of your psyche, me suspended in grace
of your eye’s iris, my soul free of fear,
and through your magic sight my vision’s clear.

Roger Armbrust
November 27, 2010

GINGER

Yes, I bow to his greatness, yet still I
watch just you, flowing in your feather dress,
mirroring his every move, and I sigh
when he enfolds you, delicate caress
so natural to your ballroom ballet.
You gaze and seem to adore him, then glance
away as you float toward floor, briefest sway
to your curved form, then stop, sensual dance
turned to still photo. You trust his holding
you with single hand completely. He lifts
you. Together you whirl, leap as one, bring
your lovemaking to an end—artist’s gift
to all—stroll in graceful steps to that wall
where you lean, stare with love. Again I fall.

Roger Armbrust
November 25, 2010

SPEAKING IN MANY WAYS

I whisper to you with song lyrics, call
softly through links to my sonnets, offer
prayers to our intelligent loving All
to heal and guide you through spirit’s softer,
easier way. It’s raining tonight, pure
gentle chorus seeming to echo how
mind, body and soul form chanting contours
of our days, speaking in many ways: Vows
sometimes, sometimes suggestions, tearful pleas
for distant days past and future, laughing
sighs as we recognize ourselves at ease,
rising from our present fog. It’s raining
tonight. Oak trees glisten like jeweled hills.
Car lights guide dark, hissing shells. Then it’s still.

Roger Armbrust
November 24, 2010

YOU STAYING WITH ME

My feelings you may never realize,
these sonnets you may never see. My thoughts
of you when fading night turns to sunrise
and I too rise, your smiling vision caught
up in my psyche and calmly welcomed
there like an old friend caressed so warmly
before holiday’s fireplace. Your grace comes
so briefly and yet reverberates, flees,
then returns to walk with me through countless
days. How do I account for you staying
with me through these sacred hours, my eyes blessed
with your essence? Surely constant praying
to my higher power confirms your kind
spirit’s presence, consecrating my mind.

Roger Armbrust
November 23, 2010

I REST IN YOUR SADNESS

I rest in your sadness as our earth rests
in dusk, aware of night. I rest in your
joy as ocean rests in dawn, hints of crests
mirroring sky’s great light. I rest in pure
pores of your body lying still in late
afternoon, Liszt’s Dreams of Love pouring through
us, spirit’s phloem. I rest in palette
of your whispers, those brilliant colors you
blend into images of our soft calm.
I rest in your silken arms as a king
wrapped in scarves blessed by some archangel’s palm—
once touching gentle weavings—now stroking
our breasts. I rest in your soul’s divinity
as stars in cosmos caress infinity.

Roger Armbrust
November 22, 2010

LIFTING AND FALLING

This milky fog lifting past our great oaks
and pines will soon give way to dawn. This dawn
will soon lift subtle dew’s soft sea that soaks
fallen leaves and needles covering lawns
as we walk past Grace Church, St. Mary’s school
stretching for blocks—a compact corpse rising
to life in a couple of hours. This cool
wind sends leaves and needles falling. They sing
so softly. Listen, love. Pause with me here.
Hear this crowded chorus performing its
near-silent chant. Should we two humans fear
its descending dance? Mounting deposits
of cells no longer flowing? We’re moving
as one now, slow, meditating, loving.

Roger Armbrust
November 21, 2010

DIVERTIMENTO

You who come to me in moonlight over
this silver cloud sea, you who ride glowing
seashell defying all odds, my lover
in dreams golden fathoms deep, allowing
me lives within my life, please wait for me.
You who lead me out of mystified sleep
to magic fog veiling dawn’s reverie,
you who whisper sacred legends to keep
us alive, keep me. You with angel hair
flowing, ether breath blowing all knowing
into my yawning mouth, sealing your care,
your glistening-mist arms lifting, showing
me distant stars where lost psyches repair,
pause, caress me, lift me from here to there.

Roger Armbrust
November 20, 2010

ANGELS HEAR YOU

Angels hear you when you pray. I hear them
in their singing when they sing of you, their
voices majestic wind chimes—Seraphim
surely, six wings in rhythm with your prayer.
I can’t tell what they sing. I’ve never learned
angelese—their syllables blending tongues
from Christians, Jews, Islam, all souls concerned
with petitioning higher power, sung
in single chorus. Still, in their joyous
messages I seem to make out your name.
I seem to sense how Virtues enjoy us
humans while their chants of praise spread your fame.
I catch the sound hands—your hands—their smooth angles
spread like gentle wings: envy of all angels.

Roger Armbrust
November 18, 2010

YOUR BIRTHSTONE

Astrologers assign you beryl, gem
of hexagonal crystals, its colors
varied as our visions—a diadem
stars would decorate in heliodor,
morganite, aquamarine, emerald,
even gold. Jewelers offer you citrine
or translucent topaz, stone to herald
clarity I saw in your eyes that time
you spoke to me at Crazee’s. Remember?
(I like your birthday rising up five suns
before my clarity date—November
day I stumbled into graceful region
to calm my soul.) Ancient mystics would bestow you
with pearl: its birthplace like your eyes—the sea’s gray-blue.


Roger Armbrust
November 17, 2010

RAINFALL

Rainfall trods past like distant troops tonight.
Raindrops pile in blurred puddles reflecting
lightning strikes of streetlights. Where is your light
tonight? I’d stride through pellets deflecting
off pavement like senses bombarding our
brief lives if I felt you’d welcome my soaked
body, that your body wouldn’t cower
to my slick, warm arms, let my torso cloak
you as I’d stroke you soft as gardeners
tend flower petals, let you enfold me
as water encloses swimmers, tender
response to their smooth, rhythmic reverie.
Do you see me outside your door? I call
from your curb: Let me hold you in rainfall!

Roger Armbrust
November 15, 2010

GRASPING

for you just won’t do, nor should it. When my
body moves toward you, let it be our dance,
waltz perhaps, or tango. Whenever I
reach for you, let our fingers touch, slight glance
of palm on palm as we pirouette, our
eyes blazing, mirrored joy of exploding
stars. Let our graceful limbs ascend and pour
like spiritual waterfalls, floating
over shining floor, bright as great legends
called forth in song. If ever I do grasp
you, oh let my open mind comprehend
your blessed, unflinching gaze, my psyche clasp
your gentle face as sails catch winds, seething
in passionate moisture of your breathing.

Roger Armbrust
November 15, 2010

GRACE

How many gazers mightst thou lead away,
If thou wouldst use the strength of all thy state!

Your form, from a distance, portrays power
of divine gift—how limber limbs, figure
curved classic draw eyes’ respect like towers
constructed for praising goddesses. Your
eyes control our universe, it seems, from
your face’s oval frame as souls face you
at close range, curtain of golden hair prom-
ising graceful stages—gentle venues
offering romantic comedy, smart
drama to crush the heart. Lips’ curved platform
displays more than words express. Still it starts
always with grace, lifting you to conform
with light, revealing honest essence—glow
letting me applaud you more than you know.

Roger Armbrust
November 12, 2010

WARRIOR BRINGING PEACE

for Major Tim Williams

In 1919, history books tell
us, under Amanullah Kahn, the Third
Anglo-Afghan War began. Now we’ve heard
how a warlord of similar name fell
last November. And now how you, no way
to tell the future, went down from Shindand
to Zerco Valley, hope in heart, to say,
“Let us have peace here.” And how warlords’ hands
reached out in peace, exchanged Holy Korans,
silencing screams of death between the tribes.
And now you stand in green robe with gold strands,
gold medal over your heart, words inscribed
to honor your bringing peace, your blue eyes
looking somewhere. Perhaps home: the great prize.

Roger Armbrust
March 5, 2007

KEEP CLOSE

dear shadow, but please don’t overshadow
me. Keep close, dear light, yet refrain from bright
blinding sight of you. In deep blue halo
of your ocean eye, flow each day and night’s
focus to our primary purpose—sane
action rising from earth’s each breathing cell
sharing spirit. Keep close to heart our main
line of contact that we may smile and tell
of gentle days, of shadow’s tears, laughter’s
light, how lips’ horizons guided us through.
Keep close through silent prayer so long after
our brave slender hands have waved farewell, you
will feel close to me, texture’s tender care
as warm as spring sun, as vital as air.

Roger Armbrust
November 11, 2010

TIME

Giving slight time to sorrow, I refuse
to borrow but a bit from denial.
Showering precious hours with song, I use
melody to measure honest trials
of time, tones of my poems both recalling
and calling up images of you—my
method of celebrating beauty. Sing
of my muse, gentle wind, I intone. Fly
to caress her in sleep with my deepest
mantras of care. Carry us to your heart’s
canyon, fertile spirit’s field of deep rest.
Since selfish time grasps and holds us apart,
I won’t base our continuum on years,
but laughter, your glistened prisms of tears.

Roger Armbrust
November 10, 2010

EVERY POET SEES A MUSE

Every poet sees a muse. I see you.
Your oval face, pointed chin, sacred skin,
slender brows crowning eyes of piercing blue
caught me off guard during lunch that day when
you suddenly appeared, amazed to meet
me, you said, though I was the soul amazed.
I gazed at you, prayed to appear discreet
as we spoke, though your magic rhythms raised
mystical images, subtle rhymes. Soon
you disappeared like mist rising to sky.
Yet I watch you daily in shadows framed
by our small space where honest words abide.
Now, lying by myself in darkest night
I’d swear you’re here, lovely in candlelight.

Roger Armbrust
November 7, 2010

LOCAL HERO

You don’t know this. Tonight we watched this film
together. Smiled softly to its gentle
tone. Laughed till we cried at eccentric whims
of loving souls. Cried till we laughed, able
to caress Scottish brogues and honesty’s
showering scenes with color and light to
challenge aurora borealis’s
ballet. Lying on my flowered couch, you
turned to watch me watch you until I rose
to join you. We sighed at neighbors strolling
the beach, moaned our oh no with the hero’s
leaving. Sat in silence, credits rolling.
We held one another like lovers do.
You don’t know this. But, then, maybe you do.

Roger Armbrust
November 9, 2010

I WONDER

if you ever wonder if I wonder
about you at dawn. Silent, I listen
to Blackberry Winter, distant thunder
of mountain dulcimer blend and glisten
with violins. Sweet tension. It rushes
to tap dance as they circle in ballet
surrounding us, you and I. Small thrushes
soar around us like brief spirits, blue-gray
in morning glow, land in brushes to test
early fruit, its unripe essence frosted
jade sculpture. I’d pluck jewels to invest
in earrings for your Christmas, each embossed
with couplets of my care for you. Still, I
leave them to mature to black pearls, soft-bright
rare treasure, like your soft eyes in moonlight.

Roger Armbrust
November 9, 2010

LAST NIGHT I DREAMED

we sat by St. Mary’s pool, you leaning
on narrow diving board, your legs dangling
like gold wands toward blue water, I meaning
to praise you, yet blurting as if strangling,
I’ve been thinking about you a lot. Your
blue eyes teared, looked straight ahead, not at me,
slim body slowly sliding to water,
then underwater, my eternity
of imprisoned voices gasping, Oh no!
I dove in, treaded water, watched you rise,
floated in wonder. How your soft smile glowed,
matching gentle eyes. In flowing surprise,
we swam side by side. Though we never spoke,
we seemed somehow to pray. Then I awoke.

Roger Armbrust
November 7, 2010

PEOPLE KEEP GOING

I try to make them stop, wave them over
to cracked curb, or thrust my arms out, shouting
“Halt!” I even scream, “Hey, I’m your lover!”
Hurl my body in dark road, lie pouting,
awaiting crushing wheels. But only hear
tires howling, angry wail of horns, tongue blasts
billowing flaming curses. Through charred tears
I view their blurring carcasses streak past
like flaring rainbows. Then silence. Lying still,
still alone, I start to listen. Sense clicks
of crickets, skylarks’ litany fill
clean breeze, scent of distant pines, discern flicks
of sun. Raise my head. See far-off hills, fair
and emerald. Rise to make my way there.

Roger Armbrust
November 6, 2010

1492

The year Columbus set off from Palos
de la Frontera, his voyage blessed by
Isabelle, Pietro Torrigiano
broke Michelangelo’s nose, it’s bridge nigh
a knot in the legend’s future portraits.
By October, Chris found San Salvador
as Il Divino, his artistic fate
painted by Lorenzo’s death, set off for
home. He cuts into corpses, studies their
muscles’ structure and grace, sculpts Hercules,
learns later how it’s lost in France. Near year’s
end, carves a wooden crucifix, Jesus’
naked body a slender reed. Christmas
morning, Santa Maria runs aground
on Hispaniola. She’s left abandoned.

Roger Armbrust
November 5, 2010

PORTMANTEAUX

I keep repeating it in a whisper
as I lie in bed, rhythm vibrating
darkness as if I’ll somehow disappear
resolving into foreign countries, bring
luggage beside me in each, Greece perhaps
and Germany, or distant orbits like
Venus and our moon. Now set as two chaps
wandering different auras, psyches
surrounded by forms blending images,
we echo their evolving meldings: smog,
brunch, woons for our icemilk. Then in muterage
we sight gerrymandering, napalm, log
our brief lists of morphings much less rueful,
fill our ginormous needs to feel clueful.

Roger Armbrust
November 2, 2010