STIPULATIONS

She constantly ties strings around fingers
of our relationship, reminders to
remain faithful when I need none. Lingers
in halls of intimacy—impromptu
quips of propriety flowing from lips
withered by worry, binding lovemaking
to bedroom floor with barbed wire, metal strips
cuffing our feet to keep us from shaking
loose and dancing. She fears we both may run
away, fleeing each other to escape
boredom, asphyxiation. We’ve begun
to erase metaphors from secret tapes.
Wear plastic name tags when we drive our cars:
Insurance to remember who we are.

Roger Armbrust
February 18, 2011

SUDDEN-DEATH

When my jumper in overtime glided
through the rim, only quivering webbed net,
life seemed to stop. Even the slab-sided
McConnell—greatest of our foes—who set
to block my shot but proved a step too late,
gawked in awe. A split second of silence,
then the fanatic five thousand earthquaked.
I rose to shoulders and rode existence
across victory’s great memory. My
brother Frank was grabbing my arm, shouting
You did it! I feared some shocked girl might spy
my jockstrap, so jerked my shorts, assuring
modesty. I recalled Mike, with easy breath,
sinking two foul shots leading to sudden-death.

Roger Armbrust
February 17, 2011

FEEDERS

My brother’s father-in-law, mid-nineties,
heard from his stalwart old California
high school how an athlete there recently
broke his 100-yard-dash record, a
rock that stood since the ’30s. He travelled
back to Sonoma Valley, was honored
by their prep hall of fame. Time has gaveled
him guilty of age, stolen his eyes, bled
him of his golf skills. His mountainous soul,
saint sensing all good in our universe,
settles him near his nursing-home window,
listening for swallows as they converse
at feeders his daughter hung from tree limbs,
the birds’ chirping calls like soft fairy hymns.

Roger Armbrust
February 16, 2011

VALENTINE SONNET: MELTING SNOW

bathes grass blades, turns hardened earth to moist loam,
all softened in welcoming warm sunlight.
Viewing this from my window, warmed in home
of your bathed glow, softened by gentle sight
of your eyes, I become a flaming field
of desire welcoming your raining flesh,
opening my arms, raising them to yield
to your sacred blizzard of delight, fresh
shield of your skin protecting me from all
assaults of this universe, my closing
arms protecting you from relentless fall
through loneliness. How softly now you sing
of two soul’s meeting, and I harmonize
softly, celebrate our hearts in our eyes.

Roger Armbrust
February 14, 2011

THIS SNOW

sweeping past my windows as if panicked.
This snow pausing and swirling, lingering
at my writing windows like ghost moths, quick
in observing me then fleeing, their wings
displayed in endless designs. This snow, it
seems, may never cease, rapturing our trees,
lawns, walls and roofs, and too soon deposit
crystal crust on all our windows, decree
our vision a jeweler’s blessing—peerless
reflections from nature’s prisms. This snow
entrancing my view and mood, my fearless
welcome of imagery, my chance to know
all things, soon will warm, melt, blur and quiver
to sacred water, caressed by rivers.

Roger Armbrust
February 9, 2011

YOUR NAME

The lantern lock secures bright flame bringing
light to our shoreline. Ebbing sea whispers
your name within my sight, ghost wind singing
it beyond me through black night like vespers
echoed by blessed saints. Within distant stars
I sense Morse code flashing blue-glow letters
of your name through galaxies seen as far
as Hydra’s supercluster. I’d better
pray, or fear your name repeated throughout
our universe may overtake my heart’s
rhythm, my psyche’s clear eye start to doubt
its reasoned vision. I must tear apart
this sonnet, its title calling your name,
unlock the lantern, let scraps feed its flame…
Yet if I do, I’ll love you just the same.

Roger Armbrust
February 6, 2011

NIGHT SNOW

Sheets of gold sheen under scattered street lights
have turned sloped brown-green yards to treasure fields.
Yellow-powder blaze from these lamps brings sight
of falling burnished coins—small glowing shields
dropped by legions of angels yielding from
on high to our soft prayers for peace of mind
and heart, our pleas for soul-cleansing kingdoms
within us. So this is why flakes in kind
silence descend around us, landing mute
as feathers, massing like glistening jewels,
honoring earth and us with blessed tribute—
nature’s bullion which land and crystal pools
will cherish for all. Now snow pours in pale
vast cascades, cloaking night in gleaming veils.

Roger Armbrust
February 4, 2011