SURREAL ESTATE PETS

The doghead with human body (or should

we say human body with doghead) shows

how snooping through lost foggy boneyards could

double for digging up dark graveyard rows

of corporate types left for dead. How nice

for dogheads (snazzed in three-piece suits) to paw

at earth as if searching for souls on ice

or bond thugs drowned in underwater awe

of empty houses no one can market.

Watchdogheads (like Buddhists) pay attention

to praise what’s surreal, then sniffling bark it

to anyone in earshot (or vision

called eyeshot) on point toward that empty lot

like it’s a subdivision (but it’s not).

Roger Armbrust

October 30, 2012

NIGHT’S RAINDROPS ON WINDOWPANES

Streetlights ignite crystals to jeweled stars.

Tilt your head slightly and constellations

appear and disappear: high-heeled slipper

shimmers, transposes to twirling baton

to anteater to Hermes fastening

his flaming sandal. Look left and you’ll see

glazed galaxies glisten, fascinating

as reading bright future in fantasy

of new love’s eyes. A lone passing car light

imitates Halley’s comet flashing Morse

code through centuries of searching vast night.

A single melting planet, its slow course

a growing glow, predicts what dawn will bring,

shouldering through thick clouds as it's rising.

Roger Armbrust

October 14, 2012

ANATOMY

It is perhaps how I separate you

from crowds surrounding us in selected

rows. Or how I trace serene attitude

of your hand, your gentle grace reflected

by resting it on couch’s crown like swan’s

wing curled in sleep. Or how I focus eyes

on your eyes as you focus on stark dawn

of honest words. Or how your smile implies

you’re pleased to see me. I dissect every

motion, every pause. That’s what poets do.

I do it because cosmos cleverly

unites our essence in such subtle views,

I might miss you. Like my briefest acclaim:

Your cheek. My shoulder. Your soft voice. My name.

Roger Armbrust

October 10, 2012

DIVING AND GAZING

An insatiable curiosity

about the world at large speaks continents

of grace, open mind, pure velocity

of thought and feeling. What brings contentment

to the falling skydiver just might please

the poet gazing at distant body

hurtling in air toward him, sudden release

of soft parachute now floating steady

as a jellyfish in ocean, tulip

in full bloom, or his late aunt’s umbrella

protecting his small-boy frame from rain, tips

of his fingers tense as a novella’s

climax as he reaches toward the diver

and clear beauty her landing delivers.

Roger Armbrust

October 1, 2012