MNEMOSYNE

You who make us most human, who grant us

power to reason, to recall, predict

and anticipate, who can enchant us

with your sacred spring, charge us with edicts

to portray gods through arts’ divine spirit:

Guide us with eternal light. Civilize

our sight and tongues. Though our hearts may fear it,

describe your nine nights of passion, dark skies

Zeus exploded with lightning as he’d thrust

his loins to yours. Describe your pain and joy

with bearing wise Calliope. Entrust

us with Erato’s lyre. Help us employ

Clio’s honored scroll, each Muse’s insight.

Bless us with glints of their creative might.

Roger Armbrust

November 30, 2012

TENDER IS THE NIGHT

No one in the world will ever know how

we swarm two bodies as one through rippling

shadows this night, the vast lake possessed now

only by our shivering selves. Crippling

cold should command us to cabin’s shelter,

yet we challenge fate as only lovers

crazed in disenchanting nature. Tell her

our burning torsos crave nurture’s cover

found in each other and her frigid flesh.

Tell her we sing through torrid breath of night,

of flaming moon, of stars etching dark mesh

of cosmos with our sacred names and flights

of souls who follow. Tell her she once knew

passion and it rises. Tell her thank you.

Roger Armbrust

November 30, 2012

ABOUT THE MOON

What you must know about the moon as we

walk this lake shore at midnight: Though it glows

flawless as pearl from our view, shadowy

claw scars cover its crust, mark how—below

surface—mantle and partial melt protect

solid inner core, much as rib cages

shield our hearts or calcium skull deflects

jabs at frail brain. Its reflection rages

toward us as Luna hurtled toward Nero,

having learned her temple blazed, demanding

his suicide, dubbed Vespasian hero

and then emperor. Your stare’s commanding

as a goddess while you listen. You glide

beside me, glisten, softly speak of tides.

Roger Armbrust

November 28, 2012

QUERIES

Are Thanksgiving turkeys ever grateful?

Do sacrificial lambs bleat they’re happy?

Can drunks love mornings following snootfuls?

Will old turtles one day make it snappy?

I age and ponder these ocean-deep thoughts

swimming like shark schools through my cranium.

I wonder why bad colds are even caught.

Do gerbils relate to geraniums?

Was that old woman in a shoe married

to a heel? Why does Humpty Dumpty crack

me up? Where do opera singers carry

tunes? When should you give a press agent flack?

Compute in a cloud? But what if it rains?

Do my teardrops mean water on the brain?

Roger Armbrust

November 18, 2012

HEAVEN OF DARK STARS

for Ravi, who created her

Princess in heaven of dark stars, I thank

you for your deep eyes, pure blue Sarovars

flowing forth sacred memory once blank

with pale sorrow, now dreams of Amritsar’s

Harmandir Sahib blazing gold by day,

glowing jewel by night, its four gazing doors

opening my spirit to all. This play

on recall helps renew garden of your

face, vast galaxies of your pastel gown

cascading its own universe beyond

my framed sight. Let me call on your eyes, grown

calm as windless sea, your angelic wand

hidden from sight, your crown of etched golden

imagery. Guide me, healed and emboldened.  

Roger Armbrust

November 15, 2012