SCORCHED RED SUN

For I have fled gasping otherworldly

to glide back to you who always knew sun.

What can I tell you of Mars but this: We

had no beach to lie on, though grains reigned one

and only land. Back home, do you wonder

why I stretch out to our ocher sky, grasp

our only sphere of light, lift it under

your gentle breasts to warm you? How I clasp

it without burning my bare hands? You thought

it mammoth, didn’t you? Didn’t we all.

How could we know its bright hue, scorched red, caught

staring like Cyclops’ eye, would charm us? Call

us dreamers. Call us fools. Feel its warmth pressed

to your heart. Study my sigh. Know we’re blessed.

Roger Armbrust

August 29, 2013

HEAVEN

If I draw you back into the whole and

the beauty of life, I’ve found my heaven.

To share with you our universe—its band

of connections endless as thought, even

as fantasy—its definitions vast

as probability, concrete and clear

as reality, binds us to what lasts:

our spirits ever expanding. Not fear

of life or death can stop us now. Space-time

balances our being within this dark

energy. Faith allows psyche to climb

inside safe womb of higher power. Pray

it guides our actions so we’ll always stay.

Roger Armbrust

August 28, 2013

A SUDDEN COUNTRY LOVE SONG

I'm sittin' in this workshop in Nashville

searchin' for sweet lyrics sendin' love chills

but my rhymes feel like swallowin' cold pills

linkin' landfills and sour mash whiskey stills

Who could fall in love hearin' that?

I'm crawlin' slick floors on my hands and knees

lookin' for little images to please

young lovers and old friends, large companies

of blue-suit men...Aww shoot! Je-ez Louise!

Who could fall in love hearin' that?

But I won't give up the fort

Love's my first and last resort

I'll keep dribblin' up the court

till I score

and what's more

When my brain hemorrhage turns blue

my noggin's lost its last screw

I'll suddenly think of you

and the world will sing! It's true!

And we'll all fall in love hearin' that!

Roger Armbrust

August 26, 2013

DESTINATION

One’s destination is never a place

but a new way of seeing things.

--Henry Miller

Seeing you focused on the speaker (not

you)—how your eyes squint a bit when laughing,

widen when her words grow solemn—I jot

down in my mind your posture, your catching

the joke before me. I smile at your smile.

I figure you’re heading toward new insight

as your mouth eases open model’s style,

slight push of lips, as if “yes” will take flight

in whisper. We journey far in only

an instant, don’t we. Flow on soft phrases

of experience, link hands with lonely

memories, ride out sorrow’s harsh phases

of confusion and loss. See a new way

to live for only a step, just today.

Roger Armbrust

August 22, 2013

FORGIVE ME

I keep wanting to write to you, tell how

August sun reflects off oak leaves’ surface

with minute degree of radiance now

compared to yesterday’s light on your face

in our large room, your long fingers rising

to your mouth speaking of opera, your

soft smile divining, so still surprising

me after all this time. Tell me what cure

exists for apology. Doggonit,

we know where these rhymed lines are leading us:

over paths to a new book of sonnets

(whose charming title we’ll later discuss

since I’ve already used your first name). Wise

poets (like me) would consider your eyes.

Roger Armbrust

August 22, 2013