HENRY X: FREE-FLOWING STREAMS

Can a king nurture near democracy?

This king does and will. This is real, no dream.

Our document should hold one vital key:

The right for us all to free-flowing streams.

I speak of water, your own basic right

for home, for farm on which our food depends.

I speak of speech, all we say and teach, cite

in ideas and art; no force contend

with press or Internet. In all we think

and write, freedom to praise, to criticize,

to find solutions, always on the brink

of change—protect and grow each others’ lives.

Free-flowing streams are our greatest treasure—

in all we do, first and final measure.

Roger Armbrust

September 30, 2013

HENRY X: CORONATION

I take this crown, rightful heir deemed by God,

and pledge rule based on honest words and deeds—

mandate to myself, to all souls who trod

within our borders. Whoever lies, bleeds.

Whoever harms, hangs. I will bring you peace.

We will not invade, nor be invaded.

Deceit in parliament, in courts, will cease.

I dissolve both now, assure degraded

morals won’t return. Promise you a new

constitution, formed by you, the people—

each county sending writers picked by you.

Choose wisely—seers with insight and scruples.

I will assure this is true: Where our clear

path may lead…is up to you. Never fear.

Roger Armbrust

September 29, 2013

HENRY X

It only takes one night, you see. And so

it went with the sneaky king, humping Anne’s

handmaid by lamplight centuries ago.

She fled back to Kleve, lived out stinging pain

of years, my forebears holding our secret.

Grandfather waded back to London, clerked

an ale house, gave me this old gold locket

passed down in secret. No sly foe will jerk

it from my neck now. I bided my time

till Libor and subprimes melted us all

yet again; tried bankers scum for their crimes,

hanged them all, led revolt—answered the call

to rule. And now reveal myself, dissent

a mute void in our pill-filled parliament.

Roger Armbrust

September 27, 2013

SKIN

Delicate landscape of face, not veneer

but classic art, you seem, smiling softly.

As if you knew some great painter, Vermeer

perhaps, would pause when seeing you, lofty

visions blessing his gaze. He’d place a pearl

earring center right, blue scarf to cover

your shining hair, focus on eternal

glow of your skin, reflecting a lover’s

soul; your skin a dimpled canvas calling

for gentle kisses; your skin an altar

for eyes through ages to honor, falling

humbly when meeting your eyes staring far

into theirs. Can your skin make lenses melt?

Watching you, that’s just how I’ve often felt.

Roger Armbrust

September 25, 2013

WHAT THE OCEAN WHISPERS

Shhhh…come closer…feel moon’s gravity force

the heart’s each issue, tides’ experience

flooding your bloodstream. Watch us. Chart the course

for Sea of Serenity, its dark, dense

eye patch offering character. As you

gaze at stars, record my breathing far down

in your psyche. Let it rise and fall through

each cell’s conscious desire. My seething crown

of foam never rests, you see. My current

can disappear, yet pull your flesh nearer,

consume all life, if need be. Heaven’s sent

me here as your source, your healing teacher.

Let our beach be your bed tonight. I’ll take

care—faithful lover—be here when you wake.

Roger Armbrust

September 21, 2013

MAROON BELLS

I’m straddling Maroon Peak’s tip, gazing down

into emerald valley, admiring

your running that frosted chiseled path, grown

round with firs and aspens, high sun firing

their calm lake. Knowing mudstone endangers

climbers, I’ve mutely flown here as no one

watched, natural athlete touting stranger

skills than even Hercules—goal of fun

in celebrating your striding through chilled

air, your breath brief smoke signals of joy creased

with pain, as only runners know. What thrills

me now: Seeing you finish, slender ease

of your pace, soft face turning in wonder,

hearing my clapping, thinking it’s thunder.

Roger Armbrust

September 21, 2013