PRAYER

Overwhelm us with your light energy,

your heat of serenity and passion,

your dear separations and synergy

of near planets and stars, comets and moons

composing our galaxy and every

universe. Show us how you make up all

and our place within your all. You carry

existence like a lighted candle, call

for our honest actions of faith and love

through simple caresses and softest words.

If you must, brandish your tight-fisted glove

to save us, crushing weapons and absurd

machines of fear. If you must, hurl and crack

the whip, sing to us, but keep us on track.

Roger Armbrust

December 28, 2016

CAROL

Michael and Gabriel, circling vast edge

of cosmos, gazed out at eternal flow.

Soon Raphael soared to them, sat on ledge

of grace and said, “A sudden gentle glow

filled all Multiverse as I flew to heal

every insanity, rain happiness.

A light like nothing before, yet great seal

of Godlight surely.” “Yes, my all witnessed

it too as I sailed parallels to calm

wars, blessing peace,” Michael whispered, watching

reflections of ancient stars, passing palm

over them. “Surely a blaze past matching

our first insight. Gabriel’s come from Earth.”

“It rose from there,” Gabriel smiled. “The Birth.”

Roger Armbrust

December 19, 2016

HERE OR THERE

Sometimes I’m not sure where I am: here or

there. Here with you: Planet Earth, USA,

LR, AR. Or there: cosmic ether,

with everyone else, from Methuselah

to the not-yet born.  Am I just sitting

in my cush chair, watching the NFL,

or floating in Neverland, forgetting

who I am or how my soul propelled

into this hazy state? I turn and see

you at the Christmas tree, your hands starting

to hang legions of lights. I rise, gently

take them from you, lift and spread their startling

glow along these highest branches. I look

at you smiling, watching me. I smile, too.

Roger Armbrust

December 16, 2016

DECEMBER 23, 1888

Rain has splattered Arles for three days and nights.

Fed up with drunken quarrels, Gauguin slinks

out for the last time, refusing to fight

as Vincent stalks him down Place Lamartine

screaming, “Inca! Black lion! Murderer!”

Stumbling back to the Yellow House, he downs

all the absinthe, curses Theo’s letter,

glares at the blurry razor, grabs it, groans

and slices off his ear. Back on dark street,

he staggers to that whorehouse, pounds thick door,

slurs for the cleaning girl Gaby. She greets

him, then gasps. He thrusts his gift of wet gore

tight in her hand. “In remembrance of me,”

he growls. She faints. He whirls, weaves, wails, and leaves.

Roger Armbrust

December 14, 2016

BALDRIDGE

for Julie

Genealogists see roots from German:

Baldric--bald for bold, brave; ric means power

(both easy to sight in you). Perhaps spanned

to Old English as Bealdric; Norman words

of Baldri and Baudri followed, bringing

the 14^th Century noun still used now:

baldric—a belt with ornaments slinging

the shoulder, holding sword or bugle (how

apropos for politics and heralds).

Family crest, blue and silver, centered

with shield bearing a cross (could it be called

a crossroad?), serves as stand for knight’s armored

headpiece. I see you in Northumberland,

poised in cottage window, Bard’s book in hand.

Roger Armbrust

December 13

HERE WE GO AGAIN

Season changes and

allergies turn to head cold

with scraping sore throat

beast dropping to chest

coughing hacking coughing hack…

pray for healing sleep…