YOUR PAINTING

for Michelle Rene

Dry-gauze wound wrap for combat’s true blue blood

or satellite shot, perhaps, over our

now devastated Arctic. Something good,

perhaps: Hubbell’s cosmic eye of power

exposing angels’ white hole through heaven,

how they leave or else return to save us.

Toyohashi revealing never-seen

brain waves of the Muse set to enslave us

artists and poets: layered shades of thought

and emotion, memory, vivid dream,

sudden impulse toward creation. We fought

if for so long, fearing deep pain, it seems.

Now we surrender to love’s deep rescue.

Decide on a color. Begin with blue.

Roger Armbrust

November 30, 2018

I’M LISTENING ENDLESSLY

I’m listening endlessly to “Simon

and Garfunkel’s Greatest Hits”, hypnotized

by Art’s cosmic voice, Paul’s lyrics summoned

words from past lives. One day I realized

them my own way: sought out Emily by

another name. Looked for America

in New York offices and haunts. One night

stumbled into the whore on Seventh Avenue

just down from Carnegie Hall, her model face

topping a fox stole, her smiling mouth in

near whisper asking, “Do you want a date?”

I begged off. Too costly in so many ways.

Breathless from being a rock, I somehow found

basements with honest voices. Everything changed.

Roger Armbrust

November 28, 2018

PLAGIARISM IN PARIS

Jeff Koons is guilty of plagiarism

in Paris. Something ironic, I’d say.

Can there ever really occur schism

rending art, writing, and our everyday

experience? “Immature poets

imitate; mature poets steal,” so said

T.S. Eliot, who should know. So it’s

clear how Shakespeare lifted from Holinshed,

Oscar Wilde was condemned for stealing verse,

George Harrison was slapped by The Chiffons

from tapping “He’s So Fine”. Could have been worse,

I guess: Brahms sneaking notes from Beethoven.

Say “conspiracy”? Say “inspiration”?

Depends on legal interpretation.

Roger Armbrust

November 16, 2018