MOON PROMISE

“I made a promise to the moon,” she said.

“I can’t share it with you.” She was watching

the moon as I watched her, then it. It bled

dark gold, like molten metal, stars catching

its fire. I imagined her whisper sworn

to write poetry, like Bishop, or to

chastity, like Virgin Queen, psyche torn

between passion for humans or verse. Who

or what would I choose? I long for each one,

feel them vital.  Surely she must. I held

back from questions, from uttering a word.

I curled my arm around her shoulder. Felt

her body press to mine. I longed to grow old

with her. Above us, a passing cloud burned gold.

Roger Armbrust

December 26, 2019

PRAYER

Guide us in caring for water and air

for earth and each other. Thank you for crops

you raise to feed each life, for weather fair

and foul, showing energy never stops,

but challenges senses to stay in touch

with Great Reality. When we fear life

and death or poverty, struggle to clutch

all matter, show us what matters. Our sight

clouds so quickly. Our minds hide from our hearts.

Only your invisible hand, it seems, will

touch and clear our path, ease our plight. What starts

as thought or feeling moves to action. Still

it all begins and ends with unseen caress

of your spirit guiding us, whispering “Bless…”

Roger Armbrust

December 16, 2019

MEMORY THROUGH EMOTION

for Michelle Renee

Your new painting portrays us all as we

age…or me at least…my memory through

emotion flashing colors through my psyche

brushstrokes abstract yet specific…gray blue

and golden cherished…coatings of deepest

sorrow…all enclosing that precious white

clarity…or are they embracing? Best

or worst those brief ebony streaks streaming

constantly through my vision…like loves lost

or dear souls I should recall and pray for…

almost recognized then fading from my sight…

basking in reality or dreaming?

I recall relationship’s cost…its pace

and reward…call it honesty…or grace…

Roger Armbrust

November 22, 2019

EJACULATIONS FOR HUMANKIND

To all mothers and fathers

who love and care

thank you for your service

To all teachers and mentors

who guide and share

thank you for your service

To all students of the world

securing Earth's future

thank you for your service

To all artists and writers

who go deep and take chances

thank you for your service

To all publishers and editors

who guide us in understanding

thank you for your service

To all farmers, grocers, chefs and cooks

who feed the hungry

thank you for your service

To all guardians of water

who give us drink and cleanse us

thank you for your service

To all architects and builders

who house us the homeless

thank you for your service

To all doctors, nurses, and medics

who treat the suffering

thank you for your service

To all scientists and chemists

seeking humankind’s cures

thank you for your service

To all attorneys, judges, and legislators

honestly tempering society

thank you for your service

To all nations’ soldiers and police

living as true peacekeepers

thank you for your service

To all public protestors

guarding civilization

thank you for your service

To all protectors of the poor

who understand the soul

thank you for your service

To all astronomers, mathematicians, and futurists

offering us hope

thank you for your service

Roger Armbrust

November 18, 2019

GOT THE MOODY BLUES

Got the moody blues so I’m listening

to The Moody Blues play “The Other Side

of Life” -- music’s driving beat glistening,

honest lyrics reaching that magic ride:

“…the only way to get there is to take

that step…the lovers and the fighters

and the risks they take…” What desire can make

us lovers and fighters? What whispered fear

stops us? Or is it faith sensing wisdom,

hovering in our psyches like Buddha

or Rumi, Confucius, Rilke or womb

echoing the eternal? What good’s a

step to the other side alone? I share

Moody Blues: “I know you’re out there somewhere…”

Roger Armbrust

October 31, 2019

IT’S 3 AM SUNDAY

It’s 3 am Sunday in October

and already I’m playing Mathis’s

“Merry Christmas” album. Playing over

and over. Ultimate love songs, I guess,

in this age of hate. Singing in whispers

along with him…softly so I won’t wake

the neighbors. Singing softly like vespers

in some ancient monastery. I take

deep breaths as I recall all my past lives.

Lost loves. Amazing plans now hidden deep

in darkest clouds. I suppose it’d prove wise

to just be grateful for good health. To keep

promises. To call those I love. It’s fine

to see just what this is: Oh night divine.  

Roger Armbrust

October 27, 2019

HER IN NEW YORK

I’m listening to Nina Simone blues

me with “I Loves You Porgy” and the rest

of her greatest hits. I listen and choose

to remember her. Not Nina. Once blessed

to love Her. Her in New York. Sunrise hair

enflaming the night and me. Listening

to her ghostly midnight voice blues me there

on our futon, her blue eyes glistening,

delicate hands caressing guitar then

me, her original lyrics echo

through her silence as we lie close and grin

like children at heaven’s edge, kiss like no

other humans ever through history,

uncovering all cosmic mysteries.

Roger Armbrust

October 24, 2019

PLEIADES

“Look there!” Her inhale seemed to stop all sound.

“The Sisters are happy tonight!” Nine stars,

haloed blue sapphires, seeming to abound

in stardust, their glowing bodies so far

from us, yet so near we sensed their bright souls’

passion. “All civilizations love them,”

she whispered, as if in prayer. We two strolled

the beach, the dark sea whispering back. Then

she stopped, stared through me, her stars of passion

consuming me. “Promise, Galileo,

you’ll study them close. Learn their great lessons,

their endless songs.” “I promise.” Now I go,

these ages later,  alone out to sea,

caressing stars, and my love’s memory.

Roger Armbrust

October 16, 2019

RAIN AND SILENCE

Night rain and I’m watching through my writing

room windows wrinkled crescents of water

flow down dark asphalt pavement, inviting

through powdered streetlights’ reflections after-

math of an old lover’s imagery – eyes

glowing as we strolled in rain, speaking so

softly of Akhmatova, how despised

she was by Stalin. “He silenced her po-

etry but not her truth,” my lover’s voice

whispers again. She turns up her trench coat’s

collar to block the cold, honors my choice

of silence as I study her soft throat

swallow hard, longing to say more of pain,

of Anna’s courage. We kiss, walk home again.

Roger Armbrust

October 6, 2019

TSUNDOKU

for Ted Parkhurst

I pay my fee and enter our vast hall

where history’s great poets and authors

mingle. I recognize each one and call

out, “I wish I had time to stop, offer

each of you a day or two to listen

to your wisdom, admire your imagery.

Alas, I can only sigh and bow when

you consider me, offer poetry

and prose, even for those willing but not

able, like me.” Patient as trees, they sit

everywhere…tabletops, chairs, even floor,

yet mostly line the walls. Whisper with wit

and irony as I pass. Seem to expect

nothing more than a smile, and my respect.

Roger Armbrust

July 20, 2019

T’IS A PUZZLEMENT

I love solitude. I hate loneliness.

But sometimes I get mixed up. Know what I

mean? Don’t know what I feel. Can only guess

if I’m sad you’re away or glad your eyes,

your smile, your soft voice invite me in when

we meet. Feel both at the same time. Like young

Romeo, I guess…beneath the balcony

in both rapture and agony…too stunned

to sense reality. Feel both when you’re

not here. Maybe I’ll turn to Freud or Jung

for answers. Maybe just back to Shakespeare.

Maybe simply pray and listen. I’ve sung

about you when you’re away. Did you hear

me? Soft as an angel’s wing passing near?

Roger Armbrust

July 6, 2019

TALKING HEADS

You must be afraid. You must stay afraid.

Here’s how to stay afraid. You must beware

Enemies. You all are Enemies, save

for Friends who agree with us. You must care

about what we care about. Must worry

about money. Must believe Big Men who

make money. Watch your back while you hurry

to make money. You must spend money, too.

All your money. You must borrow money

to keep spending money. Must control fate

with your money. Control all thought. Funny,

isn’t it, how you follow money? Hate

the poor? Love war? Remember: Fear’s crucial.

We’ll be back right after this commercial.

Roger Armbrust

June 29, 2019

IMPOTENT POET

I’m raising my pen

but seeing how it’s dried up

put it down and pray

HOW DO YOU DEFINE HELL?

I walk. I walk forward. I walk forward

toward you. You walk forward toward me. Sunlight

blinds us as we walk. We’re both caught off guard.

Lost, we walk past each other. Now it’s night.

Total dark. I stop. No sight. I miss you

like space with no stars. I call out your name.

Listen to its sound. Repeat it in slow,

separate syllables. Like claiming shame

or guilt for having missed you. I should have

reached out. Grabbed for where I felt you walking.

Why didn’t I? Why didn’t you? To save

each other. I swear I hear you talking

to someone now. Your haunting voice. It sends

me swirling. You scream. Or is it the wind?

Roger Armbrust

April 10, 2019

DEBUSSY’S STRING QUARTET

The violin lingers in loneliness.

The three violins mingle in longing

with solitary cello’s moaning to bless

surrounding night’s mute wish for belonging.

They are we as one, no longer harming

our universe with lies, our feared desires,

our futile attempts at selfish charming

the crowd, the lover, the boss who fires

us through frustration. What counts now, it seems:

being truly human, learning honest

words and actions create love, fulfill dreams

we never possessed before this strange quest

to share and understand all. Violins,

cello tell us all, if we’ll just listen.

Roger Armbrust

January 30, 2019

JACKSON REED’S MELODY

Jackson Reed’s at his piano, his hands

gently caressing its keys, ebb and flow

of his original notes in command

of my vision, lifts me from here and now

to inside a rambling train, gazing out

its wide window, rain trailing across pane

like memory, and outside silent shout

of a woman running to catch up in vain.

We leave her waving, push on, weaving past

emerald green fields, a sudden forest,

a line of suncast mountains, hinting last

visions before dark holds us with the rest

of his melody repeating itself

like longing to lift hope from its stark shelf.

Roger Armbrust

January 18, 2019