—although we cannot tell it—we slide off
our main road, avoid byways and narrow
routes, hack through deep brush and trees, suffer coughs
and gags through pest-gushed air, constant harrows
feasting our swelling, silent terror. Why
this insane forging forward, love, within
this blackened, mapless swampland where our cries
fade in dark like lies of thieves craving sin’s
false honors? Tell me, what is faith to you?
Is it our near-blind foraging here touched
by mere glints of sun, legs dragging through sloughs
offering no clues of clearings? We’re crutched
only by some slight hope, aren’t we? Pray paths
lie somewhere? Plead they bring mercy not wrath?
Roger Armbrust
July 11, 2010
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Thursday, July 8, 2010
2010 ANNO DOMINI
Humans never stay very kind for long.
Most days we’re defined by actions at work.
Most nights we’re resigned to our lonely songs,
deny our roles in a world gone berserk.
Last dinner party, our smug minister
crucified his wife with rusty-nail words.
His calm smirk implied nothing sinister
had scourged his chosen partner. How absurd
he seemed in his pure-white collar. I thought
of hollering You’re a prick! Then gripping
and ripping his ebony vest. Grace fought
my reflex, I suppose. Sent me tripping
off muttering a curse, in verse, of course.
I’ve read in the press she’s filed for divorce.
Roger Armbrust
July 8, 2010
Most days we’re defined by actions at work.
Most nights we’re resigned to our lonely songs,
deny our roles in a world gone berserk.
Last dinner party, our smug minister
crucified his wife with rusty-nail words.
His calm smirk implied nothing sinister
had scourged his chosen partner. How absurd
he seemed in his pure-white collar. I thought
of hollering You’re a prick! Then gripping
and ripping his ebony vest. Grace fought
my reflex, I suppose. Sent me tripping
off muttering a curse, in verse, of course.
I’ve read in the press she’s filed for divorce.
Roger Armbrust
July 8, 2010
Monday, July 5, 2010
NIGHT CALLS OUT
to burning streetlights, questions their pain, why
they challenge nature with such suffering,
knowing their glowing’s so temporary,
their scattered beams a futile buffering
for shadows. Night shouts out, warning meadows
to enlist thickets, yearning crickets: share
moonlight’s stark spoils before black clouds’ hedgerows
overgrow sky’s glisten, make birds beware,
convinced no one listens. Night fills forests
with ebony lasers, lost to human
eyes, yet adored subtle onyx on breasts
of fairies, nymphs whose eyes they illumine
with night’s deep insight, balm for all who keep
watch for spirit’s rain bringing dreams then sleep.
Roger Armbrust
July 5, 2010
they challenge nature with such suffering,
knowing their glowing’s so temporary,
their scattered beams a futile buffering
for shadows. Night shouts out, warning meadows
to enlist thickets, yearning crickets: share
moonlight’s stark spoils before black clouds’ hedgerows
overgrow sky’s glisten, make birds beware,
convinced no one listens. Night fills forests
with ebony lasers, lost to human
eyes, yet adored subtle onyx on breasts
of fairies, nymphs whose eyes they illumine
with night’s deep insight, balm for all who keep
watch for spirit’s rain bringing dreams then sleep.
Roger Armbrust
July 5, 2010
Sunday, July 4, 2010
SOLON
Sleep a lost jewel, he unfolded her
from his flexing arms, rose and settled next
to the central hearth, stoking its meager
flame, his brain revising tight legal text
entering all citizens in Athens’
Ecclesia, sealing democracy.
He would soon dissolve all Draco’s heathen
laws, denounce their brutal hypocrisy,
secure the town from desiring tyrants
like Cylon. What else? Ah, Nomos, enough
for tonight. He’d let warm fire’s crackling chant
consume him. Then walk at will to a bluff
above the Aegean, gaze out as far
as he could, bless where dark waves touched bright stars.
Roger Armbrust
July 4, 2010
from his flexing arms, rose and settled next
to the central hearth, stoking its meager
flame, his brain revising tight legal text
entering all citizens in Athens’
Ecclesia, sealing democracy.
He would soon dissolve all Draco’s heathen
laws, denounce their brutal hypocrisy,
secure the town from desiring tyrants
like Cylon. What else? Ah, Nomos, enough
for tonight. He’d let warm fire’s crackling chant
consume him. Then walk at will to a bluff
above the Aegean, gaze out as far
as he could, bless where dark waves touched bright stars.
Roger Armbrust
July 4, 2010
Saturday, July 3, 2010
PASSAGE
Hope is a waking dream.
--Aristotle
He learned from Plato, taught Alexander.
Cicero called his writing a river
of gold. Hope seemed his pathway to candor,
root to paying attention, how slivers
of soft light pass from knowledge to wisdom.
Step close with me, love. Let’s study his bust.
His curved locks combed forward offer winsome
hope to fend off baldness. How human. Must
we trust his brushed beard helped him look wiser,
his books and teachings not enough? Affairs
with Herpyllis and Palaephatus serve
to show him no miser with lust. It’s fair
to say he trusted love, defined its ties:
a single soul living in two bodies.
Roger Armbrust
July 3, 2010
--Aristotle
He learned from Plato, taught Alexander.
Cicero called his writing a river
of gold. Hope seemed his pathway to candor,
root to paying attention, how slivers
of soft light pass from knowledge to wisdom.
Step close with me, love. Let’s study his bust.
His curved locks combed forward offer winsome
hope to fend off baldness. How human. Must
we trust his brushed beard helped him look wiser,
his books and teachings not enough? Affairs
with Herpyllis and Palaephatus serve
to show him no miser with lust. It’s fair
to say he trusted love, defined its ties:
a single soul living in two bodies.
Roger Armbrust
July 3, 2010
Friday, July 2, 2010
WHAT I SAID
to the long rock wall across North Lookout
from my writing room windows sounded like
Ben Gunn’s rusty voice lisping whereabouts
of treasure—whispers of how, as a tyke
I’d dream of sailing, not pirates’ rough seas
but starlight air like Barrie’s boy who would
never grow up. What I shouted to leaves
of my parking lot’s white oak, these words should
never be repeated or remembered.
What I thought about at lunch today when
her blessed breasts pressed to me won’t be rendered
here—sighs saved for confessing mortal sins
to some blind priest far from home, words of drama
to even shake faith of the Dalai Lama.
Roger Armbrust
July 2, 2010
from my writing room windows sounded like
Ben Gunn’s rusty voice lisping whereabouts
of treasure—whispers of how, as a tyke
I’d dream of sailing, not pirates’ rough seas
but starlight air like Barrie’s boy who would
never grow up. What I shouted to leaves
of my parking lot’s white oak, these words should
never be repeated or remembered.
What I thought about at lunch today when
her blessed breasts pressed to me won’t be rendered
here—sighs saved for confessing mortal sins
to some blind priest far from home, words of drama
to even shake faith of the Dalai Lama.
Roger Armbrust
July 2, 2010
STARLING
Smooth wings of iridescent royal blue,
your dresser must also serve fluttering
Morpho butterflies. Shocking the way you
alter sound, range from early utterings
of humans to blatant car alarms. I’ve
heard in glowing morning echoes of your
mating call, your boast flexing how you thrive
on sex, admire your love’s turquoise eggs, lure
of a virgin’s eye. Gregarious as
politicians, invasive as taxers:
some stamp your brood a nefarious class.
Yet my love and I, poetic waxers,
rave how your name’s first syllable infers
Nyx created you to soar among stars.
Roger Armbrust
July 2, 2010
your dresser must also serve fluttering
Morpho butterflies. Shocking the way you
alter sound, range from early utterings
of humans to blatant car alarms. I’ve
heard in glowing morning echoes of your
mating call, your boast flexing how you thrive
on sex, admire your love’s turquoise eggs, lure
of a virgin’s eye. Gregarious as
politicians, invasive as taxers:
some stamp your brood a nefarious class.
Yet my love and I, poetic waxers,
rave how your name’s first syllable infers
Nyx created you to soar among stars.
Roger Armbrust
July 2, 2010
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