MARCH 7 – HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

for James A. Moses IV

You’re with famed company, James, sharing your

birthday with Rob Roy, the Scottish Robin

Hood, and botanist Luther Burbank, who

first grew potatoes with russeted skin  

now served as McDonald’s French fries. Artist

Piet Mondrian’s cheered worldwide for his grids

with primary colors. (Check him out!) Kissed

by the muse—Maurice Ravel composed chords

of music bringing happy dreams. (Just lend

an ear!) Pittsburgh Steeler Franco Harris

made “The Immaculate Reception.” (Men

still argue about it today!) Paris

was home to French author Gulliaume du Vair.

Now it’s your turn to make a name, mon frère!

Roger Armbrust

March 7, 2013

DUSK IS NEARING YOUR EYES

Dusk is nearing your eyes. Not there yet, but

soon. Civil twilight just below sunset.

I study sky from my writing room, put

hiding sunlight in perspective, forget

this world’s past offenses, at least until

night threatens solitude like Hamlet’s ghost

terrifying our young prince. All is still

except for sly hissing cars. Sky like coast

of Atlantic at dusk those summer days

on Jersey Shore. You would have liked it there.

Now nautical twilight and touch of haze

moving west. I hope this evening proves fair

for you and kiddos, bright moon and starlight.

Lovely now: astronomical twilight.

Roger Armbrust

March 6, 2013

PERIODIC TABLE

This day. 1869. Mendeleev

gives Russian Chemical Society

our first display of elements conceived

by rising atomic number: our species,

it seems, ordered the same way. We mingle

in groups or families, experience

periods and blocks, sight special single

elements, trends in affinity. Since

our valence determines capacity

to unite, react or interact, should

we—to discover ourselves—start to see

chemists instead of shrinks? Neighborhoods

could house small labs, find with precise expertise

cores to our unknown chemical properties.

Roger Armbrust

March 6, 2013

WE VIEW RUBENS

This isn’t easy, caught between Venus

at a Mirror and you. Soft flesh of her

bare back these centuries later leads us

to reach out, move close, and touch her tender

curves, jeweled gold bracelet above left bicep,

flowing flaxen hair. Yet we hold still. Our

arms embrace each other as we pause, step

back, honoring art and ourselves. This hour

at the Getty swims with joy. I watch you

study The Three Graces, listen close as

breath to pace of your words, admire grand view

of your gracious face, how your hand can pass

through space as in a dance, expressing why

masters matter. No art can match your eyes.

Roger Armbrust

March 5, 2013

SUN ORBITS EARTH

On this day in 1616, the church

banned De revolutionibus, and so

our Earth had to halt its orbital search

around the sun, renew its crescendo

as universe’s center—Ptolemy’s

old theory. Copernicus, of course, could

have cared less, having risen through old trees

decades before. Luther’s followers would

approve, though. Switching roles may have shaken

the planets, but didn’t alter much here

on terra firma. Folks still fried bacon,

fucked each other’s wives, fought wars, lived in fear.

Day of the ban, some astronomers cried.

Just over a month later, Shakespeare died.

Roger Armbrust

March 5, 2013