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