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