PARTHENON MOON

We walked the stairs through the Propylaeum.
People stopped and stared. You didn’t see them
but I did: the way they watched you sway
never toward me. Always away. Always away.

We studied the Odeon’s crumbling stone.
We stood on stage. I felt so alone
there with you. There without you. You stayed
a safe distance. Always away. Always away.

Don’t ask me how the gods work here in Greece.
How Athena controls fate just won’t cease
to amaze me. I know I’m not crazy.

We stepped from the theatre that warm June
and there before us the Parthenon moon
blazed pink-orange and blue above the temple.
You began to cry. We kissed, simple
and kind, like Cupid and Psyche. So still
were we there above the sea as we prayed
to the gods, vowing always to stay. Always to stay.

Roger Armbrust
June 30, 2011

I THINK I LIKE YOU A LOT

They say your face folds
like an accordion
I’ve even been told
your breath reeks of onion
and your teeth of gold
bulge like bars of bullion
But
I say your face shines
brighter than Orion
I laugh at their whines
while they keep on tryin’
to shout you’re not mine
but I shout they’re lyin’
Why?
I think I like you a lot

Folks call your dresses
old rags used for dusting
and claim your tresses
are limp and disgusting
Your laugh distresses
them like a nun’s cussing
But
I praise your short skirts
and I laud your smiling
Your curls make me flirt
Your figure’s beguiling
which includes your pert
butt: a perfect styling
Yep
I think I like you a lot

The women’s club tries so hard to spurn ya
I swear each member’s got a hernia
I’ve heard crowds of men bark, “Durn ya,
she pisses off my missus
and I’m shunned with no kisses!”

But
I greet your smooches
and croon your caresses
I buy you brooches
Your manner impresses
so, the town’s pooches
bark throughout the parking lots
while we’re both ignoring plots
by those who hate what we got
and pray we won’t tie the knot
but I say give it a shot
’cause
I think I like you a lot


Roger Armbrust
June 28, 2011

I SEE YOU IN THE LIGHTNING

Sometimes you’re a flashing rod of ice
scattering electric strands
Sometimes you show thrashing slender thighs
racing over dark-blue sands
Sometimes you’re a light-blue glowing ghost
igniting a jeweled sea
somewhere far off the Pacific coast
yet electrifying me

I see you in the lightning
I feel you in its power
Your energy’s so frightening
sometimes I have to cower
A shy knight kneeling down
to your radiant crown

I see you in the lightning
stunned by your magic bolt
I feel my flesh igniting
within the thunder’s jolt
your tower so inviting
your passion so inciting
your atmospheric spark
sanctifying the dark


Roger Armbrust
June 27, 2011

I THINK OF YOU

I think of you
and I eschew
the color blue

I see your face
then I erase
its every trace
I down a brew

I hear your name
and I proclaim
a brand new game
as I embrace
an ingénue

Don’t get me wrong
about my attitude
I sing this song
to give me latitude
in this landscape of romance
in this double-dealing dance
where I never stood a chance

Back in my tomb
your sweet perfume
pervades the room
and I assume
you must be near
but no one’s here


Roger Armbrust
June 26, 2011

GEORGE ORWELL

Years before talking animals and Thought
Police, you stood in the trench near Huesca,
dawn at your back, when the Fascist’s gunshot
bolted through the air, tunneling your neck.
Sandbags shrunk to teabags as your eyes glazed,
blood seeping from your lips. The glaring streaks
of light fused with spewed gasps. Mates’ whispers phased
to sloshing footsteps bearing you as squeaks
of your stretcher recalled a child’s new shoes.
Somehow that image assured you of life.
A silver poplar leaf brushed your eyebrow,
making you long for Eileen, your new wife.
She would join you soon, caring for the wound.
You’d heal, your voice a haunting, muted sound.


Roger Armbrust
September 6, 2007
Published in The Aesthetic Astronaut
Parkhurst Brothers, Inc., Publishers, 2009

MEMORIES OF YOU

Eu de Cologne
We two alone
Nights on the phone
when you were gone
Memories of you
fill my meditations

The corner bar
Drives in my car
Gazing afar
to sight our star
Memories of you
without reservation

Every planet has its deepest ocean
Every mountain hails its grandest view
Every monk or nun honors devotion
I honor you

Nights out till four
Your bedroom door
Love on the floor
till we were sore
Your eyes would bore
down to my core
and I’d implore
always for more
always for more…
I wish I’d more
I could adore
than only memories of you


Roger Armbrust
June 14, 2011

THE MOON HOLDS ITS OWN

Streetlights fire their powder-orange flare
My window frames their haunting glare
yet high above in cold dark air
the moon holds its own

Oak trees stretch their vast silhouettes
toward crowds of clouds whose pirouettes
hide stars—schemes to make me forget
Yet the moon holds its own

I can hear the wind call her name
through this open window
Can you hear it too?
I can stand here all night and claim
to caress her shadow
Can you touch her too?

I can wander all night alone
I can wonder how far she’s gone
I can gaze at the silent phone
hold it in my hand like a bone
scraped clean of flesh and smooth as stone
yet I can’t match the distant moon
glowing, flowing from me so soon
How the moon holds its own


Roger Armbrust
June 13, 2011

THE RIVER KNOWS WHAT TO DO

When loneliness stabs me like a thorn through a blister
When my psyche incites me ’cause I can’t resist her
When centuries crawl past since the last night I kissed her
I drive my old Chevy slow as pain by the river
’cause the river knows what to do

I park on patched grass. I follow soft yellow moonlight
rippling over dark waves like gentle lightning in flight
through velvet clouds conniving to conceal hope from sight
yet helpless in resisting that glowing river’s might
'cause the river knows what to do

Stars seem to be falling toward us
my shining rolling river and I
I wonder if angels record us
My river laughs sadly as I cry

I hover on this ebony shore and I shiver
sensing gentle wind causing fragile leaves to quiver
and whispering Oh romantic fool you’ll forgive her
A sudden rain. Yet I stay and kneel by the river
’cause the river knows what to do

Roger Armbrust
June 11, 2011

ART WALLS

These fresh-painted walls share humble, quiet
invisibility as patrons roam
and weave bodies throughout our exhibit.
No one contemplates their space, plain as loam
in a farmer’s field, too blunt to accept
as powerful foundation, too simple
each face to even consider inept
or frail. Too pale to honor as temple’s
skin, though that’s what they are—wearing artists’
jewels in still elegance, as if their
own subtle landscapes don’t even exist.
As if these small framed ornaments compare
in majesty to our guardians, tall
as pines, displaying artists’ souls for all.

Roger Armbrust
June 2, 2011