I WISH YOU WELLNESS

I wish you wellness of body and soul.
I wish you wellness of the seer’s clear
mind. I wish you wellness of peaceful shoals
guiding the swimmer safely home. I wish
you wellness of the soaring eagle, wings
gliding through calming breeze, set to vanquish
stormy winds by instinct—a divining
faith. I wish you wellness free of all fear.
I wish you wellness of the long-distance
runner, every muscle caressing air
of life. I wish you wellness as you dance
through our universe, urging all who stare
to dance. I wish you wellness of the fawn
gliding through open fields in the pre-dawn.

Roger Armbrust
January 15, 2011

CANARD

I told her I would love her forever.
She whispered she’d stay for a hundred years.
She laughed with gusto; called my jokes clever.
I promised to never bring her to tears.
She praised my Brobdingnagian organ.
I raised the bedroom roof to show my strength,
then made her giggle with earthy slogans
while she sang ditties of craving my length.
It’s such a pity the earthquake rumbled,
causing our walls to crumble like crackers.
We rode our hot tub down landslides, tumbled
into Pacific waves where I smacked her
with a French kiss. I’d hyperventilate
while she’d chortle, “Man, what a great first date!”

Roger Armbrust
January 5, 2011

CONCRETE

No, not the Parthenon, its ancient dome
of reinforced cement looming over
Piazza della Minerve in Rome.
Not the Pantheon, where we discover
its oculus welcoming beams from sun
and moon. Nor those simple Roman dwellings,
their congealed graveled walls neatly hidden
by piled bricks. I speak now of compelling
spirit’s experience: Voices, visions
William James cited. Responses to prayer.
Changes of heart rising from decision
to write this to you. Power of your stare
as I view your photo, your blessed message.
I am Antony lost in your visage.

Roger Armbrust
January 3, 2011

VISION PRAYER

This haze I exhale on my eyeglasses.
This moisture forming soft fog on each lens.
This dry tissue cleaning as it passes
over small frames. Let this process now cleanse
me. Help me see clearly every image
I encounter this day and night. Glory
in each letter’s curve, each word’s growing stage
through phrase and sentence to structured story
or poem, memo or report. Guide me
in viewing each face I face, in reading
lips offering contact. Please remind me
how all things connect, mind ever heeding
clues to hidden links. Provide me with light
enough to sense faith, to keep hope in sight.

Roger Armbrust
December 30, 2010

THE RUNNER

I have two more blocks of trees
before I start to run
shielding my eyes
from explosions of sun
and finding again
deserts of asphalt
and again
far beyond
stone and glass towers
where the sad people run

All day among towers
I run with them
but never get close to them

To survive within this dying land
I play sad people’s games
Now they are the hunters
and I am the prey
Now I am the hunter
and they are the prey
Sometimes
we don’t know
who we are

When exhaustion strikes
ripping my lungs and gut
I hide
vomit and cry
and whisper
I am afraid

All this
only to return
to the running
while the sun
hovers and falls
a signal for me
to fall back
to the trees
and the night
and to you


from How to Survive © 1979 by Roger Armbrust

SPEAK SOFTLY OF MIRACLES

I want to speak softly of miracles,
love: of Haydn’s Miracle symphony,
how its violins ascend—lyrical
praise; of Vivaldi’s Summer—rhapsody
through harp’s replacing violin’s sweeping
storm; of Bach’s sweet Violin Partita
transformed by eight-string guitar in keeping
with master Pound’s imaged command: Make it
new. I want to whisper to you how strings
release to fingers’ pressing tips—spirit
flowing forth in cords’ response, creating
vibrations throughout our cosmos. Hear it
even in still air as we breathe right now.
Our mute lips touch—miracle of our vow.

Roger Armbrust
December 3, 2010

BLAZING STAR

Father, we saw a blazing star appear
from nowhere! My son, have you been drinking?
We cowered, shocked shepherds, then knelt in fear!
My son, now it’s clear: you must be stinking.
An archangel then appeared before us!
My boy, you surely are delirious.
Virtues stood with him and sang in chorus!
Jessica, his sickness is serious!
Go find a physician! The angel said
a savior child is born in Bethlehem.
We went to see him, no longer afraid!
Wait! Who is “we?” I, Mered and Abram!
What! You just walked away and left the sheep?
My son! My boy! Oh, Yahweh, how I weep!

Roger Armbrust
December 1, 2010