WHY

Why this classical piano holds us

in mute limbo is, of course, Chopin’s fault,

even these years later when Spiritus

Mundi flowed from Yeats’ pen to page, beast caught

in the act, so to speak, carried to our

eyes, our hearts, image of ourselves in flight

from all our fears real and unreal, our hour

come round at last, don’t you know. Why just sight

of your slouching frame in that leather chair

sends me turning and turning, ocean wave

blown sideways, causes stunned children to stare

at me staring at you, don’t you see, saves

our souls before we know it. Why you can

see me, smile, think I’m just hearing Chopin.

Roger Armbrust

June 22, 2020

SYMPHONY

In morning after prayer and legwork, I

rise and trail my way to our online world,

hear The Writer’s Almanac, soul’s reply

to data, then moderate volume for

WQXR so classical

orchestras’ movements meld with nature’s

outside chorus of joy and searching, all

to remind me of what’s vital, heart sure

the data will matter somehow…somehow

hope to save humanity…some small segment

maybe…keep faith it deserves saving…show

us all through data…word built on word sent

with numbers to unseen eyes God knows where

really…God somehow telling them to care…

Roger Armbrust

June 21,2020

MESSENGERS

Sometimes I approach them to recall all

that’s vital. Our ancient backyard oak tree

where I bow before its calm stature, tall

as Titan king, hear family of leaves

remind how their fresh flesh, thin veins grant

us air to breathe. How northern forest lake

ripples in soft prayer, wind’s each passing chant

praising water’s gift -- food and life we take

within to nourish and survive. I step

to southern river’s edge, accept offer

of meditation, sacred secrets kept

like golden manna in sunken coffers

open only for spirits willing to go

deep, unite with grasping current’s endless flow.

Roger Armbrust

June 20, 2020

GRAVITY

Seeing you, I must fall to earth’s center

always. More than just body attraction

though body’s never just. Once in winter

I saw you cloaked, hooded, body’s action

in motion so slow, so exact, vision

of prophet moving without moving, smile

as you saw me, like recalling a pun

or old song. I almost called out how you’ll

never know…but I didn’t. Why do you

keep returning but never arrive? Why

do I keep waiting…or do I? What clue

will guide me? I hear the Muse breathing, sigh

soft echoes of Kinnell’s  “When one has lived

a long time alone”. I ask her to give

me faith. Forgive my doubt. Lift my absurd

fear. Tap her soft rhythms. Whisper true words.

Roger Armbrust

June 17, 2020

HOW NORMAL’S NEVER NORMAL

I keep dreaming about you, marveling

on waking how my body quakes, feeling

you close, your loving eyes and smile, loving

words and quick jokes, every movement healing

us. We learn how normal’s never normal

to our creative psyches, our spirits

married to our universe’s spiral

of endless energy. We may fear it

at first, at last conceive reality

resting in honesty. How loving eyes

reflect sun’s passion, moon’s fidelity

to peaceful tides. I hear Morricone’s

“Gabriel’s Oboe”, sacred music true,

melding our whispers as I enfold you.

Roger Armbrust

June 17, 2020

EMILY

I’m sitting in Washington Square Park, so

late at night no one stirs. Suddenly there

to my right, she moves to me, spirit flow

in her familiar white. I only stare

at first, then say, “I thought you never leave

Amherst.” She gazes, speaks in near whisper,

“You left Little Rock. You couldn’t conceive

coming here for years. But you hold it dear.”

“Yes, I do. I chased the Muse north. And you?”

“I came to see you,” she smiles. “That one day

you toured my exhibit, studied thin loops

of my cursive. Wrote a poem to say

you loved me.” Her eyes glow. “We’ve both come far,”

I sigh. She sits by me. We bless the stars.

Roger Armbrust

June 16, 2020

WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO?

Music perhaps. To soothe your beast. Arouse

your lamb. The news perhaps. To feed your fear.

Keep track of the enemy. Lover’s voice

perhaps. Or heartbeat. Or is it your heart?

Are you walking outside now? To witness

silence. Growl, hiss of occasional car.

Is it night now? Your breathing a caress,

a whisper of just how darkness might harm

or help you. Must you look up to assure

yourself of stars? Or can you hear their great

chorus? The moon’s lonely croon, distant, pure

reflective light. Do you sense vibes of fate

from your inner voice? Sacred hymn perchance.

Or chant. Vital rhythm calling to dance.

Roger Armbrust

June 13, 2020