DUM DIGGLEDY DAM

Dum diggledy dam I swear we love! Where

doesn’t matter, does it? It does? Then hell

and everywhere! We turn hell (when we’re there)

to heaven! Make sufferers love to dwell

there! Dum diggledy dam damn straight we do!

See how, when sunlight crawls from bed, we blend

grey clouds to raspberry sherbet? It’s true!

Dum diggledy dam we do! Bright bars bend

to rainbows thanks to we! (Or should “we” be “us”?)

Dark oceans radiate to shining seas!

Dam diggledy dam they do! Shall we discuss

why all wars end and world pandemics cease

when singing laughing we come dancing through?

We love! So dum diggledy dam they do!

Roger Armbrust

June 30, 2015

WE WHO LOVE WITH INCREDIBLE CANDOR

We who love with incredible candor

manage only through gifts from gods – Eros

calling us to create with faith, ardor

and honest desire. Calliope shows

us how to sing – ecstatic harmony

from our deepest regions of existence.

She passes her writing tablet only

when observing our transparent essence

released through loss and surrender. Wisest

of Muses, she accepts our humanness,

watches us wander, search beyond earth’s crest,

brave diving through oceans to mine for blessed

love. When Poseidon laughs at our folly,

tosses us to shore, we’ve learned what’s holy.

Roger Armbrust

June 28, 2015

I HAVE SO MUCH LIFE TO SHARE

I have so much life to share with you, please

forgive me if I sing. Sometimes my song’s

life’s only summary. It helps release

deep you in me, returning to prolong

deep me in you. We’re curled forest’s thick vines

you love to swing like nature’s jungle jims;

great mountain’s green field stretching to fine line

of rocky ledge looking out past curved rim

of sunrise – fertile valley’s lamplight. When

your grey-capped head framed in long hair appears

a vision through snow-coated branches, grin

turning to bright song, I celebrate dear

presence of you – honor your resonance:

echo your lyric, or praise with silence.

Roger Armbrust

June 24, 2015

MOON

Tonight a blue orb

of ocean. In silhouette

a floating wolf howls.

I WONDER IF SHE’S WRITING

I wonder if she’s writing tonight. Heat

of breezeless dark, quarter moon like drowsy

eyelight mesmerizing her eyes complete

with tension’s imagery of cloudless sky,

stars in tug-of-war with glare of distant

skyline. I wonder if she climbed today

that ancient route of rock she always wants

to scale and find the river, ancient way

the wanderers used to climb. I wonder

if her skylight eyes looked past horizon,

past yawning sunset where the Muse wanders,

pauses, listens, waits for her decision.

I wonder if she sees me far out yonder

wondering if she wonders what I wonder.

Roger Armbrust

June 23, 2015

EMO SINGS IMPROMPTU BLAHS

I’ve discovered suddenly

I’m the son of Chef Boyardee

who was married secretly

to a cretin female party

once an anchor for Fox News

So it should be clear as urine

to anyone using Murine

(or worse who chews murinae

which tastes like the Çhef’s consumme)

why I sing impromptu blahs and not the blues

The blues cover pain in the gut

but this news proves a pain in my butt

Makes me wanna walk Montana’s buttes

with melted bonbons in my shoes

Yah, it’s impromptu blahs and not the blues

Makes me wanna never marry

merely join the seminary

filled with days where I carry

a chalice and not a chick

spend nights with prayers and not flicks

Yah, that’s impromptu blahs and not the blues

Spend solitude by myself

being rude just to myself

even crude just to myself

sit by a creek eating worms

as my tongue feels them squirm

Yah, that’s impromptu blahs and not the blues

By now you’ll summarize

I got sleepy in my eyes

feelin’ creepy in my thighs

I just woke from a gory nightmare

(but can’t recall exactly where)

Yah, that’s impromptu blahs and not the blues

Roger Emo

June 23, 2015

CHANTING

Muse, I pray, send my muse deepest rhythms

of your chanting to aid her growing song.

On her mountain crest in flaring crimson

of dawn, where she loves to view river’s long

sequined never-ending flowing to sea,

share with her your scent of pines, moist-slick stones,

all aromas winds can bring – reverie

of imagery. When oceanside alone

yet not alone, guide her gaze, her every

touch of white sand and sea grass, smell of salt

air, call of gull and sandpiper. Vary

her view so each day brings fresh hues. Please halt

all fear from blurring her focus. Bring light –

inspiration’s flame – through both day and night.

Roger Armbrust

June 22, 2015