Dreaming The Old Man

Through slanting doors and broken windows
odd furniture in dim rooms

old books and roses rotting with age
I follow you,

charts and crumpled maps and paper
glitter like a lost hope–

Sudden sky and wide water
reeds along a shore

under a silver willow you call to the other side.

No limb or vine to hold my feet
my boyhood swept away

to a green recess of memory
nothing to pull me back

only rock and sand, sky and air bathed in amber light,

Peace, I am with you
looking in your old eyes, stretching out a hand

sinking in a river of night
transparent stones on the bottom of a lucid pool

I glide in bright shadows
fish swimming

in and out our one and separate selves

 

 

Green Lake Heron by Rob KasheyROB PICS 430

 

 

 

 

 

 

All Photos  by Rayn Roberts

Apparition by Rob Kashey

Apparition by RR

On The State of World Affairs and Other Madness

The cat chases its tail, the dog whimpers in sleep,
The heart skips a beat…
It’s not a nightmare, not a movie, a TV show.

Wake when you will, but where will you be, in bed alone,
In the den, your unknowing hand holding a gun,
At your desk starting at nothing?
It doesn’t matter— Looking deeply matters:

Unless you turn it inside out, look long at what you find
The mind eludes the eye of reason.
Recall the flowers of betrayal and delusion with merciful disregard,
Struggle all your life to save this dying thing
This beaten, bloody thing called love.

For the tail is chasing the dog,
The cat is barking in sleep, the heart is cracking
Hope is a Gypsy song rising over the ash of Auschwitz

Mad Men rule the world—
And if they wake from a coma of hate, will they give a vision truth?
Will they feed the poor, give up peace?
When will your heart slow to a murmur and hiss into silence?

I want to say the cat is calm, the dog is happy,
Humankind is wise and kind,
But the cat is gnawing the cage, the dog is humming a dirge,
The good flower columbine was never a flock of doves:

Littleton, Kosovo, Dachau, Wooded Knee, Santa Fe, Noblesville:
Large extensions of the fist we use to abuse the children.

The Government is drinking our blood, but what’s new?
Ask People of Color, Veterans, Teachers, Students,
Ask the families of the dead kids:
Where next the murder of the day, massacre of the week?
Buy yourself a body bag, you may need one next.

The heart is failing, the heart is failing, there are no known donors

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Nosegay

What Chopin wanted most
was to die
in George Sand arms,
on his deathbed
all he got
Was a nosegay of violets
She left at his door
When her daughter
turned her away–
People can be such shits.

Nosegay

federico-chopin

He wrote a friend on his deathbed, “She promised me I would die in her arms.”

How did Chopin die?

George_Sand

Amantine-Lucile-Aurore Dupin aka George Sand, Novelist.

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And yes, I’m aware that the event may be based on legend, but many believe it is true and by it’s very intensity, a legend becomes a painful little poem with a nasty but truthful conclusion.  It is justified by that truth.   “Art is not a study of positive reality, it is the seeking for ideal truth.”   ~George Sand

Solitude

What begins from the first day?
The world goes slowly white,
Not black and white: black
Is all colors, but white is empty.
Even the greatest go, they
Cannot change or come back–
In Japan they do not wear black
When someone dies, but white.
The greatest stand alone to sing
The time, a poem, their life, a fact.

 

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Cover Photo images by Rayn Roberts

The Killer

I am the misconceived unconnected son of an ordinary woman who baked as many cakes as your Mom, loved me as much.  My father went to war, saved the nation, came back shell shocked with medals and memories he cannot tell. Something went wrong with me.  It was not the boyish pranks, soap on your windows, Halloween T P on your house or car.  I am evil behind a mask, the guy who breaks into your house, microwaves your cat, leaves a note, “I just had to see.” I feel no remorse, it’s all good fun.  I’m the unknown gunman of the drive by shooting, hitching a freeway, waiting with a rifle, dropping a cinder block from an overpass… Tense, clean-cut, overly polite, the All-American type at the 7/11.  I pack a 38, take a bus to Nashville and murder six people in the mall for the thrill of it, the fun, the fame. I am the unexplained American dream gone nightmare destined for the black print of the newspaper —  The brute in us all, the reason you bolt your door at night.

 

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*Cover Photo by Gwyn Henry

The Wave & The Wind

Rikuzentakata Ôfunato Kuji swept away

No trace they were ever there
Otsuchi Miyako Yamada
Sôma Namie Minamisôma Onagawa
Kesennuma Natori Ishinomaki gone,
The earth gave and the sea
Has taken away Banda Ache
Two hundred thirty thousand
Gone in the Indian Ocean wave.

I am thinking of Phuket on Boxing Day

The waters receding so fast
Fish were left flapping on the sand,
The boy drawn by hunger
Or a child’s fascination
Not knowing the danger
Walking out to catch a few–
Then the immense water-wall moving
He turns, runs–  is gone.

Some say the Lord taketh

But where were healing Jesus
Allah the Merciful
When countless cries went up,
Where were the thousand hands
Of listening Kannon,
in paradise where she was
Blissful in her Pure Land as if
Tsunami’s never happen?
Do the dead hear the whispered calls

On the kaze-no-denwa wind phone?

 

Rayn Roberts 2017

Kaze no Denwa, The Wind Phone

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Ouroboros

What the hell was I thinking
coming here
to a Hell, I keep asking myself 
what on Earth
I’m doing here and come up
with the same
and different answers– Heaven
The Serpent
devours itself and then looks
for more to eat
because it is always expanding
contracting
Thirsty hungry restless alive…

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Rayn Roberts
9/25/17