Pretty Woman
Where is she?
What happened
to her
I was there for
most of it
Wasn’t I?
We lived so
much of the same
life, coloured so
much by the same
love, stained so
much by the same
loss.
Didn’t we?
Or do I mis
remember
Do I see her
now
(sallow and swollen
sullen and sad)
Do I see her
now
only
as we all
see
one another;
Mirrors of disappointment
Reflections of woulda
shoulda
coulda
Shadows of what
might
have been.
Oh, but she
was
Bright
then!
Wasn't she?
LizTaylorBeautiful
(adored and envied
longed for and lusted after)
Wasn’t she?
All I ever wanted to be.
Everything I never was.
Wasn’t she?
Wasn’t she?
Is she?
I don’t believe you,
you’re not the truth.
No one could look
as good as you...
Mercy!
Mercy, Sister
Mercy
©sdrogers 12 january 2013
In the Background
they send me
platitudes.
(did you ever notice how it is like
platypus -- without the cute)
still
they send them to
me;
telling me to
Fear Not!
Real Love
is
be yond
all that.
but the pitiful
screams
of bad actors
cry
above the
plastic burnsides,
against whose wall
the Yankees
fell
and fell and
fell.
why is it that so
much
I hold dear, so
much
in which I believe,
is so
stained.
grace, honour, favour,
glory
sodden and soiled by the
grease
of HoneyBooBoo’s
fat
fingers,
and the timeless
sorrow
behind her mother’s
eyes.
bronze passes for gold
and will anyone,
any
one
be surprised when the
gold
goes
green.
my head is like to
EXPLODE
from the weight
of all this wonder
ing.
and it will
fall,
in a shower of
green and gold and
blue
so so so much
blue,
in a greasy greedy
puddle
at your
feet.
©sdrogers 23 february 2013
Anhedonia
I hear them
the voices;
I hear them
all
around me.
I’m here, baby, I’m here, baby, I’m
right
here.
I know them
the voices;
I know them
all
every one.
I’m here, baby, I’m here, baby, I’m
right
here.
They are the dust
of the stars
They are the glow
of the moon
They are the burnished
bright
of midday
of music
of water
of jasmine
of deathless life
of boundless
joy.
I’m here, baby, I’m here, baby, I’m
right
here.
© sdrogers 8 march 2013
Idesiversary
Cartwheeling windmills,
tumbleweed walls, and the
Spring you promised is here.
My cheekbones
follow the sun like waking
winter flowers to rise through
the roof.
You are with me.
I don’t think you’ve ever really been happy with me.
He was right. More right than
he ever imagined. And for much
longer. Two decades of five;
half a rosary, begged in silent,
and not so silent, pain. But this
half, these five, have flown like
mantras on malas; spun like prayers
on brass wheels, each turn bringing
me more and more and more
to centre.
You are with me.
Happily burned into my skin,
you lie beside me, walk with
me; the sound of your tears
treasured as much as your
joy. For what you have
given, there can never be
thanks. For what is to come,
well,
You are with me.
Not even Caesar
could ask for more.
© sdrogers 15 march 2013
Dawn
and Isolde’s nurse said,
You have drunk your death!
and Tristan answered,
If by my death you mean
this agony of love,
that I accept.
If by my death you mean
the punishment we face
if discovered,
that I accept.
If by my death you mean
the fires of Hell for
all eternity,
that, too, I accept.
Oh,
my darling, my lover,
my own,
forgive me.
It has taken me so
long (so very long) to
grasp the heart of
I am still here.
I am
still
here.
I
am
still
here.
© sdrogers 24 march 2013
kobold
we live in deep places
in places known only to us
in places rarely shared
but, sometimes,
light breaks through
and in the light,
strands of silver like
icicles on evergreens
(the old ones, the fat
ones, the ones not found
at the dollar store)
reflect our selfs back
to us. and in those
mirrored moments of
grace, our deep places
glow
with remembered fire,
with prodigal flame,
with passion lost,
but never forgotten
and we are home
© sdrogers 11 april 2013
Tunnel of Love
The rain I smelled
at mile 15, just before
West Dixon Creek,
will reach you by
Friday.
It is the same rain that
hovered above the
carousel that summer,
the summer we were
twenty.
It is the same rain that
will wash our bones
wherever they lie,
together or
apart.
Rain is rain is rain,
after all. We are just
blessed to share it.
© sdrogers 19 april 2013
Retro
It used to be
when I couldn’t
sleep
I wrote
to you.
But that,
like the memory
of the sudden
bolt,
like the memory
of hiding and hoping
never
to be found,
pales.
Faded and hazy,
those times are
burned negatives;
outlines
of who we were
of who we will
never
be again.
Now,
in the sleepless
night, I stretch a
timid finger to
those edges.
Trembling, I
trace their fractal
forms, fearful of
too much
recall.
A blind Sphinx
uncertain of what
lies
beyond riddles.
© sdrogers 28 june 2013
Patsy
“You’re my precious baby angel,”
says she, oblivious to the grey
curled in knots around my head.
“My precious baby angel.”
I kiss her forehead.
She’s just been to the
Beauty Shop. Her own hair is
darker than mine, freshly
shampooed by the rubber-
bellied woman who is here
twice a month. Cut and
curled into ever-thinning
wisps around her face.
“You’re so beautiful,” I tell her.
She is. Blue eyes that are truly
Bright and a smile that slays.
How could he ever have hit her.
How could he ever have knocked
her to the ground. How could he ever
have tried to kick all life from her.
“As long as I’m beautiful for you,
Baby Angel, that’s all I care about.”
She will tell me much the same
eight hours from now when I
kiss her goodnight. And I will
tell her again that she is. And
both of us will mean it. Even
more than we do now.
©sdrogers 10 july 2013
Maroon
Words have left me.
They have gathered
their lines and curves
to draw a raw and steely
labyrinth 'round me, and
I find I can no longer even
spell.
They have gone the
Way of You.
Your Way.
The path of distance.
The course of ever
lasting separation.
And I tire.
I tire of Understanding.
I tire of Acceptance.
I tire of Experience.
I tire of Perseverance.
I tire, yes, even of
Love.
No.
No, that is not true.
Would that it were.
But I tire.
I do
Tire.
Inside the maze, I
pace and cry and
call, but you do not
answer.
Neither of you,
None of you,
answer.
Both of you,
All of you,
appear
to have left me
here, walking the ice
edged mandala, lips
moving in silence.
It is a temporary desertion.
(Right?)
©sdrogers 23 september 2013
And I Would Read
to you
in bed
at night
surrounded by
pillows,
afloat in plush
but for the
side
by you
there you
lie
pressed against
my opening
there you
pulse
firm and hot,
your smiling
head
flat atop a thin
white plane
Tonight?
Tonight is... let's see...
Salinger
Yes, tonight is
Salinger. Jerry.
No, not Catcher
but the Glasses
Franny. Zooey.
not Seymour
Seymour is sad
and tonight is
not for sadness
So lie there, darling
Close your
eyes
while I try
to manage
Franny
whispering the
Jesus prayer,
Franny
running on
forever
for ever and
ever between
delight and despair.
©sdrogers 27 september 2013
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