Happy New Year

The voice rises across the cold
falling gently along her brow,
lolling cool atop the heart-thump
bomp-de-bomp-de-bomb
of a thumb-thudding bass
She smiles.
Splintered post cold against her
naked thigh, flanneled feet
                           warm 
against the breathing concrete.
Thank you,
She calls
For the fireworks, 
for the glittering, shimmering
firefly 
       works, 
that hang
         suspended
in the deepening dark
to mark 
the cloudless, blackened, frozen
End
of such a Year.
He smiles.
She knows 
He smiles
Though she cannot 
                 see 
Separated 
as they are

By night
only night
so much 
       Night
Still

He smiles.

Its warmth,
his warmth,
drifting 
        frozen 
over time, 
wraps itself
               warm
across her cheek.

And
for a moment
she thinks 
           Go
Go
   Join
Join him.
But 
   No.
It is enough
enough
      Enough
to call
       Thank
You
(oh, Beautiful One)

to smile
         Happy
(oh, Beloved One)

to mean
        It
to mean
       So
much more;

to be glad
          Together
across the night

That the year, 
this year,
          this 
wonderfulhorribleinterminable

Year
    Is 
      Done.
Thank you
Thank You
Thank
     You
Done
    Done
         Done.

 

 

The Spot

 

Dead
Blind
A zone without range
Empty
Void

We cross it each morning
Cursing and laughing
We wait
Calmly
Patiently
For life to 
Beat
    again

And it does
           Always
it does

But 
   there are 
            times
Other times

The underworld 
              Arises 
without warning

Signals disappear
Signs are misconstrued
Codes long broken become
Impenetrable

And we are 
          Lost

Until

From the left
A light
A faint
       Blue
Pulse

A dichrotic throb
As though 
         doubling
Might make the difference

And so it does
So 
  something
does

And the impasse
Dissolves
     Fades
         Passes
into memory

Becoming nothing 
                more 
than the shimmering penumbra
of a once
         intractable
Pain


©sdrogers 20 june 2015




 






Chiaroscuro

The whirring purr of night
Falls thick across my chest
Pausing to lick with scratchy
Tongue the hot, salty trail from
Eye to ear.

He understands even less than
I this hard wind blowing
Cold from the East. So used have
We become to warm and loving
Breezes.

There is no love tonight.

This night belongs not to
Valentine but to Sebastian.

To twisted torsos and bloody
Arrows. To blackened eyes
Staring blindly, begging God
To release a shredded
Paper heart.

Gifts of the Revenant

No matter what
It is never enough

To lay in your lap
the tenderest suckling
its tiny bones a crack
in my mouth
despite all care
despite the gentle
pad
of tongue upon teeth

To lay at your feet
the hardest beast
dragging, heaving 
with the last of my
strength
a steaming kill

No matter what
It is never enough

I am 
still and always
the ghost

The white ghost 
with blazoned blue eyes, 
a grey shade 
slunk back, curled quiet 
in the shadows 
a silver specter
silently cleaning these 
ever-spotted,
ever-bloodied 
paws

Awaiting
the chin chuck
the head pat
the scratch 
behind the ears

Awaiting 
whatever Time
and 
   They
may allow

It is never enough
No matter what
Never enough


©sdrogers 28 december 2014



Out of the Window

Out of the Window






















There are endings.
Then there are
              Endings.

Thirty days of silence
Fall from the window 
Of my throat in a 
Shroud of linen so soiled
Not even
         Blue
Can cleanse it.

Thirty years of silence
Stretch from the ledge
Of my heart in a 
Frozen sea so vast
Not even 
        Red
Can forge it.

I am come awake now, 
Awash in 
         Indigo
A black-eye bruise 
Where once there was
So much laughter.

It is the
         Ending
And soon all will be
The not quite white
                  Grey 
Of winter.


©sdrogers 14 october 2014


Exile

Think not the king did banish thee,
But thou the king.
       --The Life and Death of Richard the Second
         Act I, Scene 3
         William Shakespeare


the old weighs
upon me
 
blue moon
light falls
too fast
too often
its shadows
show
too much

the cast is
pall
the fall is
all
and the strand
by which I stand
still
before you frays
and fells me
altogether

the poor 
are ever marked
and the fat man's 
day is done


©sdrogers 5 october 2014


Sitting with the Dead

Pain hangs
an unwelcome 
guest at the
edges of celebration

through lash spikes
I follow him
curled and quiet
on a pongee wave

silent reminder
that his power 
here is 
        no 
            more

She lies
an unbroken
beauty 
head back
mouth agape
as though she is
singing

singingsingingsinging
sing
     ing

and I
still curled
still quiet
applaud

and Pain
slithers shattered
out the blackened
door


©sdrogers 5 september 2014