How many times we have risen from the ashes of some ruined dream of some broken promise of some word unspoken some deed undone. How many. If I could draw with other than the words that so often fail me, If I could paint with other than the ink that bleeds even here, even now, I would paint Her. I would paint The Phoenix Blue that is Us. Her wings are indigo lemniscates. Without beginning without ending they flow, vast and heavy yet light and clear, from the steady cerulean flame that is her body. Compact and strong that body is, diamond hard yet downy soft, Newborn Everlasting. Its supple spine extends to a tail of limitless measure that trembles and falls, quavers and drops in perfect time with those phospherant wings like the quavering vibrato of a coloratura just before the shattering. But silent. So silent. Not a sound rises from wing or tail as she cuts the smoke-filled air of her latest, most pain-filled Death. Until Until High aloft she opens her mouth, that crystal-sharp edge of her luminous face, that has withheld guarded swallowed so much so many for all these endless lifetimes. But no more. No More. For this time, from these ashes, she rises full-voiced sure and strong and pure. And the song she sings is Ours and Ours alone, a deafening silence to all other ears. To us she calls as never before, her throaty cry breathless, broken, ragged from the raging flames, but certain, strong, and true. A song of roads not taken of paths not chosen of endings Overcome. A song of Love. A song of Life. A song of Hope. Our Song Forever Thanks to You.
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
Splintered post cold against her naked thigh, flanneled feet warm against the breathing concrete.
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.
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
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.
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
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
Your laughter rings me like chimes against the moon. The breath of you lifts me up and out and beyond into where there is only light where there is only love where all the demons disappear forever. ©sdrogers 12 june 2014
at times for a time there are no symptoms at all at times for a time no one would know the ferocity of the blow no one would guess the profundity of the wound blood filling as it does every available em of body of soul at times for a time evacuation becomes necessary when the silence expands beyond all boundaries over all walls despite the very best intentions then the site is lanced the pressure reduced in a sudden stanchless torrent in a thick and steaming roux of salt and gore and there is breath again for a time at times ©sdrogers 4 march 2014
for there was a
upon which we stood
when everything was
and nothing was not
but it passed
as moments are wont
while we blinked and squinted
into the purblind eye of
we are here
tattered and trembling,
not quite shattered
in blue pools
all around us
©sdrogers 27 february 2014