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 Unborn

I wrap it in my arms
Cuddling, swaddling
Cherishing the child
I could never quite
carry

At times I relinquish
Watch it shrink and dwindle and
fade
to almost nothing

Then comes fear

Who am I
without it
What am I
beyond it

And so I feed it
again
and again
again
and again
again
and again

Until it grows
Until it swells
Until it covers
past hope

Suffocating the host
In the guise of
Protection

Armor over armor
Steel over steel
Impenetrable
Unyielding
Stultifying

Safe

 

 

At the End of the Day

a hackneyed
     trite
        bromidic
phrase
we are become
we are become
we are 
      be
come

but, oh
shame 
     on you
shame on you
shame 
     on you

for making me 
believe
for working so 
hard
at making me
believe

for being
         such 
A Good Liar

your body 
full of 
Old Man Strength
your words 
full of 
Young Man Charm

yes
shame shame shame
on
  you, Papi

you oh so Graven
image

my Death lies too
beyond that line
across that hill
down that road you
ride
to 
  ward 
      me

never so close
never so far
            away

my Death rises
flat head hooded 
Siddhartha's Cobra 
an evanculous embrace
cooing me close with the 
crook of each bend

my Death is
kinder than you

it has promised
Nothing
and shall deliver
All

just as it did
in Dachau
when your fingers 
closed 
so lovingly
so cravenly
around my
         throat

At the End of the Day
At the End of the Day
At the
      End
of the
Day 


 






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



The Clone Wars

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


Stillborn

in the box
on my side
knees pulled
up

twisted just
            enough
to face the
top

because

it is
through the top
the poriform
            top
of the box
that his 
        voice
will trickle 

teasing me 
with sunlight
bathing me 
in ashes

in the box
in the dark
in the quiet
I paint the
in
  side

using what
colours
I have

blood
mixes well
          better
than you might
expect

with ash
it shines like
oils

with tears
it runs like
waters

and sweat will
bind
it almost like
gouache

in the box
I paint 
with fingers
with eyes
         closed

dried and candied
flowers
fingerprints
feathers
and 
   always

the faceless figures
that fall and float
breathless and blue
atop the wide
lemniscate 
          waves



©sdrogers 17 may 2014