Areel

Closeup.

There was a
chance,
a very real
chance,
that he might
disappear
completely
into her eyes.

Take.

What would that
be,
to disappear
completely
into such a darkness.
What would that
take
from him
What would that
give.

Low-angle.
Extreme.

Without label
Without title
Without purpose
beyond keeping the
light
always
just where she might
find it,
just where she might
tilt her head
just so
just where
she might never be
cold
again.

Cross-cutting
no more.

No more
bits
of life strewn
across another
floor,
no more
edits
no more
jumps
no more
wipes.

Just the
Iris-in
of silence.
And the
Dissolve
of life
as it was
meant
to be lived.

©sdrogers 10 february 2014

Plumbing

the bottle
tips
over
empty
always
so empty

a splash of
Jack
upon the glass
and all reflection
is
lost

Prompt me
Prompt me
Prompt me

You
do not understand
do you
my love of William
my Love
of William

Still
you must remember
a filtered lens for me
always
a filtered lens
shoot me blue
perhaps
blue
yes, blue

Yes
I am lost

once
I knew them
all of them
thirty-seven
chrono

logical

ly

now
I despair

yesterday
watching
I heard Hamlet
whine
a Skywalker
whine
in iambic pentameter
ad nauseum
ad infinitum

Broadway – v- Hollywood
a match that meant
so much
at one time
at one time

runs of laughter
down labyrinthine ways
have left me
shaken
and
empty

lying on my back
spoiled child that I am
a coward
a drunk
sun purring above
as they stash me
away

pressure of a pen
on my riven heart
while memory screens
the ghost of you
upon a page

your voice alive again
in the hashmarks and crosshairs
of E

nun

ci

a

tion

there lie
I

shrouded in Absinthe
all faerie green and silver sugar

nothing is as
dead
as I shall be
when lights unnamed
are finally dimmed
and the last and best
of the wormwood curtains
are finally struck
down

©sdrogers 1 february 2014

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

The High Priestess

she plays a game of
Patience
with tiny tarot
cards

worn wax figures
slip
silent from her
fingers

Queens and Kings
and sexless Pages
mark the years
mark the ages

a childhood Tower
a youth of Cups
a Pentacl’d life of
Death and Swords
Fools and Knights

always Knights

bearing changes
fortune hope
feeling word

with a breath, she presses
back the marbled table
clean and cold and
stares
unblinking at the cutting
cards

she is ageless old

at her feet (in socks)
the auburn cat
curled and coiled

she bends to
stroke
the muscled
fur

You are so spoiled. 

he groans against her
hand
considers rising, decides
against

Lazy Lion…

her voice alone
defies
all age, for it was never
young

now its curves and
crackles
match the wilding
white
cascading from her
head

there are no more
apostles
no penitents, no
petitioners

to disturb the hush
of waves
to disrupt the rush
of sun

Just us.

she lifts him from the
floor
sets him atop the
cards
and lowers to
look
into his amber
eyes

Couldn’t you have waited?
Couldn’t you have found another way?

he makes no
reply
only stretches his
bulk
across the cards
to cool his lush
belly
‘gainst the broken tiles

she laughs

and the sound is
air and water
earth and fire
and the

              space

behind it all

 

©sdrogers 25 august 2013

Odyssey

We drive.
The top is down.
Your gear is
stowed safely
in the trunk.

I hold the book.
Its pink and yellow
veins bleed across
my ink stained
fingers.

It is summer.
Because we hate
the cold.  It is the
only concession
we make.

We have one month.
The Midwest, across
the desert to Vegas,
to San Francisco.
South to Galveston.

North to the Centre
of the World.  Missouri,
Kentucky, ending at
Virginia.  Hoping to
find The Tree.

We will find The Tree.

We speak very little.
Lifetimes of words and
distance have left us
silent, with little need
for speech.

With a great unspoken
need for glance, for touch,
for the lightest play of
fingers on skin.  There are
bursts of laughter.

Inexplicable but understood.
And the holy hush of
clasped hands in the Sacred
Spots, walking silently across
Hallowed Ground.

We have waited so long.
For this.  So long.
We are ageless and wise.
We are foolish and unafraid.
We are alive

Now.

©sdrogers 14 may 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

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