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Godlover: Five Sonnets





Godlover, walking cracked narrow sidewalk
dissecting asphalt road and vast parking
lot, searches for a tree. Finds one and talks
softly to green leaves, touching its bark and
thinking of some unknown axman who broke
the rules. He studies those thick, flexing roots —
how they’ve crumbled layered pavement that choked
them, keep searching for water. His worn boots
lift to find a seedling barely visible
in sparse earth. He sits, honoring rare shade.
Considers his species, how its able,
though dwindling, to war with nature. He’s made
mistakes himself, he admits. He may stay
here a while, view constant scorched sky, and pray.

October 9, 2015



Godlover — rising in silence as light
wakes — slips on sweats, cotton socks, special shoes,
steps out the door into chilled, fading night,
whispers to disappearing stars — homes whose
inhabitants whisper back, he’s sure. He
studies bare terrain, knows he must reach far
dot of forest by noon, first rest then walk
in its cool shade. She will be walking there
too, singing of dancing spirits. They’ll talk
of their dwindling tribes, sit by rare water
reflecting cloudless sky, speak of what frees
the psyche through prayer, through dance and laughter.
They’ll decide again to dance, laugh and pray.
She’ll leave. He’ll turn, run back through fading day.

October 17, 2015



Godlover — deciding again to go
there — trods through long, barren valley’s once-flush
landscape where vanished honey bees had flowed,
blessing now-lost fruit orchards turned sagebrush.
He climbs brief hills, his direction guided
by sun descending to far peak he seeks.
He thinks of how gulls once squawked and glided
here, greeting him as a boy, their pronged beaks
like dull-gold fish hooks. All gone now. He walks
to the ledge, gazes down at the vast gorge
they once called the Pacific. Softly talks
of its dark floor, like ash in a dead forge.
He sits, recalls young love here one summer.
Whispers Keats’ last lines in “Chapman’s Homer”.

November 3, 2015




Godlover — following the falling star,
its hurtling through celestial night to earth,
fading in valley’s ebony void far
below his mountain perch — thought of life’s worth,
of birth and death. He swore he heard her voice
calling to him as it fell, as if she
stood just in sight, called of their constant choice
to seek each other among ancient trees.
But she was far away tonight, asleep
in her dwindling village. Why did she flow
through his mind so? Why did her image keep
appearing like a dream? He’d like to know
if he was falling in love. But no one
to ask. His parents, his tribe, all were gone.
He studied the stars. Thought of life alone.

November 13, 2015




Godlover, not knowing why, had chanced past
familiar vast wasteland and forest speck —
where they two had danced and prayed as one, last
month or so — to this unknown granite peak
whose summit faded to what must be clouds
the Wise One had sung in legend. In faith
he climbed, and climbed, and climbed, then cried out loud
at what he found: a garden, lush, with paths
through treasures of apples, oranges, lettuce,
herbs, and clear stream where he drank blessed potion
of his every cell. Discovered vanished,
sacred honey bee in flight through ocean
of bright sunflowers — cut one with his knife.
Set off to bring her here: start a new life.

November 25, 2015





Roger Armbrust

Roger Armbrust's articles and columns have covered labor and management, Congressional legislation, and federal court cases, including appeals to the U.S. Supreme Court. He formerly served as national news editor of Back Stage in New York City, where he also taught a professional writing course at New York University. His recent book of sonnets -- oh, touch me there: Love Sonnets -- is available from Amazon and other book sites. He is an associate curator of The Clyde Fitch Report. He is also co-founder and co-curator of reality: a world of views.

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