September rain fresh linen
a blanket lain last hours
of summer spilling out
off the roof gutters
autumn takes a breath
before winter ice and cold
take the hills rip colors
from the trees red g/old
apples barley corn
birds soar into the wind
remind me we all die
regardless how much we
lean into or oppose it — I am
alone. not without fire
or love, long before the snow
Rayn Roberts
The cat chases its tail, the dog whimpers in sleep,
The heart skips a beat…
It’s not a nightmare, not a movie, a TV show.
Wake when you will, but where will you be, in bed alone,
In the den, your unknowing hand holding a gun,
At your desk starting at nothing?
It doesn’t matter—Looking deeply matters:
Unless you turn it inside out, look long at what you find
The mind eludes the eye of reason.
Recall the flowers of betrayal and delusion with merciful disregard,
Struggle all your life to save this dying thing
This beaten, bloody thing called love.
For the tail is chasing the dog,
The cat is barking in sleep, the heart is cracking
Hope is a Gypsy song rising over the ash of Auschwitz
Mad men rule the world—
And if they wake from a coma of hate, will they give a vision truth?
Will they feed the poor, give up peace?
When will your heart slow to a murmur and hiss into silence?
I want to say the cat is calm, the dog is happy, humankind is wise and kind,
But the cat is gnawing the cage, the dog is humming a dirge,
The good flower columbine was never a flock of doves:
Littleton, Kosovo, Dachau, Wooded Knee, Kabul, Santa Fe, El Paso:
Large extensions of the fist we use to abuse the children—
Where next the murder of the day, massacre of the week,
Where next the World War?
The heart is failing, the heart is failing, there are no known donors.
Lightning can’t strike the same place twice, there’s a reason
for everything that happens
God’s got a plan
you were born with a spoon and a slap
Just like everyone else
You see some things
others don’t
some never see at all,
Seriously ugly unreasonable shit reappearing
Bad bent pennies repeating
Unruh – Whitman – the Night Stalker – Son of Sam
Adam la la Lanza
Aileen Wuornos – Cho Seung hui -The Zodiac
John Allen Muhammad, oh yeah
we fear and fancy our killers
make ’em Hollywood thrillers
they make us feel so sad so alive but we can’t
let go our AK-15s
Would be UnAmerican, they’re so much fun for the kids
especially boys,
we put meat on the table with ’em
like the Donner Party did,
They save lives
like Charlie Manson’s family carving knives.
Buddha before enlightenment starved bony looking in the moment for a way out
the joy and pain the universal law at the center in the chaos in and around him
knowing we all wait under a spreading tree
the return of turtles setting eggs in sand
salmon roiling upriver to spawn
sea lions fleeing the orca
And human life – cirriped on the fin of a whale
ephemeral song in the ocean of space-time
Glint on a globe severed head on sand bright knife blood on a terrorist’s hand– we know not when but live for one instant, Enlightenment–
Love pales in comparison under a bodhi tree.
My slut-desire for a bankroll of love, movie line wait for true romance
Hourglass heart running out of sand, twittered intention to end hunger,
My cell phone ringing mass murder, Buddha-delusion to heal the mind
Prophetic wisdom on a fool’s errand, tabloid wish to be some super hero
Dildo desire to fuck Mr. Trump, glittering cities on buffalo bones, soul
On the altar of power and beauty, Alt-Right nose up the low racist ass
Anarchist answers to old questions, disaster aid on misanthrope Visas
Our house of cards with the usury windows, big wheels claim to Jesus
Monitor heads blinking with cancer, a Starbucks cup full of dead poems
Sex Pistols fist on a Mozart cock, pornographic priest with his boy stars
Pig hooves on the backs of the poor, bump car pillows, insomniac beds
Kids in mind numbing debt– but is there hope for us? Toxic rainbows
With peak-oil pots, the Religious Right making ISIS tanks and bombs
Saintly ideals with demonic halos, yes, we are great, the new Babylon.
The poem above first appeared on Poetry Super Highway: http://poetrysuperhighway.com/psh/2018/02/poetry-brittany-shea-rayn-roberts/
If what keeps you up nights
are poets
make no mistake
you may be one,
if poetry
possibilities increase–
The one way to know
is let words
keep you awake
and never give you peace.
Photos by Rayn Roberts ’19
all things live forever
nudge shape the others
the mind in sleep tries
to build another world
I dream my life awake
ears open to a lullaby
sung by death to soul
until the old body dies
