RJR_Poems

THE EARLY PART OF THE WAR

The anarchist forced his rosary into the monk's ear, shattering

the tympanum.
Little children singing nursery rhymes bobbed the nose

of the Virgin Mary.
They burned the churches, women hitherto pious threw

their beads and missals,

Their candles, crucifixes and holy water receptacles,
Pictures of saints, statues and pious reading into the flames
Of communal fires, chanting revenge.
Atheistic revenge consisted of burning priests alive

and burying them alive

And sisters and brothers and simply the pious
Whose piety offended, who wore clean collars to the rich

man's funeral,
And some were simply shot for daily communicants.

Robert Joseph Rosenberg

AT THE VILLAGE GATE

The trembling of a lamp, the sentimental horn moans,

A black bull of a man in a ruffled shirt offers his tenderness,

His essential lonliness to the moon goddess.

The subtle gray shadows orchestrate a splash of violins,

A horn protests the shortening days, chewing the cud of melancholy.

Rose leaves pressed in a novel, withering, lovely blood of thought,

The wonderous winged stars drifting in their burning frames

Are the silence of what might, have been.

Robert Joseph Rosenberg

THE TANG HORSE

Aiee! Blood sweated hands, each crisscrossed line singing with pain

So I can hardly grasp the sword.

My hat lined with monkey fur is blood spattered, too, so much

red paint.

The harlots have fled with the baggage.
We are at. the Pass of the Black Jade.
The snow covers the corpses of young men and fallen horses

covered with smoking entrails.
A man's hand clutches for his sword,
The fingers frozen in a lover's knot.

Robert Joseph Rosenberg

ASYLUM

The little gray mice leap from sack to sack in the cellar

of the madhouse.

The mullato attendant with the little mustache declaims

the fall of Lucifer

That beautiful morning, I scrub, I scrub
The sick excretions from the immaculate linoleum
With strong ammonia that makes me cry.
The faeces like little, bitter candies.
They go to work on another one, the face, the groin,

He is like a pulp before their white uniforms.

find
I must keep silent or they will out about me,

Cross section of an eroded city or a blue world in vortex.
The silent spiked sun beyond the world and almost the orient
The handsome blond belts me in the stomach
I bend double over the raop bucket and cough.
Cold, greasy water flows through the ringer.
Mickey Mouse is smiling through his tears.
I see him clearly.

The brown river gods are rolling cigarettes of broomstraw
And smoking; Mekong, Indus, Iriwaddy.

No matter, soon I will be running messages for the Heavenly

Intelligence.

Robert Joseph Rosenberg

MUSEUM

A leaf descending like a bird, whirled into the snow.

The chops and cuts of my silken yellow dog.

A weed of frost, the swear, of crystal.

My friend has become a silhouette of black felt,

A clandestine valentine for dogs and birds!

Once the laughing Roman maiden of golden hair sucked his white throat

But she is, oh, no more, lust and dust swept under the hard cot

And he is become a silence, keen as a stiletto,

A dagger of the inmost mind where the old man and his wheezy horse

Wearing gas masks emerge from the limestone cave

And the woman with the many breasts is ugly again, sitting

on a red stool
And the young lord reclines, concerned for his purity,

which is a vapid lie.
After having betrayed his love, the entire company and the

sylvan star.

The thin arm of the great, mad general, brandishing a flashing

cutlass

Arrouses the brown horses to fly in battle
Across the charging horde of the levantine desert.
His arm wears a blue sleeve torn at the famished elbow,
Sporting gold lace, imperious command to rise up,
Ride again through the brown dust.
Round, smooth creatures shaped like tiny blimps with grotesque

faces wait in roofless cellars.

Two ruined china dolls with staring darklashed eyes recline,
Their springs broken, their joints empty.
An angel will leave a silver ring set with four turquoises

MUSEUM (cont.)
for my mother.

Robert Joseph Rosenberg

THE LACKEY OF LOVE

The clatter of a leash of steel,
The spokes revolve and tear the breast,
Where were tears when tears were real
And to love meant my heart's rest.

Whips lash from the harlot's breast,
Painted eyes and hennaed hair,
Borrowed love from Sister Pest
Tears a good man down, arse bare.

Lechery's a hungry food,
Flesh alone won't satisfy,
Weary of what we knew was good
Hungrily embrace the lie.

Putrid, as most corpses are,
Who could love thy bitter jest,
Who forgive thy crimson pride,
Know the heart within thy breast.

Who could take thy hand with love,
Kiss the tears away that run
Like saliva from above
That the wicked looms have spun.

Who embrace thy rotten waist,
Tell thee thou wert all to him,
Kiss the gelid lips that taste
Carnal as the Devil's whim.

THE LACKEY OF LOVE (cont.)

Find me such, he would I find
To forgive our fantasy,
Our nightmare of the bitter mind
We ate and knew twas sophistry.

Robert Joseph Rosenberg

THE SHADOW OF THE WAR

The shadow of the war moved across the campuses,

Dim death would cut down all our flowering,

Would kill us wherever we hid,

With foulest breath of machines would kill us all.

Death's fingers tear mother from child, spouses apart,

And striding across the seas in a minute or two,

Blasphemous or silent minion,

Choke the song in the poor man's throat,

Steal away the honeyed kisses, drown us in hot hysteria,

So all men may be poorer, until our strength gone

We whisper no more.

Robert Joseph Rosenberg

LEWIS CARROL

Alice, adventure is for thee,
Chess becomes monotony.
Kitten-cat is very warm.,
Sleep becomes thy little form.

All the joy of fantasy
Dyes my little melody.
String I my instrument
At your consent.

Each episode is made and stands
"Not the work of other hands",
Men criticize and spoil my joy.
I have made a children's toy.

Robert Joseph Rosenberg

PREMONITION

The rain in silver cadenced streamers runs.
The brittle stars blaze in awful fear.
The end of all things, I await, is near.

Who walks down the thundering sea,

In beauty more ardent than the blazing sun?

The eagle in his eyrie waits,

In patient, solitude I give my thanks

This peace will bring a blanket of the stars,

Robert Joseph Rosenberg

JESUS, SAVIOUR OF OUR RACE

Jesus, Saviour of our race
Can I look you in the face,
Was your agony my own,
Did you suffer all alone?
John and Mary standing by
While cruel men did you crucify
And you conquered Hell and Death
With your last forgiving breath.
My poor soul too would he save
Though I've been both fool and knave,
Grant me Hope and Faith and Love,
That are tidings from above.

Robert Joseph Rosenberg

CURLY HAIRED CRIMINAL

As a mirror subtly distorts, the image shimmering upon silver,

So your heart outfoxes itself in the pursuit of truth.

For you are as a glass reflecting the Image without soul.

The tattoo cross on the forearm escapes your perspective, hidden

in the liquid of your soul.

Curly haired criminal! Say rather this was an early Christian,
And a martyred one, surely.

Robert Joseph Rosenberg

TO TERPSICHORE

Terpsichore, you pleasure me

Though I have never learned to dance/.

Your fairy rythmns of romance

Are endless.

What set them all dancing

So close, boy to girl?

Gentility enhancing

In the dances whirl.

In a circle, couples or alone -

King David danced before the throne of God,

Some dance till they are overcome

And Death dances with the crowd.

Robert Joseph Rosenberg

INNOCENCE

Children gay as little flowers dancing on the grass

Under the smooth garment of Heaven

Beyond the arrow of a river,

Blue vein of a river, it's heart, mother the sea.

In a circle round in bright colors they dance

Beyond the bread of the woods and the dust of crossroads,

What innocence is mine to have seen their sport!

Soon they will disappear, leaving me alone,
To wonder at so much gaiety.

Robert Joseph Rosenberg

GARDENS

June brought all life reincarnate again.
The spring rains had washed the winter gone
And old leaves burnt in a magic flame
As nature salted in our town.

The roses bloomed upon the branch of thorns
Followed by daisys that adorn
The walks of lovers and the corn
Victorious and waiting to be shorn.

The crown of tulips first to blossom

And flags we collected in our passion

And strawberries so red and sweet

Are spreading in the weeds the summer's heat,

Robert Joseph Rosenberg

A DREAM OF STALIN'S GHOST

Up from the grave rose Stalin's ghost
And all the demons kissed his stole
For he did betray the Sacred Host
And learned men that had no soul.

In form of gassy cloud he rose
Like a balloon, treason to preach,
To add to all the poor men's woes
Revolt in deed and speech.

Those he claimed were marked for Hell,
Those he insulted martyred.

He claimed for his own the hypocrite swell,
The treacherous and chicken hearted.

Like a stench in that graveyard dark

He disappeared on his mission,

To brand the lost sheep with fiendish mark

And save them from the Christian.

Robert Joseph Rosenberg

1965 (cont.)

At least a year's more peace I pray

And let the old year wither away,

Like fruit, outward fair and sweet

Attractive but poisonous to eat.

I realize the whole shebang may be destroyed

This is a time when we are all annoyed.

I, myself, do not wish to survive the act

That revealed our sordid nightmare as a fact.

I'll leave to others the sacred fire

And join the general funeral pyre.

For still the brittle game of death goes on,

The battle of negotiations, the cuckold's crown

And still the traitor casts his money down.

Robert Joseph Rosenberg

MADHOUSE

If there is no Hell, whence comes this strength to destroy my life,
Or was history invented in a madhouse?

1 can well imagine God Omnipotent is there,

He never ate nor slept and showed me his penis which was a black snake

Robert Joseph Rosenberg

THE ASH TREE

The king he saw a beauty fine

And wanted her for concubine.

To clasp her round he's undertaking

And take her to his castle quaking

But up there sprang a hero bold

And stole her from that dotard old

and hid with her in a fairy wood

And ate the ash berry for their food.

The king pursued in hot desire

And for our hero in hot ire

He sprang with his enchanted sword

And killed the two without a word.

Their blood spilled round the gray ash tree

That had given them their privacy.

The king returned to his angry hill

Lamenting oer so sad a kill

For in his fiery jealousy

He had foresaken sweet mercy.

Robert Joseph Rosenberg

BAPTISM

Take this candle, hold it in your hands.

Ascend like the Southern Cross

Across the broad seas of this world.

Take this Host, let it cleave to your palate,

This candle is Christ also.

Robert Joseph Rosenberg

FEAST OF THE NATIVITY

Let us praise the Infant King

Bread and wine to worship bring.

Let us kneel upon the stone

Before the Infant's marble throne.

Worship here the baby King

Whose holy praises ages sing.

Our humble gifts to Heaven ascend

Our sickness to heal and our faults to mend.

Robert Joseph Rosenberg

THE SNOW IS DISAPPEARING

The snow is disappearing now

Like troubles from a wrinkled brow,

The road is full of holes and ruts,

The squirrels are seeking hidden nuts,

A bluejay saw 1 on a roof

And take his rasping song as proof

That soon my birthday will be here

Because his voice is very near.

Robert Joseph Rosenberg

THE BAY OF WHALES

Each friendly whale, his great hide pulsing with blood
Stands in the waves. Broken on the waves the ships
Where we hurried to get undressed, destined to sink
Under aerial bombardment. The rising sun of blood.
Its bloody rays in sunset, the brassy flies in
The tropic evening buzzing as we run to fulfill
Our obligation. As we run with our wounds open,
Frothing a little at the mouth, drytongued remembering
Our madness, remembering our ennui, suddenly like ice
In our mouths. For old times sake we write.
For old friends some of whom have become beautiful.

How fat you have become, Sara, who married a very black,

Or several. How you are pretty! You are tired of

That old chauvinistic game, yet human life is at stake.

Chop suey and tea under the great Ming Dynasty.

I am recognized. Once I was in the dress business.

A circus is appearing in the parking lot of the shopping center.

Oilcloth flags are buttering the breeze.

The stale clowns, the sexual acrobats. Even the endless elephants,

Though pretty, are tiresome.

How the children are roaring over their coloring books!

Now I must really buy some neckties, with my inheritance,

For the wedding. What have you to say to whales, fat and cherubic,

The friend of children.

Robert Joseph Rosenberg



	THE EARLY PART OF THE WAR The anarchist forced his rosary into the monk's ear, shattering the tympanum. Little children singing nursery rhymes bobbed the nose of the Virgin Mary. They burned the churches, women hitherto pious threw their beads and missals, Their candles, crucifixes and holy water receptacles, Pictures of saints, statues and pious reading into the flames Of communal fires, chanting revenge. Atheistic revenge consisted of burning priests alive and burying them alive And sisters and brothers and simply the pious Whose piety offended, who wore clean collars to the rich man's funeral, And some were simply shot for daily communicants.

	Robert Joseph Rosenberg



	THE TANG HORSE Aiee! Blood sweated hands, each crisscrossed line singing with pain So I can hardly grasp the sword. My hat lined with monkey fur is blood spattered, too, so much red paint. The harlots have fled with the baggage. We are at. the Pass of the Black Jade. The snow covers the corpses of young men and fallen horses covered with smoking entrails. A man's hand clutches for his sword, The fingers frozen in a lover's knot. Robert Joseph Rosenberg



	ASYLUM The little gray mice leap from sack to sack in the cellar of the madhouse. The mullato attendant with the little mustache declaims the fall of Lucifer That beautiful morning, I scrub, I scrub The sick excretions from the immaculate linoleum With strong ammonia that makes me cry. The faeces like little, bitter candies. They go to work on another one, the face, the groin, He is like a pulp before their white uniforms. find I must keep silent or they will out about me, Cross section of an eroded city or a blue world in vortex. The silent spiked sun beyond the world and almost the orient The handsome blond belts me in the stomach I bend double over the raop bucket and cough. Cold, greasy water flows through the ringer. Mickey Mouse is smiling through his tears. I see him clearly. The brown river gods are rolling cigarettes of broomstraw And smoking; Mekong, Indus, Iriwaddy. No matter, soon I will be running messages for the Heavenly Intelligence.

	Robert Joseph Rosenberg



	MUSEUM A leaf descending like a bird, whirled into the snow. The chops and cuts of my silken yellow dog. A weed of frost, the swear, of crystal. My friend has become a silhouette of black felt, A clandestine valentine for dogs and birds! Once the laughing Roman maiden of golden hair sucked his white throat But she is, oh, no more, lust and dust swept under the hard cot And he is become a silence, keen as a stiletto, A dagger of the inmost mind where the old man and his wheezy horse Wearing gas masks emerge from the limestone cave And the woman with the many breasts is ugly again, sitting on a red stool And the young lord reclines, concerned for his purity, which is a vapid lie. After having betrayed his love, the entire company and the sylvan star. The thin arm of the great, mad general, brandishing a flashing cutlass Arrouses the brown horses to fly in battle Across the charging horde of the levantine desert. His arm wears a blue sleeve torn at the famished elbow, Sporting gold lace, imperious command to rise up, Ride again through the brown dust. Round, smooth creatures shaped like tiny blimps with grotesque faces wait in roofless cellars. Two ruined china dolls with staring darklashed eyes recline, Their springs broken, their joints empty. An angel will leave a silver ring set with four turquoises



	THE LACKEY OF LOVE The clatter of a leash of steel, The spokes revolve and tear the breast, Where were tears when tears were real And to love meant my heart's rest. Whips lash from the harlot's breast, Painted eyes and hennaed hair, Borrowed love from Sister Pest Tears a good man down, arse bare. Lechery's a hungry food, Flesh alone won't satisfy, Weary of what we knew was good Hungrily embrace the lie. Putrid, as most corpses are, Who could love thy bitter jest, Who forgive thy crimson pride, Know the heart within thy breast. Who could take thy hand with love, Kiss the tears away that run Like saliva from above That the wicked looms have spun. Who embrace thy rotten waist, Tell thee thou wert all to him, Kiss the gelid lips that taste Carnal as the Devil's whim.



	THE SHADOW OF THE WAR The shadow of the war moved across the campuses, Dim death would cut down all our flowering, Would kill us wherever we hid, With foulest breath of machines would kill us all. Death's fingers tear mother from child, spouses apart, And striding across the seas in a minute or two, Blasphemous or silent minion, Choke the song in the poor man's throat, Steal away the honeyed kisses, drown us in hot hysteria, So all men may be poorer, until our strength gone We whisper no more.

	Robert Joseph Rosenberg



	LEWIS CARROL Alice, adventure is for thee, Chess becomes monotony. Kitten-cat is very warm., Sleep becomes thy little form.

	All the joy of fantasy Dyes my little melody. String I my instrument At your consent. Each episode is made and stands "Not the work of other hands", Men criticize and spoil my joy. I have made a children's toy.

	Robert Joseph Rosenberg



	PREMONITION The rain in silver cadenced streamers runs. The brittle stars blaze in awful fear. The end of all things, I await, is near. Who walks down the thundering sea, In beauty more ardent than the blazing sun? The eagle in his eyrie waits, In patient, solitude I give my thanks This peace will bring a blanket of the stars,

	Robert Joseph Rosenberg



	JESUS, SAVIOUR OF OUR RACE Jesus, Saviour of our race Can I look you in the face, Was your agony my own, Did you suffer all alone? John and Mary standing by While cruel men did you crucify And you conquered Hell and Death With your last forgiving breath. My poor soul too would he save Though I've been both fool and knave, Grant me Hope and Faith and Love, That are tidings from above.

	Robert Joseph Rosenberg



	TO TERPSICHORE Terpsichore, you pleasure me Though I have never learned to dance/. Your fairy rythmns of romance Are endless. What set them all dancing So close, boy to girl? Gentility enhancing In the dances whirl. In a circle, couples or alone - King David danced before the throne of God, Some dance till they are overcome And Death dances with the crowd.

	Robert Joseph Rosenberg



	GARDENS June brought all life reincarnate again. The spring rains had washed the winter gone And old leaves burnt in a magic flame As nature salted in our town. The roses bloomed upon the branch of thorns Followed by daisys that adorn The walks of lovers and the corn Victorious and waiting to be shorn. The crown of tulips first to blossom And flags we collected in our passion And strawberries so red and sweet Are spreading in the weeds the summer's heat,

	Robert Joseph Rosenberg



	A DREAM OF STALIN'S GHOST Up from the grave rose Stalin's ghost And all the demons kissed his stole For he did betray the Sacred Host And learned men that had no soul. In form of gassy cloud he rose Like a balloon, treason to preach, To add to all the poor men's woes Revolt in deed and speech. Those he claimed were marked for Hell, Those he insulted martyred. He claimed for his own the hypocrite swell, The treacherous and chicken hearted. Like a stench in that graveyard dark He disappeared on his mission, To brand the lost sheep with fiendish mark And save them from the Christian.

	Robert Joseph Rosenberg



	1965 (cont.)

	At least a year's more peace I pray And let the old year wither away, Like fruit, outward fair and sweet Attractive but poisonous to eat. I realize the whole shebang may be destroyed This is a time when we are all annoyed. I, myself, do not wish to survive the act That revealed our sordid nightmare as a fact. I'll leave to others the sacred fire And join the general funeral pyre. For still the brittle game of death goes on, The battle of negotiations, the cuckold's crown And still the traitor casts his money down. Robert Joseph Rosenberg



	MADHOUSE If there is no Hell, whence comes this strength to destroy my life, Or was history invented in a madhouse? 1 can well imagine God Omnipotent is there, He never ate nor slept and showed me his penis which was a black snake

	Robert Joseph Rosenberg



	THE ASH TREE

	The king he saw a beauty fine And wanted her for concubine. To clasp her round he's undertaking And take her to his castle quaking But up there sprang a hero bold And stole her from that dotard old and hid with her in a fairy wood And ate the ash berry for their food. The king pursued in hot desire And for our hero in hot ire He sprang with his enchanted sword And killed the two without a word. Their blood spilled round the gray ash tree That had given them their privacy. The king returned to his angry hill Lamenting oer so sad a kill For in his fiery jealousy He had foresaken sweet mercy.

	Robert Joseph Rosenberg



	BAPTISM Take this candle, hold it in your hands. Ascend like the Southern Cross Across the broad seas of this world. Take this Host, let it cleave to your palate, This candle is Christ also.

	Robert Joseph Rosenberg



	FEAST OF THE NATIVITY Let us praise the Infant King Bread and wine to worship bring. Let us kneel upon the stone Before the Infant's marble throne. Worship here the baby King Whose holy praises ages sing. Our humble gifts to Heaven ascend Our sickness to heal and our faults to mend.

	Robert Joseph Rosenberg



	THE SNOW IS DISAPPEARING

	The snow is disappearing now Like troubles from a wrinkled brow, The road is full of holes and ruts, The squirrels are seeking hidden nuts, A bluejay saw 1 on a roof And take his rasping song as proof That soon my birthday will be here Because his voice is very near.

	Robert Joseph Rosenberg



	THE BAY OF WHALES Each friendly whale, his great hide pulsing with blood Stands in the waves. Broken on the waves the ships Where we hurried to get undressed, destined to sink Under aerial bombardment. The rising sun of blood. Its bloody rays in sunset, the brassy flies in The tropic evening buzzing as we run to fulfill Our obligation. As we run with our wounds open, Frothing a little at the mouth, drytongued remembering Our madness, remembering our ennui, suddenly like ice In our mouths. For old times sake we write. For old friends some of whom have become beautiful. How fat you have become, Sara, who married a very black, Or several. How you are pretty! You are tired of That old chauvinistic game, yet human life is at stake. Chop suey and tea under the great Ming Dynasty. I am recognized. Once I was in the dress business. A circus is appearing in the parking lot of the shopping center. Oilcloth flags are buttering the breeze. The stale clowns, the sexual acrobats. Even the endless elephants, Though pretty, are tiresome. How the children are roaring over their coloring books! Now I must really buy some neckties, with my inheritance, For the wedding. What have you to say to whales, fat and cherubic, The friend of children. Robert Joseph Rosenberg