Rodak's Writings: Mad John ~ an oldie

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mad john  

from insanity yes

but by virtuosity

or faith

we earn no grace

it comes of chaos

is born of catastrophe

like a grassfire at midnight

creating a simple desert

grace descends

as a fumbled penny

and rolls ten feet

to rest on edge—a miracle

no less

and no cameraman present

paradise lost

as one hour later

with the feat attempted

one hundred times

and failed ninety-nine

a crowd gathers to hoot

the madman

pocketing his penny: vide

mad john

the wings of locusts

making a rainbow fan

of his honey-soaked beard

clawing in fury at

jehovah’s mask

uncut hair lashing

at his naked waist

disclosing with a single note

the desert’s secret: fire!

he screams: fire!

and at the river’s bank

receiving a simple prophet’s privilege:

after my bath john

you may see to my shoes…

and it’s duck! boys, hit it!

who saw it dive?

a kamikaze pigeon!

it is miracle enough

enough of a sign: here is a man

who has known the madness

of a simple grace

who spits out upon leaving

a leg bent for leaping

with a four-letter oath:

fire! and turns to the desert

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Rodak's Writings: Pragmatics - a poem

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Pragmatics

Give your hideous honesty a rest:

lie to me.

What have I ever done to you,

or to anyone on this earth,

that I deserve to be

goosed by the truth?

Truth is for convicted felons

and sunbaked ascetics.

What I need is soft lies,

reciprocal eyes,

and the oceanic tang

of chowder upon the lilt

of my contented tongue.

Please lose the problematic verity:

take care instead to do what works.

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Rodak's Writings: Reflections of a Wall-gazer ~ an oldie

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reflections of a wall-gazer

my walls, my ceilings

are white for purity of life-style

and here beneath my feet

the floorboards are black

the flavor of death

which has no color

these boards which support

me now a membrane

between this moment and the abyss

beyond this room:

foundation for the walls

which are my context

i am supported, i am sheltered

thus immured

i exist

______________________

and there on the wall

grotesque icon

glaring in the heat

of one naked electric flame

one hundred-fifty watts

of unmitigated proof: the mirror

relentless merciless

infinite -- timelessly truthful

say these cellular eyes

_______________________

but behold the mind, the dream

admitting the term -- the soul:

there is a funhouse reflection

a non-stop flight

unexpurgated passport

bon voyage, my blue-eyed boy --

never stop to question now

o, who is fairest

of them all

every mirror is another wall

every crack in the flooring

is the boundary of another

crisis of identity:

ticky-tock, all light’s a clock

________________________

in existential limbo sometimes

i think i’m a cheeseburger

often a television, a lucky strike

a ready woman

less frequently a symphony

a breath of air, a field of wheat

gone copper with the evening sun

o, when will i at last

confront the face of something holy

happy gleaming from the wall

think i’m a window

and fly out the door

pursuing with the speed of light

the swift-heeled shadow

of something left sitting

within wall ceiling and floor

?

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Rodak's Writings: Unpleasant Reminder ~ an oldie

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unpleasant reminder

yes, i know…

you are a seeker of ecstasies

a lover of beatific, transporting visions

a solitary wanderer of fragrant fields

you worship love in the cathedral of the pines

a service orchestrated by the genius of songbirds

a sanctuary lighted by colors

reflected from the robes of god

and scented by the garden breath

of the east wind out of eden

these things you love to touch

becoming one with their reality

you open your hands

and your palms fill with butterflies

fanning your hot lips with their beautiful wings

or you hold in your hand a hummingbird

knowing a breathless epiphany

with every flutter of its fragile heart

these things you touch

knowing yourself to be of their essence

your astral fingers remember virgin eve’s every shape

as adam learned them in eternity

see the imprint still in the grass

where she bore the innocent weight

of his fall to earthly grace

oh yes, you are a sensitive and free

child of nature, god’s holy mirror

as you unfold your soul and spread it on your knees

to reveal yourself in its perfect reflection…

…yes, but there is much

that you choose to overlook

behold the creature that scurries in darkness

recoil as it streaks across your feet

its black bristles rigid with fear

see how it sits, quivering with dark impulse

within the shadowed ring of its scaly, naked tail

showing the yellow blades of its necrophagous teeth

its gloom-piercing eyes gleaming

with a wisdom you wish not to comprehend

behold this night-stalking familiar

of the dwelling place of man

as you sit down to the feast

know that it waits impatiently in your cellar

possessed of an undying will

that is the lust to satisfy its beastly hunger

can you see through your dream’s dark dimension

the claw marks in the dust beneath your bed

or in your slumber hear the hissing in your walls

as you await the dawn with your love in your arms

and your heaving breast filled

with the fragrance of lilacs?

dreamer, would you be free?

it is the rat you have yet to embrace

would you know yourself?

it is the rat you must yet learn to love

only then will your mirror hold a true image

only then will you feel the kiss of god…

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Rodak's Writings: Amnesiac -- an oldie

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amnesiac

i wasn’t paying attention

obliviously sucked down

through the opaque narcotic

of a quicksand ennui --

The sky had ripped off a page

and begun a new chapter…

i awoke in my heavy boots

staring at an empty palm

no grip on the plot line

that must have hoisted me here

amnesiac: i have lost

the gypsy poet’s number

i hear a voice

tossed back by the wind

who shall i say is calling?

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Rodak's Writings: And There's the Rub - a poem

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And There’s the Rub

This world, without me –

unimaginable.

So as I reach for the gun

my yet unshattered brain

confronts my desolate mind with –

“Oh, sure. And then what?”

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Rodak's Writings: The beach by/ego light ~ an oldie

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the beach by/ego light

i’m writing

                the beach

clean and free

of human leavings

                      coloring

the polished sand

from a limited palette

   --pinks and opaline-gray.

the evening sky

     contracts

becoming a fisherman’s lantern.

i  too am there

   my shadow falls across the sand

   drowns

   in a shattered light

where foam and stone prolong each other.

the moon

blasting stars with her stolen starlight

the earth

hiding half of all that’s whole

while i bead the planets    like words    on a line.

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