Thursday Night

Body-blood
wafers-wine,
praises turned crucifixion,
a mother's milk gone sour
to boil its lamb son alive.
We lament, and remember
(upon this Thursday night)
the actual retail price paid,
the victory won from defeat.
James E. Roethlein ©2021

He Feels She Has

He feels,
               she has
a hand worth holding,

he’d call her beautiful,

but he fears
                  but he fears,

she would reject him,

so he says nothing,
            
            and walks away.

James E. Roethlein copyright 2021

I Will Never Write My Obituary

I bleed before the world
in many different ways,
by rocks and knives
and paper cuts,
sometimes it is blue
sometimes it is red,
every time it feels real,
because it really is.
I bleed before the world,
cutting myself open
that it may read the entrails
through what my poetry says.
But this (upon reflection) is not
what will be written of me
after I have died
and it only concerns me now
while I am still alive.

James E. Roethlein copyright 2020

Hope is Dancing

Lying alone each night, empty arms aching,
all the while
                      hope is dancing
                      hope is dancing
                      hope is dancing
                                                   in my dreams
when I’m awake I would seek to see
the sunshine in your face
the heavens in your eyes
and to hear the  melodic honey of your lips
that would turn my lemonade soul sweet.

And I would hope
And I would hope
And I would hope
you’d dance duet with me
all the years we have left.

James E. Roethlein copyright 2021

The Dating Life of the Insane

If I like her,
I will ask her,
and she, will tell me no.
Rinse
Dry
Repeat.

James E. Roethlein copyright 2020

When I See Your Eyes

When I see your eyes,
I want to be there,
where your window soul
stares back at me.
Touch me,
I will touch you back,
hands holding hands
captive in your arms,
captive in your heart,
and the years together
spread out before us,
stretching from our now,
until our forever.

James E. Roethlein copyright 2021

Soldiers Returning From the War

Red rivers to wade through,
heart sickened
at the sight of battle blood,
enemies and friends
fallen, never forgotten.
Bullet blasts and combat cries
in dreams, in the waking hours
of the returning wounded,
whose war has not ended.

James E. Roethlein copyright 2021

Seven Things Spoken

Seven things spoken,
three words for completion,
silence, then a cracking earth
and a temple veil torn in two.
James E. Roethlein ©2021

Phather Phantasm

Half-seen in my half-stare,
half-believing you are there.

Faded memories and faded thoughts,
raindrops falling on sun-seared rock,
quickly come, and quickly part.

I was eleven when you did not die;
you took your leave, never saying goodbye.

And I, the fool, follow the fool
walking barefoot on broken glass,
and tread upon the blood-stained shards,
waiting to wound me ere I pass.

Death Valley Rainstorm

I got dry,
as I got wet.

James E. Roethlein ©2013

One Night Lover

Another one night lover,
come morning
footsteps fading
beyond the closing door.
The other lover laying
in their half empty bed,
is wishing this is the one
who would have stayed.

James E. Roethlein copyright 2021

There Are Miles Between Us

There are miles between us,
meant to be, perhaps
the miles will lessen to inches
(or nothing at all),
and you and I, together,
we shall see, we shall see.

James E. Roethlein copyright 2021

As He Slept

As he slept
the old man died,
a baby brother
to take his place.
And as he slept,
the whole world sang,
celebrating in the hope
of a brighter year ahead.

James E. Roethlein copyright 2021

Remembrances of Wounded Knee

It was a beautiful dream
that ended in the silence
of the dead laying
huddled and scattered
upon the winter ground.

James E. Roethlein copyright 2021

Further down our rabbit hole
descending to free fall,
the abyss beckons
and there is no wonderland
(only the nine circles).
In these days of now,
dark waters (midst the mob
demanding justice done)
defends blade and bullet bearers
(bloodletting upon their own)
from the dam stemming the tide
of red rivers staining the streets.
We continue,
We continue,
ignoring the yesteryears,
and advance to soul oblivion
beyond our world's end.

James E. Roethlein ©2021

This Dark Well Soul

This dark well soul,
depleted,
desert dry,
having nothing to write of,
and nowhere to write from.
The world moves on,
as his pen sets, silent, and still,
waiting, for another poem,
waiting, for another poet,
to admire, and then forget.

James E. Roethlein copyright 2021

My Relationship With You

I give
and you take
I give
and you take
I give
and you take.

This relationship,
built on what I do for you,
and you give little back,
a look, a word (in your fashion)
should I step out of line.

And still
and still,
I (like the ancient Egyptians),
obey you,
my feline masters.

James E. Roethlein copyright 2021

My Heart

My heart,
desert dying,
I stumble, I stumble,
rocks and rattlesnakes
waiting to wound
waiting to wound.
Daytime skies overhead.
pitch as midnight to me,
and the road of lonely years,
stretches on and stretches on,
no end or voice in sight.

James E. Roethlein copyright 2021

He Wanted To

He wanted to
                       lose himself
                               lose himself
                                      lose himself
        in her eyes,
and she wanted
        and she wanted
                and she wanted the same;
with someone else.

James E. Roethlein copyright 2021

Stick Figure Boy (Brian’s Song)

He was
the stick figure boy
He was
the stick figure boy
He was
the stick figure boy,
gangly,
and a little weird

The things
we had done to him
The things
we had done to him
The things
we had done to him,
being,
cruel without the kind

We then
drove Brian away
We then
drove Brian away
We then
drove Brian away,
and I,
was knee deep in it.

James E. Roethlein copyright 2020

Upon a Bed of Daisies

She lies upon a bed of daisies
her favorite flower,
a blued-eyed ginger, waiting
for her lover.
He comes to her
to shower her with flowers,
wooing her with poetry and kisses,
then in the morning,
they wake in each other’s arms.

James E. Roethlein copyright 2021

Matchsticks and Torches

Another matchstick,
struck and lit,
another flint spark
of an ongoing inferno,
and the town criers,
cry condemnation
for torch bearing villagers
(not on their side),
storming the steps
to further fan the flames
for their own reasons,
as we in the middle, burn.

James E. Roethlein copyright 2021

Soft Eyes Tender

Soft eyes tender,
gazing with loving looks
sent his way,
she breathes easy,
content, relaxed, and safe
in her beloved’s arms,
feeling his warmth, lingers long,
caresses and kisses lasting
through the night well past dawn,
would that she could stay
as morning wanes to afternoon,
and then to another evening,
knowing he feels that way too.

James E. Roethlein copyright 2021

Crayons and colored pencils,
spilling waxen graphite blood
in collective pigment wars.
The box they fight in,
reaching a point of ruination
from the river shed within.

James E. Roethlein ©2021

When the Shadows Seem Like Home

Night is fallen, morning to never come.
There is no Spring, there is no Summer,
only Winter and never Christmas.
For the Wild Goose of Ancient Days
departed from a rebel world
favoring the Child of Perdition.

James E. Roethlein copyright 2021

Rain and the Spanish Inquisition

Rain is the result of water in liquid form
descending from the clouds at gravity's behest,
and looking out the window at work
I can see it came down here rather than somewhere else.

Now my two cats, safe at home,
still care nothing for the weather outside
or the fact I didn't expect (like the Spanish Inquisition)
it to rain on an April afternoon.

James E.Roethlein ©2021

He Called Her; Beautiful

He called her;
Beautiful,
and silence stared.
He called her;
Beautiful,
and silence spoke.
He called her;
Beautiful,
never again.

James E. Roethlein copyright 2021

A Hermit in the Middle of Manhattan

Silent
for thirty years,
speaking when spoken to,
dying, no one ever came to
his grave.

James E. Roethlein copyright 2021

The View of Her Eyes

The view of her eyes,
more distant than he longs for,
with miles (emotional and physical)
lying between them, set in stone.
He second guesses what he feels,
til love to him is a thing of fiction
(fully expressed, but never felt),
as he stands on the edge of shadows
between the realized, and unrequited.

James E. Roethlein copyright 2021

This Quadriplegic Heart

This quadriplegic heart
gone the way of the dinosaur,
deprived, feelings deceasing,
mind and body carrying on
as one dead and existing.
Solitary isolation my prison shroud,
worn,  and no one comes near,
tender touches and tender words,
memories confined to a fading past,
as I embrace loneliness like a lover.

James E. Roethlein copyright 2021

A Pursuit of Freedom

A pursuit of freedom,
based on blurring lines
of gender identity
and other things to follow.
The profane is now the norm,
and we advance, we advance,
celebrating the frog
in its slow boil death,
as we seek to destroy
any who warn against it.

Where, will it end?

James E. Roethlein copyright 2021

Mad Man’s Emotion

A pain so deep,
so overwhelming,
his tears,
turn to laughing,
(in hyena fashion)
it’s the only
it’s the only
it’s the only,
lullaby he knows.

James E. Roethlein copyright 2021

Of a Day a Lifetime Ago

A man,
a rifle,
a Dallas motorcade,
and then,
a nation mourning

James E. Roethlein copyright 2020

He Has Seen Himself

He has seen himself,
too much
a monster in the mirror,
glaring  with obsidian eyes
and feels his heart is lava,
burning and driving
the waking world away.
Now she has entered his life
and is adding glaciers
to the molten river in his heart,
cooling it to warm,
by simply loving him.

James E. Roethlein copyright 2021

A Familiar Exposition of Dorian Grey

The shadow of a diseased reflection,
rests, upon his evening eyes,
the venom he desires to spew
at his mirror-self, refusing to be
constrained behind clenched teeth, breaks loose;
vomiting itself off of his tongue.

Four Walls

Four walls,
a small shrinking world,
he stares,
silent, solitary,
shadows speaking,
when nobody will,
and where
        and where
                and where,

         is God?

James E. Roethlein copyright 2021

Has She Arrived as Spring

Has she arrived as Spring
after a long long Winter,
with meadow flowers
upon the wasteland?
Tears and kisses shared,
mingling on passion nights,
hands and hearts joined
on the ordinary days.
Will their Springtime  
turn into Summertime
with its many miles,
with its many years?

James E. Roethlein copyright 2021

I Am

I am
a whited sepulcher,
sun-bleached
under desert skies
and you,
an earthquake,
splitting me wide open,
exposing
the dead men’s bones
found within.
And who would love me,
if they saw me the way I do?

James E. Roethlein copyright 2021

He Would Dream of Her

He would dream of her
and woo her in metaphor,
likening her loveliness
to a newly fallen snow,
and meadow flowers
in the summertime.

He would dream of her
and woo her in metaphor,
for she is the dew
on the early morning grass,
and the wind in the trees,
whistling the air around him.

He would dream of her
and woo her in metaphor,
speak of her mirror eyes,
and lose himself,
staring into the heavens,
he sees reflected there.

James E. Roethlein copyright 2020

Colors in a Kaleidoscope

Colors in a kaleidoscope
separate yet blended,
midst a turning and twisting
towards independent unity
of new and merging patterns
in a future long hoped for
on the crux of being realized.

James E. Roethlein copyright 2020

The 8th Deadly Sin of Backsliding

The fractured wellspring of my soul
adds fuel to the fire,
threatening to consume my refuge.
In a moment of pride
I showed You the door,
so I could keep the fire at bay on my own.
But the smoldering inferno grows,
slowly engulfing all I hold dear.
And You whom I sent away,
still stand outside my door,
with words of admonition,
to let Him back in to fight the fire.

James E. Roethlein ©2018

He Feels He Must

He feels he must apologize
for his ev’ry breath,
as if he is the mistake
the world must pay for.

James E. Roethlein copyright 2020

Dreamland’s the Place

Dreamland’s the place
I melt at the sight of you,
passing as moonlight rivers
before my eyes and close enough
that I may touch your spun silk hair.
In your presence my beating heart
turns diamond from coal
and your soft lilt caresses my ears.
But the dreamland fades,
giving way to reality when I wake,
for the door I locked is rusted shut
and never to be opened again.

James E. Roethlein copyright 2021

Nails and a Hammer

Nails and a hammer
to hang you to a tree,
I swing, and you
scream
scream
scream.
****** intent
in heart and mind,
that the Author of Life
should bleed out and die.

This is the mercy and pardon
given to rebel man
sitting on spiritual death row.

Why would anyone refuse?

James E. Roethlein copyright 2021

A Monster with Roses

A monster with roses in his hands,
is still a monster,
and he will force-feed you thorns,
sugarcoated and chocolate dipped,
turning your window eyes
bloodstained and cracked.
Then leaves you when he chooses,
your soul sickened, body broken
and bleeding upon the floor.

James E. Roethlein copyright 2020

An Incomplete View of What Happened

Borrowed breath,
you breathed mine
and I faint fell
from the serpentine
of your feigned affections.
This quartz heart of mine
(rendered metamorphic)
turned to sandstone,
and Atlas failed
to hold up the sky.
Five years fooled, finally
forced to say; no more.

James E. Roethlein copyright 2021

Beautiful Blue Eyes

Hands soft and  smooth,
fingers entwined together,
let me hold
and be held in your arms,
sharing warmth and glow
as your heart
beats in sync with mine.
You, woman of a noble nature,
I am one longing to lose myself
in the depths of the ocean
(beneath the starry expansion),
of your beautiful blue eyes.

James E. Roethlein copyright 2021

She is Moonlight

She is moonlight
on snow bound fields
under clear midnight skies,
the world waiting, waiting,
for spring to return.

James E. Roethlein copyright 2021

Untitled

He feasts on arsenic
to finish his famine
and cuts himself open,
to bleed upon
any daring to approach
him in the aftermath.

James E. Roethlein copyright 2021

With the Evening Over

They came together
after the sun went down,
he gave, she received
and she was satisfied.
With the evening over,
he was gone, having left her
what he called, a gift.

James E. Roethlein copyright 2021