"The Drop Suffuses"


The drop suffuses throughout eternity
Ever wider the vibrant touch
Reborn each place and time forever

It's a strange courage
you give me, ancient star:

Shine alone in the sunrise
toward which you lend no part!

I

Shine alone, shine nakedly, shine like bronze,
that reflects neither my face nor any inner part
of my being, shine like fire, that mirrors nothing.

II

Lend no part to any humanity that suffuses
you in its own light.
Be not chimera of morning,
Half-man, half-star.
Be not an intelligence,
Like a widow's bird
Or an old horse.

and the bombs sing their requiem in silent accord
while those with blood stained civil hands
think themselves out of thoughts
while running from their own feet
and here find strained in protest
words to pierce the ear of grief
and find that an elusive possession,
human identity,  is trampled by larcenous wiles
such a theft that suffuses a merciless and malicious twinship
both spurious and misplaced
and produces understandings that mystify
by a succession of inexplicable events
disorientates and masks
a comedy of daylight thoughts
at once touching and grotesque
where disorientation and danger lurk
and have us believe, that which would
restore order and reason
making the ordinary world ordinary again
becomes lost in its co-ordinates
of a self made illusion
whose features lead to an uncertainty
at once plausible and disturbing
one distinguished by solemnities
of disturbed incompetence of well meaning
whose distance of sorrow evaporates
in a poignant lament

"...Tell me, for Love's sake, what is that flame which burns in my heart and devours my strength and dissolves my will? What are those hidden soft and rough hands that grasp any soul; what is that wine mixed of bitter joy and sweet pain that suffuses my heart? What are those wings that hover over my pillow in the silence of Night, and keep me awake,watching no one knows what? What is the invisible thing I stare at, the incomprehensible thing that I ponder, the feeling that cannot be sensed? In my sights is a grief more beautiful than the echo of laughter and more rapturous than joy. Why do I surrender myself to an unknown power that slays me and revives me until Dawn rises and fills my chamber with its light?  Phantoms of wakefulness tremble between my seared eyelids, and shadows of dreams hover over my stony bed. What is that which we call Love? Tell me, what is that secret hidden within the ages yet which permeates all consciousness? What is this consciousness that is at once origin and result of everything? What is this vigil that fashions from Life and Death a dream, stranger than Life and deeper than Death? Tell me, friends, is there one among you who would not awake from the slumber of Life if love touched his soul with its fingertip?"

i. reward ten thousand dollars
it scares me to think you will drive me home one day, one night, one night when i am very drunk and the stars do not glisten because there are no stars left! i am sure of the reason:
upon being conceived you swallowed them all whole. this is not purposefully clandestine so much as misunderstood knowledge:
in our lifetime these celestial objects will be mistaken, much like a well-intentioned teratoma, for
cancer
countless times you will be plucked, yet unripe, from the fire that will as soon liquify your flesh and cleanse your soul

ii. wanted, dead or alive
psychosis is not a watershed.
it is an amalgamation of the bugs who have crawled up your legs and gorged themselves on your fruity blood before hibernating
it is a room of walls plastered with ******* of nauseating pale cadavers, of empty homes, of longing hands, of breast buds and tied legs and virginal lips and bare ***** and stained sheets
it was in you forever and there is nothing to blame but an imbalance, for
you are the duality of...girlhood.
you are soiled ******* and unkempt hair, abused plush dolls and sticky hands, infected wounds and sunburn sting, stale cereal and coloring pages
you are satin veils and vain slumber, tired tears and starving entrails, hesitant touch and static vhs, shrill laughter and breathy song
you are itchy bug bites. you are snow in my eyelashes.
you are a lissome angel pregnant, god bless you, with a fetal (fatal?) evil; perhaps my fear begins here, or perhaps it greets me when your aura bites my eyelids...alack!
it must be so. **** orange light suffuses my thin veins. the sun exudes apprehension and abruptly the car is totaled and
this is why you cannot drive me home. even when i have become quite inebriated:
it is not natural for the air to be so warm; only ere our galactic body closes her eyes.
surely you will **** me. you are no creature of the night. run me over; crush me between your toes; let my nectar grow trees in the cracks of this, our, every godforsaken town.

iii. have you seen me?
her neotenous thighs stick, like sap, to the concrete floor, water seeps beneath the cinderblock. dust collects between her fingers in which she clutches, with the brutality of youth, a softened - if garishly colored - carton of apple juice. four-o'clock sun pierces the thick glass window (if one will call it such) and she feels listless; rather than squint she pores over the illumination with intent that, in her unsuspecting naivete, she is not yet aware she holds. before she ***** in enough light to blind her she hears a voice that feels familiar:
come upstairs
soon enough it will be ruefully forgotten
soon enough she will realize she was bagged and thrown in the trunk
too late she will wish to exact her revenge

I heard there was a secret metric foot
that David knew was favoured by the Lord,
and when he penned the psalms he'd often put
this pattern the Almighty best adored
amongst the endless praise and imprecations;
unstressed, plus stressed, suffuses through his pages,
though hidden by the English of translations;
pentameters still echo down the ages.
The spondee's spurned, and has been from the start;
an anapaest's anathema, and grim.
Though trochees may be near the Maker's heart,
you'll never hear a dactyl in a hymn.
There's only one the Lord thinks worth a ****:
the sacred, the unchangeable iamb.

The smell of gunpowder filled the atmosphere
Blood and sweat suffuses the pavements
I look at you
Out of the blue,
I knew what I was fighting for.

The deafening silence,
Is it really all for freedom?
What is it all for?
I'd like to think there is a reason why we are here.

I see you standing there,
I held your hand,
"I believe in you."
Suddenly, all is clear.

'Have you ever done it to a woman before?'
My throat runs dry, suddenly I'm a fourteen year old boy
shoving my hands into my pockets
dumbly shaking my head.
'Do you want to?'
The boy shuffles feet and casts down his eyes.

'Are you-'
               '-monogamous? Yes.'

Her eyes narrow.
My face suffuses with blood which
suffuses the air a startled electric pink.

The scent and hue are unmistakable.

I feel betrayed.

Don't come any closer.
She draws near. Her lips graze my left pinna.
I groan an ancient groan.

'I'm not going to make this... easy for you'
Her voice is more air than vowel and as thick as red meat.
I shut my eyes.

When I open them, hours later, I peer through my fingers
at the Straight Girl in the mirror
and wonder who keeps
changing the ****** rules.

S3

Sleepless, Shuffling In Stockholm

Somewhere in my body,
A bifurcated clock ticks,
Two clock faces,
White on black,
Vice versa.

Mixed media messages,
Crazy train station internal,
Brain activity fevered,
Arrive/depart according to
Somebody else's schedule,
Somebody else occupying,
Every street of my body

Lying asleep,
Typing these words,
It is the middle of the night,
Bright daylight suffuses the room
What part of my metaphysical schema,
Ain't jet lagged legally,
And poetically entitled to be
Stockholm Syndrome Confused?

Times have really changed,
Oh my, when you propose,
Let's go to Stockholm,
Anything goes!

So my schedule reordered
In the land of either all
Light or Dark, twenty hours four,
I turn to my boon companion,
Who soothes at any hour,
My music, my Nano,
And I find myself, musically,

Shuffling in Stockholm.

Meatloaf and Piazzolla,
Muddy Waters and Purple Rain,
Marvin Gaye and Pink Martini,
Beethoven, Straight No Chaser,
Beatles, Stones, Bennett vs. Buble,
The lack of sleep a permanent fixture,
Courtesy of this Bach-us admixture,

So should you see a gappy, khaki, clad tourist,
Meandering o'er the islands of this charming city,
In Ingmar Bergman fashion,
Black and white erratic,
Alternating, swaying and shuffling,
No tongue clucking,
Nah, he's not drunken,
Just dancing while sight seeing,
In a sleep deprived manner,
Someday a movie to be,
Sleepless, Shuffling In Stockholm
A/K/A
S3

June 30 ~ July 2, 2012
Stockholm, Sweden

I planted a cherry tree
Four seasons back
In a morose rain
Pelting sharp upon nimble naked boughs
And rows, of wild berries
Running amuck in an unruly strain.

The tree is a full bloom now
Of white satin flowers
Swirling against a beaming blue

Tonight, as night keeps a vigil over my eyes
I get under my squally Cherry Tree
And suddenly I see it ailing
Sick old moon peeps through its branches
And I hear them crackle, not clear though
Moaning unobtrusive, through a wicked grin.
The moon lingers on long
Shining painfully in the womb of night.

I feel the stiffening wood coagulate in my veins
As blackness suffuses unbridled
In the cold wilderness of mind.

April never was summer in Kashmir
Look unto these dark skies
Those pierce the ether yet once more
Pelting mercilessly upon
The ailing, armourless beings
Whereby the cruel moon grins
And my heart wilts with each withering flower
Knocked down in the mud by
The unsparing shower.

Tears trickle down the smeared petals
And I collect them into my eyes
Till the plethora can no longer be contained
I let them fall
Into the capacious ***** of earth

And in this cruel April rain
My Cherry Tree shivers.
Moans. Weeps. Over me.

The reflecting pool lay long and flat, a massive mirror door...
I stepped up to it's concrete edge, and looked down to it's floor.
I saw pale tiles beneath the water, some pennies, a dime, a nail.
I dropped my thoughts beneath this sea, which quickly grew in scale.

One foot of water became, thus, ten... A hundred... thousand... more.
My view was that of one who's soaring many miles above some shore.
I was, at once, consumed with fear at how this made me feel,
That is to say, I convinced myself that this height was truly real.

That was when I dreamed I fell, but before I'd be no more,
I had much time to think awhile on what had come before.
I had much time to regret the past, and dread what was yet to be,
Saw images of fortune, ruin, the dust of you; the ashes of me.

Small joys helped to bridge the gaps where fear eroded hope,
The terror of  my empty room, the makeshift hanging rope.
My thoughts of death reminded me that the moment should be much more,
I opened my eyes to the rushing air, my throat felt raw and sore,
Looked down to see a blaze of leaves and the fast approaching forest floor.

Asleep, I fell, through sunlit leaves that seemed to fill the space,
Awake, I stood beside the pool when you had touched my face.
Something in your eyes was telling me you were concerned,
You somehow knew the man who left was not the man who returned.

We stood at the shore then, you and I, expressing futures yet to pass,
Fishing out mythologies and illusions that might last.
Our mouths were full of histories and secrets that we bared,
The reassuring comfort that illusions can be shared.

Look east and see the brightening sky, but not yet see the sun,
Look west and see the shrinking black,
The place where last night's stars have run.

Look up and see the limbs and leaves of the high forest canopy,
The ones above the gloom that's half obscuring you and me...
A bright gold glow suffuses them, but only way up high,
Where they already see the dawn, and the guiding star that fills their sky.

I'm reminded by these tall trees rising high into the air,
When shadow darkens my small world, but light is everywhere,
You do not need to see the sun to know that it is there.

So as I lifted up my face,
To where sunlight paints the highest tree,
In this expansive time and place,
I felt the same; beautiful and free.

Cold winds blow and wash over clothes less skin
The argent shining of suns long away covers earth
I stand waiting, as I ever have, with hope and humour
The dawn shall come soon
And be with me
In glory
The birth of a new day, resplendent in the possible
The chill beauty of the night gracefully fades
The bright wonder of the day sweeps
In waves across the world

The new dawn suffuses the hills, a golden flow of light
Warmth on my face, looking at the ascendant sun
Breath catches as colours erupt in riotous desire
The dawn has come
She stands with me
In wonder
The day has come, the existence of all is truth
Land breathes, voices risen in greeting
Life has arrived, we cry.

isolation is a redly glowing wolf
it is too close to me, get away
how can i believe in myself?
the night swallows self-confidence

i am waiting for an angel sent by
the tall and wise heralds of my fate
they are riding the train of future
i don't know how to hop on, no clue

eden's sounds are distracting me
but in her eyes i can see where my train
is supposed to stop and to arrive
ancient existences are floodding her pupil

they stem from a place called nirvana
it is the deep core of a human being's soul
light suffuses their shape, goldly shining
they fight against the demons of our world

and as the years passing by, they become
our nostalgic memories and our sentiment
i want to be there for eden, protecting her
the red wolf will not come between us

There's a song...
a piece of music
I wish you could hear

when I hear it
a couple appears in my mind

they move lightly
step forward
back
forward
smooth
two as one

the music
flavor of Latin
sultry guitar
dulcet violin
breathy flute
suffuses their bodies
tawny velvet skin
ignited in a warm glow

hands raised
palms touching
crossover steps
bodies syncopated
perfectly in time
perfectly in step
perfectly together

turn
turn

his hands on her
slender waist
move softly
in rhythm
with the easy swaying
of her hips

her silky dress
floats and ripples
a scarlet river
shining under fluorescent "stars"

their gaze steady
into each others' rich
mahogany eyes
until she is twirled
back to his chest

hands still on her waist
his lips tenderly brush her neck
he takes her hand
she turns
into him again

in that moment
no one
nothing else exists
only the music
and their fiery zeal

A sunny day lifts hearts from grief and gloom;
I like the rays of warmth and skies of blue.
But in our words of praise, let’s leave some room
for light cast by the sky of grayish hue.
The even light suffuses everything--
no glare to blind us and no shadows cast.
The clarity that cloudy skies can bring
illuminates a future landscape vast.
A chillier breeze refreshes our attention,
and neutral gray reveals the depth and lines.
The way is clear and acts have more intention;
perception heightened, visible are signs.
Sunny days, for picnics and for beaches--
I’ll take the grey for what the soft light teaches.

Peace of Christmas
suffuses the
bhajan hall
settling like snowfall
over the manger in Bethlehem

Its no wonder
on my way to kirtan
a white car dashed in front of me
embossed over its rear view window
was the Om glittering forth
reminiscent of snow crystals
softly descending from
the lofty Himalayas

Certainly this was turning out
to be quite a
magical evening
there was a hint of Sai in the atmosphere
although the devotees were sparse
we sang our hearts out
Yuletide hymns and Hare Krishna

Carolers on the door steps of God

Estranged paths
like the strangling, wrangling
arms of an octopus
that lead us away
from abiding bliss

Far from my Soul
I wandered
lost
bewildered
staring down blood eyed
from a hellish, jagged cliff
thoughts of suicide and self loathing
circling
the abyss beckoning

Drugs, liquor, promiscuity
prodigal acts against the soul
injected faithfully
brought little relief
a harrowing emptiness
unhappiness
gnawed within
utter darkness,
fear, miasma…*

Reflecting on my sofa, cuddling up with David
and little Rama. A sunny sense of abiding peace,
contentment and serenity suffuses the
room spreading beyond the walls of our home.

Sitting on the misty edge of my musings
I saw so many souls just like
us, struggling, lost, confused.

Tentacled shadows of the past
swim upstream, clasping me in their cold
clammy reptile embrace.

Painfully, I recall
my own desolate, unconscious
blind, search for stability, self assurance
and well being.

There was a definite, undeniable
correlation between the acts
I committed
against my Soul
and the Soul awareness
that I was now cultivating

Clear as a crystal ball
parting the curtains of tomorrow
I know
that as we make an effort to turn away
from all that is impure, unkind, deceitful
selfish and vicious
in thought, word and deed,
as we shut the door on hyper-sensuous pursuits
that lead us further into unspeakable darkness

Something amazing happens. A glimmer of light,
a spark of self awareness is struck.
Like blackened coals that we blow our
breath of life upon with all our might.
Our Soul blazes forth in all
its transcendent, eternal glory

And welcomes us home with open arms of
the cross, to a place of steadfast, everlasting
Being, Awareness and Bliss

The sun inches skyward
in the quiet after-rain
of a gentle pre-dawn shower.

The rich sweet essence
of moistened earth
suffuses the air with promise.

Towering oaks and sugar maples
oscillate in the breeze -
their capricious rushing sounds
playing pristine counterpoint
with the jaunty chants
of robins, cardinals and chickadees.

Spring is pacing in the wings
awaiting her cue from the wheel of time.
and all creation waits in concord.

© 2016 by Robert Charles Howard Our steadfast sun inches skyward
     in the quiet after-rain
of a gentle pre-dawn shower.

Rich fertile essences
     of moistened earth
suffuse the air with promise.

Towering oaks and cottonwoods
     shiver in the breeze -
their capricious rushing sounds
     play pristine counterpoints
with the jovial chants
     of robins, wrens and chickadees.

Spring is poised in the wings
     for a cue from the wheel of time.
and all creation waits in concord.

*© 2016 by Robert Charles Howard

~for the (young) fathers~

Sunday.

An ordinary Sunday, with blue sky accoutrements.
They say, mostly sunny, with a high temperature of 75 Fahrenheit.
The children in the ever-shrinking bed shout Yay! Gesundheit!
when they hear me say Fahrenheit, ensues laughter belly originaheit!

The mother sleeps drowsily through the morning event planning,
content that as Mother’s day nears, she’ll wait for breakfast in bed,
but until then let’s all pretend she is sleeping late with three kids
decorating the plateau where their notional was celebrated+conceived.

The father reviews the day which has been quite full, even though
not yet Nine O’clock has to make an appearance. Last nights dishes
washed and shelved, breakfast made, puppy fed, hard boiled eggs peeled, muffins with Frenchified pear mermelade have magical disappeared!

His coffee needs a rehearsal reheating, but never mind, lukewarm will
be just fine, for the warmth of an ordinary exquisite Sunday suffuses
his chest, and the breathing heat of a mess of bodies roiling and rolling
is so more than sufficient, he whispers ‘thank you’ to no one in particular.


Sun May 3

The pickups across the alley seem asleep. No lights, exhaust fumes, man at the wheel ready to wheel into another work day.
Winter-denuded trees blend into his roof like dark rivulets from its peak. No lights in this dawning Saturday, all still asleep.
Except the birds feasting in the newly seeded bird feeder. In the softness of this new dawn their flights are silent.

The fog shrouded morning suffuses softness to hard edges.  Clapboard storage unit rests quietly on the edge of the lawn.
Rakes, mowers, hoes still asleep, no work tension in their bodies. Fallen browned leaves lay on still-green lawn gently carpeting “the back.”
Cold black fingers of tiny limbs indistinguishable as individuals, smudged and blending instead. No limber bending till months-away spring.

Trees in the distance surrender their stark names to clouded sky not yet brightened by the distant weakened sun. The fog has laid upon this place
a muted harmony.  No dissonant horns or voices heard in this diffused snooze of now.  The only movement: from the winged creatures
greeting the day just yards away reminding: life still pulses. I fall into this peace.

The fog of sleep
a hallway moment away
where my self is mellowed
and lost beneath the sheets.

Dishes surround us,
Verdigris embraces lusterless metal
And I look at you with an air of vertigo
I’m on the edge of understanding but there’s
An invisible wall.  
Or is it a ceiling?
So this is what it feels like to be restrained
Shackles of my mind rattle against their firm anchor
Society crushes these spikes deeper into my skull
The taste of defeat suffuses my lungs.
I breathe in your disdain and still understand nothing
Of what I’ve done or am doing.
I go forth ignorant and blissless
Straining to overcome the walls in my head