Muse Stares at Sanity
Sanity came home today,
it was a brief visit.
Offered her tea, coffee, a brontosaurus rib?
She demurely declined all.
I tipped my top hat
and gently offered the
keys
shaped in laughter and fear.
She accepted them,
hesitantly, excused herself,
then ran out the door.
Didn’t know anything
sane could scream such octaves.
Turned a kiss to my muse,
glad she decided to stay.
And, I’m much happier,
now.
by
Rod C. Stryker
Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to announce that the Sun Poet’s Society will be having our 20th Anniversary Celebration! Olmos Pharmacy, March 14th, Saturday, starting at 8pm! Please see details below and join us as we make merry with spoken word, food, and live music! ALL are invited!
Villa Finale
Napoleon leads the charge
through libraries of
Greek and Russian icons,
images depict dark scenes
next to chandelier bells.
I’m carried by
lion-footed ice chests
past creamers that moo,
pick sweet meats off
golden trays.
The Cusco art
bedazzles beside
Santos and Tiffany clocks
that chime with mysteries
of thrones and yellow rooms.
The peacock melts
the wax from
glowing glass and
Texas redbacks.
The woman suspended
from the chandelier
sings saloon songs and I hide
in the pantry
protected by guardian sculptures.
Capo-Di-Monte Mathis
overwhelms and saturates
the senses, history
drowns me and
I succumb, with a smile.
by
Rod C. Stryker
art photograph by Rod C. Stryker
she waltzes through
a change-up phrase,
deep-seated metaphor,
some cliche’d sentiment,
each night
she sings hieroglyphics
born of indigestion
and anxiety
until slumber’s lake
is still, calm,
at first light,
she courts
as lover, enemy,
bares sinner and savior
w/both shoulders,
a sacrifice to memory,
every poem
she bleeds
I gain.. me
by
Rod C. Stryker
The poem and the art photograph were published in my book, Lucid Affairs. Hope you like it.
If you’re interested in getting a copy, click here: https://squareup.com/market/sun-arts-press
for Amiri Baraka
sucked in,
swallowed whole and helpless
by his words
and rhythm to pop allusions.
Dissecting love into evol things,
staring back at me
w/eyes of Kerouac, Smith and Mandrake,
never guessing the decades of obsession
that would follow,
slaving for shadows and perfect poems,
but Poesia Perfecta can’t happen.
And he knew, he KNEW
when it was penned
that hundreds, thousands
of adolescents would be mauled by it’s lure,
the wounds left to fester,
shaping the nature of the beast.
After the words were done sandblasting
my pubescent sanity,
once wrung dry of tears and epiphanies,
a new poet was born.
by
Rod C. Stryker
Amiri Baraka’s poem, In Memory of Radio: http://www.english.illinois.edu/maps/poets/a_f/baraka/onlinepoems.htm ,
opened the world of poetry for me. Prior to reading it, I was convinced that poetry was nothing but tomes written by dead, anglo men who knew nothing about our modern times. This poem along with other influences, started my path and ultimate success into the poetry and artistic world of self-expression. Radio Memories was published in my book, Exploits of a Sun Poet and I’ve also included my spoken word track of the poem that’s part of my spoken word album by the same name. Hope you like it.
Theological Musings Final by Rod C. Stryker
Tore a rent
in reality today
and pulled out
all those prophets, gods
and semi-divine beings
that have been pestering
our fickle faiths
into the light of day
so they could
settle things amongst
themselves.
I figured it
would spare
us lowly mortals
some grief
and give us a much
needed reprieve
from genuflection, sermons,
swearing and penitence;
as well as jihads,
pilgrimages
and sacrifices;
not to mention deep-seated
resentments based
solely on a difference
of belief.
Once the supreme ones
finished,
I threw them back into the void
bloodied and maimed,
their divinity faded,
lackluster.
And for the first time,
we looked upon
one another
w/new eyes,
new hearts.
And began the
journey towards
peace.
by
Rod C. Stryker
This is an older piece. Seems it’s still applicable to today’s religious issues. Hope you like it.
Cityscapes Study by Rod C. Stryker
A child screams
into an August
city night.
Footfalls echo
in the street.
Sirens holler at
the depression
of an excited
populace
quick to glance
there and here
while touching the
steams anger.
A holy chime
invades,
gives rise to
uncensored belongings,
rectifies the righteous
in their efforts
to remain at
peace. Pain settles
this disquiet
thunder of the
pale moon.
The screams stop.
A window breaks
the city’s back
and runs away
…scared.
by
Rod C. Stryker
This is an older poem. This will also appear in my forthcoming book, Native Instincts. Hope you like it.
King George’s Angel Embrace Final by Rod C. Stryker
It must
discourage the angel
that enfolds you,
holds you,
to watch these crimes
explode around you,
confounds her wings
in blood and rage.
A wink and a kiss
spark a flame
between guardian
and monarch
consummated
in exquisite
acts of contrition
pirouetted amongst
the bodies and souls.
Your angel’s tears
play taps
as your bombs
gouge craters
in sweet disaster.
You fan the flames
that singe her wings
against skies
rolling in
smoke and betrayal.
The burning flesh
smells like heaven
to you.
Long live the king.
by
Rod C. Stryker
This poem and art photograph were published in my current book, Lucid Affairs (Sun Arts Press). If you’d like to get a copy, click here: https://squareup.com/market/sun-arts-press
because tears
need a witness in the rain
and the homeless
need a voice in the silence
to open hope’s eyes
for one more day of what-could-be
if a child
begs for love with her eyes
when a people
rise up for what is right
or a mom
takes a third job to make ends meet
will the bluebonnets
paint the fields in azul tones
if the breath
creates the life para darnos el amor
and the meaning
gets lost and found within
the always growing reasons
that I write and write and write
by Rod C. Stryker
This is a more recent piece. Hope you like it.
Rod C. Rodriguez (Stryker) 