SY ROTH - POEMS

He has been prolific in his endeavor to find meaning in a crazy turbulent world.  He has published extensively on online publications.

                    An Asp Greedily Lusts

 
 
Falls smells buried far beneath a cooling sun.
Crisp air surfs along merrily on the wave of fallen red leaves.
The crest waves fond farewells.
Trees once fulsome, weep with impending sleep.
 
They gather at the dance, brushed and content in their own hokum
To revel in the gift of a cool, early morning tryst
Arms uplifted in a Freitag stretch.
The desire for toothpaste at the local CVS
And morning headlines, Chiron streamed on Fox,
Shouting of fiscal cliff to spring from and Isis Caliphates slithering saturnine sand castles--
Beckons them.
 
Muffled screams,
Somewhere a mother dies alone
Bloody spatters like her hair splayed on her morning pillow--
Cacophony of brooding silence follows.
 
Intent,
He meets the crisp morning as well,
Mother’s ruby luscious lips on his mind.
He an asp in a frozen garden sibilates a silent message,
Runs his tongue over his sandpaper teeth and spits at the world.
 
A loudspeaker slices glaciated, silent halls.
A Gorgon-headed storm, she assuages.
Shoos the insistent boogieman --
That conjoined them in its inferno.
 


                       Bubbling Cauldron in Four Scenes

 
Scene I
Three serene hags, contemplate the bubbling cauldron.
They fabricate unbridled brews made of dark dreams--
add thimbles-full crammed with pricked pinches of this and that,
newts' eyes and raven feathers,  and
a bucking-bronco pate for them to ingest.
 
Scene II
Brutish darkness floats suspended in the mixture--
moving pictures of angry apes flinging feces at their jailors,
trembling behind Beelzebub's lava-laved dreams and
steeds whinny fiery admonitions,
feet clopping the ground with earth-trembling synergy.
 
Scene III
Starry-night stars smear a blackened sky,
hag-nurtured, seeds, chew at will through intended hearts.
They find there fractious disintegration.
 
Scene IV
Crimson rivers, hoodoos drifting among the inchoate.
They scream caveats to the recently erect,
now downtrodden bipedal, genome-sequenced beings, 
brew-infused, bare-knuckle walkers yee and haw
there to stampede through sandstone canyons.
 
Finis
Ambition roars a tempestuous howl.
The pot boils over them.
 


                            Endless Chatter
 
Carillions peel
half hour-
hour-
reminders
they fill in the rest with their palaver
hodgepodge of vacuity
in a smokeless room
their sounds echo--
reecho—-
lasting reminders of their existence
in the vast cells they traverse.
 
they dance through their dance cards
walker
and slick-headed
grim reapers of the silence
caned and canoodled purveyors of the lost
last valiant efforts
to be a part
apart from the meaninglessness of it all
 
they assuage their loneliness
with purports of their being
add for the inanities
volcanic ash from dusty mouths
and the hearers vacuous looks
responders to the murderers aired
ad infinitum in all the corners
 
and the carillons peel
on the half
the hour
and their endless chatter voids the silence
 
the endless chatter
voiced in the darkness of their moth-like temporality
ended in a pfffith of electric air
singed wings and the fall into a momentary silence