mike ruthenbeck Poems

If I were to die on this very night
In some ill-fated turn of misfortune
I would want for it to be known forthright
that there is nothing I would have undone.
...

The truest irony of all, perhaps,
In relating past, future, and present,
Is seeing the way the roads on the maps
All lead only to some random event
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This structure of rhythm, da Dum da Dum,
Forces the words flowing out from the hand
Iambs will heighten the feelings to come
While leaving the treasure deep in the sand
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What became of the bottomless Vessel?
How could such a mass roil and boil?
The steam and water pour from the trestle
Uselessly dripping forth onto soil.
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Swaying, yet sturdy, in the strong breezes
So high I can see the curve of the Earth
The passing of Winter's epic freezes
Is observing Spring's spectacular birth
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And late at night, when you're sitting alone
Wake dreaming of the loves' you've relinquished
Cyclones of failure you've now quite outgrown
Flames of urges your heart has extinguished
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For you now, the final following act
At least, until my now-self departing,
Patiently finding the words with most tact,
Cogitating on the coarse here charting
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I need for there to be more than what's here
This life has become too residential
Somehow everything will just disappear
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Perched, nearly dangling, hundreds of feet high
I sit, and stare at the surf underfoot
and the grass, dry as rocks, rustles and sighs
revitalization rises from soot.
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Should such lowly redneck apparition...
Myself; most slothful, nonsense protégé,
Undeserving any recognition
Think of telling you what to do today?
...