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Randy D. Rubin

The September Featured Poet is Randy D. Rubin

Please feel free to email Randy at: randy.rubin13@gmail.com

Randy Rubin

I FELT THE SUN RISE

I felt the sun rise,
cold and damp,
rub her sleepy, watery eyes
under the blankets of gray flannel cloud,
then yawn out loud
and stretch.
Heard vertebral thunder
cracking, kicking off
the chilly sheets of rain,
she rolls over to sleep again,
pulling tight the wrinkles
of her cover
to snuggle with the moon,
her star-crossed lover.

THE STEAM WILL RISE TO HIDE ME

The steam will rise to hide me,
mask this ugliness inside me;
Fogs the mirror o’er the sink.
I can hear her—least I think
I do.
Is that her? Is that me; that you?
I can’t tell anymore, you see,
the voices tangle up in me—
inside my head.
Those things I think I thought I said.
I lied. She cried. We both denied
the truth we tried to hide. She spied on us
until she knew for sure ’twas true;
until she grew more torturous, you
would plan our secret  rendezvous’
then call me, whispering, we would choose
our place, our day, our night, our time
and lust would fuel our passion-crime…

I wipe away the mirror mist
to face the man whose face you kissed
in darkness—mistress-lover’s tryst.
This face I’ve shaved, this face you’ve craved
belongs to some somnambulist.
I shake the razor under the tap
and break the razor with a snap
to rake red ribbons ‘cross my wrist.
I’ll make ‘red ribbon finalist’
in this contest,
this victory tub. I’ll finally rest
and run hot water for my bath
and run away from all your wrath.
The fire in your eyes burns hotter
than all this scalding bathtub water
that mixes with my crimson rain
and dulls the daggers in my brain.
I watch the dripping scarlet splatter
though it really doesn’t even matter.
It’s almost over, as slowly I sink
into this slumber bathed in pink
where the demons’ cries still chide me…
where the dream still tries to guide me…
where the steam will rise…to hide me.

AUDACITY

With heavy, trembling hand I try
to grab the diamond sun from sky
and stretching up, my fingers pry
it loose, and burning embers fly
across the heavens, held on high.
I scream my mortal victory cry
of searing flesh and tearing eye
and white-hot light. I wonder why
a meager mortal such as I…
as I… As I…  As I!… 
Oh dearest lord, who, I beseech
would dare the sun; toward heavens reach
and steal it! Lord, teach me.
Counting sins and punish each.
I walk alone this sandy beach,
bereft of sight, deprived of speech,
ACEDIA—my lifeblood leech.
I failed. The sun now tries to bleach
my blackened soul. I now know why
a meager mortal such as I…

Randy D. Rubin is an honorably retired U.S. Navy veteran. He lives and loves his amazing wife, Lisa and his big ol’ dog, Eva LaRue in a hundred-and-thirteen-year-old haunted house. He is a proud grandfather of three, father of four and husband of one. (That’s all he can afford, for crissakes!) He’s been writing horror tales and poetry for thirty-three years and just recently got up the nerve to send his “Little Darlings” out. He enjoys gardening, has an eclectic palate for music, loves to read and be read to via audio books, and writes a minimum of 1,500 words every day.