At the Start of the End of the World; What’s Wrong with This Movie; Canticle for the Lost; The Difficulty; Halo

At the Start of the End of the World

Some prayed for it to happen.
	At last it’s here.

Lies create more lies.
	There are daily examples.

Some are desperate lies.
	You want to try to save

what can’t be saved.
	Some are just damned.

Think Germany in the ‘30s lies
	culled by Goebbels’ poetic hand

into a fist of belief.
	The Thousand Year Reich

end red embers in twelve.
	Think of a tired heart 

still wanting what it shouldn’t have,
	wanting it so badly

the crowded streets
	seethe with it.

Think of an entire country
	stepping into that street

caught up in the desire
	for what will destroy it.

You don’t see the traffic
	coming a going.

You can’t hear
	what’s next.
What’s Wrong with This Movie

This movie has no backers.
This movie has no production crew.

The script of this movie is bare bones 
and the story--whether sci fi or doc-- ridiculous.

There is no continuity.
No narrative arc.

No fixer can fix it.
It is what it is.

PR is impossible for this movie.
The director is a true unknown.

This movie has no trailers just flashbacks..
This movie has no release date.

This move will end to no applause
but quiet approval of the absence

of the disorder that characterized it.
This movie won’t be playing near you.

This movie goes with you.
everywhere you go.
Canticle for the Lost

We meet in the territory of Losses
for they are abundant.

The visible universe
cannot contain them

nor infrared eyes
which in our wisdom

we have placed in the void 
to see through the void

beyond the carapace
of daily desires

that fade to dream or nightmare.
So we need, O Lord, 

to shake our grief
the way you shake stars

like a blanket tossed to the floor
by a wild sleeper.
The Difficulty

The difficulty in writing this
is how words

twist what you think
you feel or what you feel

instead of thinking—it works
both ways—into

something very different 
and difference

is always difficult,
isn’t it?

Opposites attract,
they say, and so often

it proves true
for a time.

When that time comes
you’re left tracing 

shadows of yourself
in an empty room.

Does the circular flame 
of your life

equal the cold
that extinguishes it

or does it burn 
through the universe

like a halo of new stars?


Stan Sanvel Rubin has published poems in numerous US journals as well as Canada, Ireland, and China and several anthologies. Four full-length collections include There. Here. (Lost Horse Press) and Hidden Sequel (Barrow Street Poetry Book Prize). Born in Philadelphia, he lives on the north Olympic Peninsula.