Category: Free Verse

Touch of Love

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Touch of Love

~

a quarter century ago
in the shadow of the tall ships
nestled inter-coastal
on the outer banks of Beaufort
our passion burst to flame

we bound that flashpoint moment
in a promise of forever
and a band of abalone
I found there in that sunset
on the Carolina sands

as ever-precious
as the diamond ring
that now encircles in its stead
that pearled bit of shell
immortalized our pledge

even to this day
it rests next to your heart
where it falls true and warm
on links of purest gold
my constant touch of love

~ ~ ~

rob kistner © 2011



Click below to read more poetry at dVerse:

Open Link Night #233

Dawn Breaks

Couples in bed. Image by Ocean/Corbis

 
Dawn Breaks

~

when the fire of love
flickers dims and dies
and a shadow falls
deep in darkened eyes
hollow words of love
become but empty lies

that open door
of a tender heart
has swung quietly closed
round the fragile part

what once so sweet and effortless
can never again feel right
and the fall begins so near unseen
as though but the passing of night

until one morning no dawn breaks
no tenderness nor warmth awakes
and a loneliness encircles slow
you seek the one that you’ve loved so

she’s here arms reach
she shares your bed
you roll and turn
then lift your head
you search her face
in the predawn glow
whose eyes these are
you no longer know

you feel no tears
you feel no fight
a knowing rises from this night
sadly it will never again be right

it’s in this painful clarity
you realize
you know
that though you stayed quite sound asleep
you heart left long ago

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~ ~ ~

rob kistner © 2013

Sanctuary


“Under Windsor Bridge” by Adolphe Valette, 1912

 

Sanctuary

~

dead calm envelops me

moist morning fog
adrift on the water
wraps ’round me
like a cool blanket

it muffles the sounds
of daybreak’s industry

alone with my thoughts
in peaceful privacy
safe anonymity

the regrets of last night
dim and fade

this brief sanctuary
a soothing balm
so welcome
at the start of this heavy day

~ ~ ~

rob kistner © 2012

Cloistered

  • This piece deals with the strange duality we all carry with us through life, the unique contradiction between the person we think we are, and the ‘many’ other persons others perceive us to be from their experience of us, as filtered through their differing individual perceptions. Fair or not, convenient or not, we are ‘judged’. Our lives are impacted to one degree or another, every day by how we measure up to each of these interpretations of the “I” we are thought to be. This includes the “I” we perceive ourselves to be. Which one is real, is valid, or is any one of them truly definitive? The phrase “I am” presents a fascinating philosophical quandary.


    image by René Magritte

     

    Cloistered

    ~

    when another
    tells you of yourself
    you’re shown the dance they see
    your outward choreography

    but you hear not of the music
    that rings true in your mind
    that leads and drives the steps
    to this inward dance they’re blind

    you are shown the reflection
    not the light that shines inside
    that illuminates your soul
    to guide your steps and stride

    are we the I that we know
    the self that we so treasure
    or are we in fact the other
    the one the others measure

    for if the valid I
    be the one that is most known
    then we are in fact that I
    the one to ourselves not shown

    for surely when compared
    the majority story shared
    is of the outward other
    the one seen by another

    and so we live our life
    cloistered in this other
    and live this life alone
    even when by many known
    for the I that’s outward shown
    is the I that’s not our own

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2012

    • Morphling


    image by Francesca Woodman

     

    Morphling

    ~

    I will not be confined
    always in motion
    eternal ebb and flow
    perpetual like the seas

    my spirit an eternal liquid
    in everlasting flux
    expands unrestrained
    seeking freedom

    I will not be defined
    my nature is fluid
    my essence is turbulent
    deep but ever changing

    my heart in constant surge
    challenges boundary
    seeking balance that is mine
    to change at will

    reach not for me
    I will not be held
    do not name me
    I will not be yours

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2012

    Perception’s Window


    artwork by Jack Vettriano

     

    Perception’s Window

    ~

    we are infinite beings
    awaking slowly
    from some infinite place

    our coming to be
    unknown to us as any mystery
    our essence an enigma

    learned in stories
    in waiting relationships
    gradually we open to our identity

    awareness dawns
    like the rising of a newborn sun
    breaking on our window of perception

    we feel its warmth
    and flow effortlessly into timelessness
    as though immortal

    we see not over the horizon
    for we see no horizon
    but limitless eternity

    we comprehend no end
    immersed only in the now
    given of our origin

    it is therein exists the miracle of life
    we are infinite beings in this moment
    dreaming to sustain the moment

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2012

    The Startled Man

     

    The Startled Man

    ~

    this “she” was birthed
    in his fractured dreams
    helpless as a forest fawn
    frail as a snowflake
    falling on a May predawn

    a captive
    to his fearful heart
    caught in his twisted fantasy
    conjured by his crippled soul
    his power is his fallacy

    he needs her weak
    for at his core
    he’s filled with sour doubt
    knows his time of tyranny
    is quickly running out

    threatened
    he seeks to dominate
    silences her rising voice
    to keep her mute and under thumb
    tries to deny her right of choice

    with strengthened will
    she finds her voice
    speaks direct to what she sees
    startled by her forthright way
    he wants her back upon her knees

    once a hollow woman-husk
    with sorrow dark as growing dusk
    whose spirit withered
    in the dimming light
    as nightmares swelled
    night after night
    whose tears once seared the barren land

    now rebukes
    his fisted hand
    and walks away
    from the startled man

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2012

    Yet

  • inspired by the first day I met my wife in 1987…

     

    Yet

    ~

    had she not appeared in that clearing
    so lost

    had she not crossed my threshold
    on that september day

    had not her voice
    drifted like silk on a summer breeze
    to wrap sheer and sweet
    around my heart

    had not I been drawn
    like a bloom to the morning sun

    had not I been captivated
    as a hummingbird
    by a drop of nectar
    crystal on a velvet petal

    had not my love come down
    soft as a rolling mountain meadow

    had not this dream been born

    had not my life begun again

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2012

    • Arrested

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    Arrested

    ~

    she’s left only her jacket on
    unbuttoned
    blousing open

    the gold of her badge
    glints fetchingly
    in the glow of candlelight

    her breasts
    partially veiled
    soft in the amber wash
    gently rise and fall
    with her heavy breath

    helplessly
    my eyes glide her length
    fondled warmly
    by the lush half-light
    folding upon her
    from the single flame

    they pause
    entranced by the velvet flower
    sensuously shadowed
    in the satin cleft
    where supple limb
    meets supple limb

    intoxicated by this vision
    I can only stare
    and melt

    utterly arrested

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2012

    ________________________

    The “X” rated 2018 version

  •  
    -=> RAW ADULT  CONTENT <=-

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    • Arrested
    ~
    unbuckling her regulation holster
    she lays it neatly
    on the sest of her cycle

    she removes the rest of her wespons
    and places them on the ground

    she is now unarmed
    but she is still packin’

    unzipping
    she lets her regulation uniform trousers
    slide in a nylon rustle
    down her thigh high lace tops
    to fall
    gathered at her sculpted ankles

    leaving her regulation leather heels on
    she steps over her slacks
    abandoned at her feet

    she walks toward me slowly
    hips pivoting left then right
    taut thighs mesh silken

    swish  swish  swish

    placing one foot
    in front of the other
    striding with authority
    heels sounding

    click  click  click

    she approaches
    backlit by the red and blue pulses
    of the BMW’s frenzied lightbar

    she stops
    straddling over me
    as I am handcuffed
    sitting on the highway
    leaning agaist the door
    of my Audi R8
    popping and snapping
    as the 610 hp’s cool

    she unbottons her regulation jacket
    and drops it at my side
    she’s left only her regulation shirt on
    as she unbuttons
    it blouses open

    her body badge is revealed
    the gold glints fetchingly
    as it dangles
    on a thick leather cord
    from around her smooth firm neck
    resting nestled
    in the perfect cleavage
    of her pert young
    braless breasts

    no

    these are tits
    perfect tits
    right out of a teen’s temptation
    aglow in amber warning lights

    her nipples
    proudly erect
    partially veiled
    soft in the amber wash
    gently rise and fall
    with her heavy breathing

    leaning over
    fixing me with her fiery eyes
    she speaks
    “you were driving recklessly – sir”
    then rips away her black string thong

    helplessly
    looking up
    my eyes glide slowly
    lustfully down her length
    fondled warmly
    by the flashing golden-orange
    folding and refolding
    upon her luscious flesh

    they pause in gentle decent
    entranced by the velvet mons
    shorn smooth and oiled
    sensuously shadowed
    in the satin cleft
    where supple limb
    meets supple limb

    intoxicated by this vision
    I can only stare
    swelling rigid with excitement
    and swoon
    breathless

    utterly arrested
    eager for interrogation

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2018

    Drowning

    Drowning

    ~

    on the boulevard
    outside
    last night’s rain
    puddles
    midst the chaos of metro-clutter
    as if abandoned
    by the waters of earth

    it shoulders its way
    through the culverts
    in search of mother sea

    this day begins golden and crisp
    bird songs echo empty sunrise streets

    lovers and their beloved
    sit by morning windows
    with tea
    and curiosity

    they talk

    in these moments
    their souls spill
    one into the other
    entranced

    somewhere
    tender lips
    are sculpting sweet words

    but here in this quiet
    I drown in your eyes
    fallen into azure pools

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2012

  • Click for bonus pleasure…

    • These People

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    These People

    ~

    these people

    that begrudge me my juicy burgers
    or my rare filet mignon

    that look down their nose
    at my slathered baby backs

    or sneer with disdain
    as I tear into a buttery veal chop

    these people

    their cutting condemnation
    because I’m devouring
    a cut of impeccably seasoned loin
    like it’s some violation of nature

    think about it

    if this were’t the natural way
    there wouldn’t be A1 sauce

    and you’re going to tell me
    Mr. Weber had zucchini on his mind
    when he created the kettle grill

    listen

    if the 4-legged critters
    had the gumption to organize
    and effectively resist
    their inevitable transformation
    into steaks and chops

    or even act mildly indignant
    regarding their situation

    I might think differently

    but they simply
    go with the flow

    quite content
    to fatten up
    on the free grub

    and loll about all day
    in the free accommodations

    and as I savor
    their perfectly turned succulence
    I’m damned grateful for their indifference

    these people

    let them eat soup

    warhol-at-the-grocery-store

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2012

  • Incidentally, my lovely wife is a vegetarian, and loves soup…

    • Morning’s Pardon

  • Morning brings we fallen mortals forgiveness and hope…

    •  

    Morning’s Pardon

    ~

    fallen into night’s embrace
    held down by dark shadows
    I writhe in the arms of nightmare

    would that I could rise
    into the light of dawn’s nod
    but I’m flesh, weak, consumed by flesh

    purity laid raw entangled in my sin
    skin to skin with my obsession
    restrained to roil in my transgression

    but soon the light of morne
    will fold itself upon me pardoned
    oh pray I not be too far drawn asunder

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2012

    Rāgarāja’s Daughter

     

    Rāgarāja’s Daughter

    •

    radiant vision silken skinned
    translucent alabaster blaze
    torrid as a teen’s temptation
    leaned low here before me yearning

    on plush cloud so sensuous
    sweet comely goddess forward bent
    graceful face aglow with craving
    you conjure ardor’s obsession

    a’bloom in beckoned fiery swoon
    forearms rest on pillow soft
    thoughts aflame in primal need
    lips burning smile a fetched seduction

    Rāgarāja’s daughter lush with Spring
    smoldering in golden light
    that folds upon you satin supple
    to bathe in warmth your arched desire

    divinely-pleasing luscious morsel
    served up by a master’s hand
    passion bound to tantalize
    to hypnotize my hungry eyes

    lost in carnal fantasy
    fired by this goddess buff
    arises now my animal
    in a beastly urgent lust

    to wrap ‘round
    this maiden magic
    flesh to flesh
    to full consume
    to thrust
    and thrust
    my randy lust
    ’til passion’s seed
    has turned to dust
    and wanton
    carnal flames
    are snuffed

    Spring’s sweet madness
    at last
    enough

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2012

    • linked at Magpie Tales

    The Edge

     

    The Edge

    •

    standing at the edge
    feeling far below
    the great tides

    the ebb and flow
    the rise and fall

    the come and go of centuries
    wave by wave
    day by day

    might incarnate
    the power of indifference
    the surge of perfect apathy

    and I
    as insignificant as the grain of sand
    bounced and tumbled
    dragged helpless in the undertow

    and that crest of froth
    rises up in beckon
    the silk of azure blue
    slides smoothly down its slope of back
    as it dances on the deep

    how easy I could slip
    into that fathomed realm

    down down ever down
    into the waiting silence
    without so much a noticed sound

    absorbed into the churn and roar
    without so much a ripple
    to disturb the steady surf

    a subtle crease
    irrelevant
    erased even as it came

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011


    • linked at Magpie Tales

    The Journey

     

    The Journey

    •

    beckoned to the final tide
    called forth by the ferryman
    spirit stirs to the distant voice
    that draws you to the journey

    caught still in this mortal realm
    soul resigned to embarkation
    time folding in upon
    as slow you approach the vessel

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011

    • linked at Magpie Tales

    ____________

    image by Mostafa Habibi