Life is Duality

Day 13 “first draft” for NaPoWriMo 2013
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Life Is Duality

on catching a glimpse of the Great Mysery

I sometimes get very dark
my emotions get brittle and heavy
– an anger at life swells

every time I dig deep enough
be it on my own
or in a counseling session
I find two constants

they are things I cannot change
but they have left a most indelible mark

one unfolded over a horrendous period of early years
one happened in a horrible flash during my mid-life
both so horrific they changed forever my humanity

try as I do their darkness still surfaces
and my inner light gets smothered
— but I will never stop facing them down
when I feel them getting a chilled grip on my essence

that is what life is
keeping the good fight
and embracing with love and gratitude
the beauty we have also been given
and we have been given so much so amazing

life is duality —
life is balance —
the keeping of it —
and the regaining of it when it’s lost…

if you have lived long enough
is DOES get lost at times – often very lost

but life is an awesome opportunity
an experience of the profound and mysterious
the mystery we are not meant to solve
but rather to celebrate with grace and wonder

peace to all this Friday night
may love touch all of our lives
for love is the gateway to the great mystery

as one of our last great modern prophets, John said —
love is all you need
and in the end
the love you take is equal to the love you make…

so find your lover and make love
with great freedom, abandon, gratitude,
and the energy of the spheres…!!! 🙂

• • •

rob kistner © 2013

The Dance

NOTICE: intended for mature readers only…


“Venus and The Sailor” by Salvador Dali, 1925

The Dance

he felt the weight of her thigh
pressing against his
and the flesh of her hip
urgent against his groin
and the warmth
as he responded involuntarily
feeling a heat spread through him
a quickening of his pulse
as he swelled and swooned
growing rigid and eager
and a deep need overtook him
as he reached ’round her
firmly encircling her waist
with his great arm
bending her forward
with the mass of his body
and with his other hand
freeing himself
to enter her fully
consumed by her wetness
in a dance of dizzying desire
his urges hot and husky
on her ear and cheek
as he churned in slow pleasure
building in evermore lustful lunges
ever increasing in pace and tension
as they danced and danced
spinning into a carnal fury
until a great release
swept over them
and they melted together
in a fevered bliss
matching breath for slowing breath
and he bringing his lips
softly to the sweet nape of her neck
as they drifted to earth
entwined in the joy
and the afterglow
of love’s lingered embrace

• • •

rob kistner © 2012

…I wrote this as one uninterrupted piece to reflect the passionate nature and consummate flow of those final peak moments when one is wholly swept up in the deep and urgent throes of making love…

this piece inspired by this visual prompt at Magpie Tales

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’, and 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, which one 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
for this music they know not

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 we know
the self we see full measure
or are we the other
the one known to another

for if the valid one
be the one most known
then we are that other
the one to ourselves unknown

for surely when compared
the majority story shared
is of the manifest 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 you that’s shown
is the you that’s not your 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

this piece inspired by this visual prompt at Magpie Tales

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

this piece inspired by this visual prompt at Magpie Tales

Laughing

…here’s in keeping with my ‘dark’ fantasy that all clowns have bizarre, perhaps criminal pasts…

Laughing

gaze upon me
if you will
my countenance crafted
to fool
and thrill

I’ve spent years in greasepaint
fear
and sorrow
I rue the past
I dread tomorrow

they call me laughing bob

it wasn’t intentional
you see

I only wanted her to hear me
to know my heart

but her laughter
her hollow
taunting laughter
her laughter wouldn’t stop

it wouldn’t
and I needed her to hear me
to understand how I felt

but the laughing
and laughing
the incessant laughing
I simply couldn’t have the laughing

so I made it stop

now I hide behind this painted smile
now everyone is laughing
and laughing

but I no longer hear

• • •

rob kistner © 2012

this piece inspired by this visual prompt at Magpie Tales

Yet

…inspired by the first day I met my wife, 25 years ago…

 

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

linked at Magpie Tales

 

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 those 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 gaze
fallen into azul pools

• • •

rob kistner © 2012

linked at Magpie Tales

 

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

Golden Lady

 

Golden Lady

golden lady in sensuous silk
a beauty sure to mesmerize
sculpted by a master’s hand
so seductive as to scandalize

a stare of comely crystal blue
floats above a ruby pout
spellbound by her magic eyes
she holds your soul with no way out

her tongue tip teases her top lip’s edge
like a supple paintbrush flowing
her smile will fire and hypnotize
then wrap around you knowing

you are now her helpless captive
quite hopelessly addicted
in the velvet grip of this smoldering waif
is she an angel — or is she wicked

• • •

rob kistner © 2011

linked at Magpie Tales

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image by Bert Stern

This Night

…as you read this Christmas poem, with its taste of bittersweetness, see it not in a dark light — but rather, embrace it as a tale of a long-awaited journey, to be with the one beloved…


digital collage entitled: “Christmas Tear” – by: rob kistner © 2011

 

This Night

brushed my shoulder on this morning’s train
then at the market it was there again

while in line to get my breakfast tea
from our favorite table it beckoned me

walking through the festive mall
saw it amble past then out of sight
I swear I saw it fleeting fall
upon the gifts I did not wrap this night

upon the tree I did not decorate
the greeting cards I did not write
in frail voice I chastise fate
no carols to sing upon this night

this season I see it everywhere
the shadow of your love
elusive as a shopper’s smile
caught up in the crush and shove

but soon I’ll catch and hold it close
warmly to my breast
it will sweetly fill my heart
lay soft with me this midnight rest

for it returns this night each year
the same night you went away
in dreams you kiss away each tear
touch my lips that beg you stay

taken from my life in sleep
gone without a last goodbye
as we dreamed at midnight deep
each year I weep and wonder why

but this year I’ll not awaken blue
in the end an easy thing to do

this night I’ll make our dreams come true
this midnight deep – I will come to you

• • •

rob kistner © 2011

poem inspired by visual prompt below

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

For Naught

 

For Naught

the virgin page taunts me

untouched

the bright white
throbs like a migraine

no burden of remorse
no weight of mystery
does it bear

no sting of anger
no wink of mirth
does it proffer

nothing sensual or sensitive to share

no tale to spin
no plot to thicken
no coin of phrase to turn

just vast blank space
tormenting nothingness
cruel emptiness
to drain my brain

dissonance spills through my open window
the scatter of autumn showers
stir of october wind
rustle of moist leaves

in the distance
muffled keens
bursts of barking
far off yelps

the edgy piercing din
of dripping prowling night
intrudes in damp insistence
to fill my head
fevered with frustration
to leave not one small space for wit

the search for insight all for naught

no spark to light this dark
no muse in sight

nothing clever or profound
in the air this night

chilled
slack

uninspired

• • •

rob kistner © 2011

linked at Magpie Tales