SunsetGunn

NOTE — I borrowed lines and inspiration from my 2011 poem: Skye Fyre
 

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The SunsetGunn is loaded, the controls, in GunnMaster’s grip
calmly concentrating, he scans the horizon with careful eyes
the golden sun having made his journey, is weary from the trip
quicksilver moon will very soon, traverse the starry skies

Gaia rolls on gently, hushed in quiet space
GunnMaster has her skyline, locked squarely in his sight
Gaia pulls a veil of stars, slowly across her face
GunnMaster has a task, he needs complete before its night

he’s to set the sky ablaze, before he falls to sleep
a fiery coral-orange, twilight-blue, and crimson-red
in patterns broad and bold, in colors rich and deep
he carefully aims the SunsetGunn, and blasts it overhead

in a brilliant, blinding flash, he sets the dimming skies a’fire
in vivid hues, and lavish shades — the dusky sky ignites and burns
GunnMaster has succeeded, so for this night, he can retire
the SunriseGunn already loaded, in early morning, he returns

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*
rob kistner © 2023

Poetry at: dVerse

 



A few more from Animal Logic — GOOD SHIT!



Waltz of Youth



 

W ith the heft and smooth sheen
of the beautiful sculpted body
caressed lovingly
between her nubile legs
her excitement stirs
her anticipation grows

eager and confident
she lays tingling hands upon it

engaging the sure strength
of her lithe knowing essence
and the firm deft touch
of her pristine fingers
the brilliant young cellist
ignites the dance

strong slender legs
carry firm yearning bodies
perfumed and cologne’d
around and across
the crowded dance floor
pulses alive

budding passion
craving — yet hesitant
swept up in innocent bliss

the waltz of youth
rising and falling
to the rich give and take
of the cellist’s bow

she lifts the energy
coaxing the passion
of the beautiful dance

with her nimble sway
and precision movements
delicately she envisions
the flowing notes

lovely face
in rhythmic expression
eyes sometimes closed
she dreams the music

wholly consumed
by the seductive strains
the enlivened dancers
sweep round and round
bodies a’glisten
in smoldered embrace
bathed in the chandelier’s
golden glow

further fired by stolen kisses
and breathy whispers
of promised love
and naive forevers

dawning lives
in the tender grasp
of blooming desire
and the velvet touch
of mad magical
magnificent music
*
rob kistner © 2021

Poetry at: Sunday Muse


 


…a little “out of this world” music…

 

That Velvet

Vote = Voice — Speak Up! 2CC45105-E580-4197-9120-35D724A74CF8

Sorry for this interruption. Feel free to ignore this section and move directly down to the poem, if you choose. The poem is much more sensual and dreamy. This first section is cold, no-filtered, stark reality — fully and sincerely expressed, as I see it. You see, I need to sum up my final, perhaps controversial thoughts, on the issue of protest, introduced here last Thursday. I have been slowly simmering since then: Love MUST win. My proud hippie soul tells me it can — it must for earth, and her human tribe to flourish. As naive and pollyanna as this may sound, I haven’t lived nearly 74 years believing that peace, love, and intelligence will find a way — to simply stand by and see these qualities of integrity snd dignity trampled beneath the feet of humankind’s baser instincts. Perhaps good people have turned the other cheek for too long. Maybe being passively resigned to the perpetraters of evil is not the way. Perhaps it requires an extreme natural culling of the tribe to remove the evil, the result of the arrogant stupidity of that group. Whether I should revel in that possibility is something my peaceful self has been truly struggling with the past few years — since the extinguishing of the Obama light. It goes against my nature. But the continuing greedy, destructive, and heartless ways must end, or perhaps be brought to an end. At my age and health, I, and most of my Aquarian generation, can’t, or won’t, effectively mount the resistance. We lack the stamina or money, or both. Too many among my generation, who may be capable, have lost the vision — turned during the mine-me-first Reagan 80’s, and the grab-fest in the years that followed. I feel we need responsible, strong young leaders to organize on a large scale, activate on a broad scale. It breaks my heart to say it — but me and my generation, we failed. Those who are coming after us, can’t afford to — or humankind and this great spaceship earth, truly are fucked! The power can belong to the young — take it, and wield it wisely! Sorry if I shocked or offended. Just the honest humble opinion of a tired old man. Not too tired to *** VOTE! VOTE! VOTE! ***

========================

And now {{{deep breath}}} time for the poetic entertainment:

***

…inspired by the Kate Bush video, “The Sensual World”…
This is a 2nd revision of my original 2012 version.

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That Velvet

~

would I were that velvet
that she reaches for so fondly
strokes with delicate pure fingers
with soft silken hands she lingers

embraces to her bosom
wraps ’round her slender shoulders
tingles with excitement
as she surrenders to its touch

would I were that velvet
that drapes her lilting essence
that falls and folds and fondles
as she ascends the stairs each night

the plush and luscious fiber
that rises on her breasts
with each soft and subtle sigh
each deep impassioned breath

oh would I were that velvet
that glides her naked form
on those sunset autumn evenings
enwraps her perfect body warm

that chills and thrills in shivers
as she opens it ‘neath moonlight
and swoons hushed smouldered gasps
as she blooms forth firm and pleasured

oh would I were that velvet
would I were that velvet
oh sweet sensuous angel
would I were
would I were

~ ~ ~

rob kistner © 2012
(revision © 2020)

 

Open Link Night #275

Falling To Pieces

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”I can’t see the end of me” by: Oladios

 
Falling To Pieces

~

oh dear
I fear
I have lost my heart

and along with it
a larger part

if I do not panic
but stay calm
instead
being careful
not to lose my head

if I can
look to the future
avoid the dread

it’s not hard to conceive
kitty I truly believe

though parts of me
have certainly
lost a bit
of fleshy tether

eventually
with what’s left
of me
I can finally

pull myself together

~ ~ ~

rob kistner © 2019

 

  • To check out more poems at Sunday Muse: CLICK HERE
  • 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

  • This Heart

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    This Broken heart

    ~
    this heart’s now yours
    this damaged heart
    this brittle fractured aching heart
    broken by you, every part

    I’ve no use for this ruined heart
    plucked here from my chest
    I seek a new and vital heart
    one that’s far less stressed

    a fresh heart that’s unbreakable
    a heart able to forgive
    unmarred unscarred yet tender
    beating with the joy to live

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    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2012