not me — I’m a lamb
but I’m just a reflection
so I’m sorry — you are …screwed!
Can you please sing, while you — RUN?!
Poetry at: Sunday Muse
Poetry at: Poets & Storytellers
Day 4 poetry at: NaPoWriMo 2021
~
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
~ ~ ~
rob kistner © 2012
eyes droop and flicker
aflame with spoiled sleep
face slacked
head now dropped
held in my hands
heavy with confusion
skull upon the finger bones
in weighted indecision
procrastination presses down
where art thou muse
I seek weightless inspiration
to be lifted up by you
instead
the hum of cooling bytes
drones relentless in my ears
impossible to ignore
no matter how I try
thoughts like digits on a dollar slot
spin unsettled in my mind
they neither click nor lock in place
they tumble in a jumble
to roll and blur just out of focus
lost in mental fog
sunken in my writer’s chair
I remain immobile
paralyzed by perplexity
imprisoned by the chaos
awhirl in my mind
the freedom of decision
impossible to manage
I fear nothing will be writ
no first ink will be shed this day
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
•
whether panning for poached
fishing for fried
or sifting for softly scrambled
maybe bobbing for boiled
or sunny side up
angling for over easy
perhaps baiting a hook
for benedict
or dangling a lure for deviled
be they baked in cakes
or dropped in soup
it’s a whites & yolks wet dream
it’s a breakfast lovers fantasy
going to the eggs stream
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
•
it’s not so much we resent the hungry
no more than do we despise the poor
rather we avoid and dismiss them
with the dull cough of apathy
we find them disturbing and dangerous
they disquiet our comfort
we do not flow with the milk of kindness
our part is more the dark brandy of denial
we do however praise our stars
for their sensitivity toward the downtrodden
it makes the less fortunate more glamorous
and we like the hollywood sparkle it imparts to tragedy
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
to prevent my sorrow
from choking the life
from my soul
to know what I really think
to ride the currents of my joy
and laughter
to track my growth
share what I have experienced
shed light on my ignorance
to leave my trace
expose my vulnerability
in hopes others won’t rebuke
banish
or hurt me
but rather see me worthy of mercy
of love
to see me not so unlike themselves
and have pity
because there is an urge
to break the mental silence
to make a din
create a literate clatter
to be certain I am not ignored
forgotten
or misunderstood
because I am sad
I am crazy
I am odd
I am insecure
I am lonely
frightened
cursed
clever
because I am thrilled
full of life
nearing death
desperate to know
confident in my knowledge
because I am entangled
and strangled
by the why of it all
because I can
and so that I might
for all of this
I write
and to survive
I have no choice
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
•
Even in chaos nature finds balance.
Violent floods beget fertile fields.
One thing ends, another begins.
Life is a cycle of birth and death.
Untamed wildfire creates forest ash.
The ashen remains nurture growth again.
In the caterpillar lives the butterfly.
One thing ends, another begins.
Now and forever, the mandella spins.
• • •
•
garage sound check great
groupies at the ludlow door
allmans soon to start
damned duane is still m-i-a
we stone fox boys are ready
• • •
•
I will not forget you
memory still burns
tearful recollection of the first time
my eyes beheld your luscious curves
skin smooth as satin
golden as you lay before me
seductive in the summer sun
you fired my imagination
ignited my soul
I wanted you so badly
my lips trembled
you promised such sweetness
but I’d been warned by others
who had dared indulge your fiery charms
that it would end in tears
I did not heed their counsel
seduced
I fell upon you hungrily
taking you in passion’s flames
hot as lava
scorching as an august sun
swept away
I consumed your charms
an inferno of desire
tasting your forbidden fruit
in a wanton blaze I took my fill
but just as quick it ended
I should have listened
they knew you all too well
you burned me badly
and left me crying
but I never will forget you…
…habanero
• • •
•
drips pizzicato
crescendo of icicles
north wind’s cadenza
wintertime’s crisp symphony
played on nature’s outdoor stage
• • •
•
the virginal glare
of the backlit void
taunts me
the tiny pulsing cursor
throbs like a migraine
in the blank white field
untouched
ignored
impatient
no burden of remorse
no weight of mystery
does it bear
no sting of anger
no wink of mirth
to reflect
nothing sensual
or sensitive
to share
no coin of phrase to save
just empty screen
tormenting nothingness
30 in 30
pressing down
dissonance spills through my open window
the scatter of rain
stir of wind
rustle of wet leaves
muffled keens
bursts of barks
distant yelps
the edgy din
of dripping
prowling
april night
intrudes in damp insistence
to fill my head
and leave not one small space
for wit
or insight
all in vain
there is no spark
in this soggy midnight
left high and dry
no muse in sight
only exhaustion
nothing clever
or profound
in the air this night
chilled
slack
uninspired
• • •
•
shy knock at front door
lovely daughter descends stairs
who is this brash boy
shake his hand or run him off
daddy’s decision is tough
• • •
•
like a voice in a canyon
I hear her calling in my mind
my name
rolling sweet as nectar
from lips soft as orchid petals
full as a bursting peach
glistening deep coral
as they wrapped softly
‘round each pouted syllable
when she bid me tender farewell
so long ago
our fingertips had strained to grasp
until the final sensation of warmth
of touch
had faded
and they had drifted apart
I had struggled to tear my eyes
from her tears
that glistened on her lashes
and around her swollen crystal blue eyes
to slip softly over the crests
of her velvet cheeks
then down the contour of her face
flushed as sunset
to lightly salt her quivering lips
and as I passed
numb and dazed
through the tunnel of the loading gate
toward the jet
that took me to hell
I had at that moment
locked the image
of that sorrowed face of love
deep in my heart
It had proved my salvation
my only grasp on sanity
in those horrific years
over there
my lips too had quivered on that day
with the sting of separation
and the chilling knowledge
I would soon taste the bitter blood of war
foul with the stench of death
having not yet departed
I had already longed to gaze again
into her brilliant blue eyes
and taste her sweetness
yet
as I return this day
trying to face reality
from 30,000 feet
I taste the salt of sadness
for I fear
a kiss from me
with my killer’s mouth
will forever defile the fragile innocence
of those luscious lips
soft as orchid petals
full as a bursting peach
that glistened
and quivered
when last we parted
• • •
•
tears on flushed pale cheeks
warm held hand grows cool and still
she has left this earth
my love is now eternal
how do I face tomorrow
• • •
•
phineas morton is not a happy guy
that’s not to say he’s sad
he just decided long ago
not to live life on the extremes
so he would describe himself as
well
as centered
yes
phineas morton is a centered guy
he lives in the abandoned hull
of a short
yellow
school bus
left there by his parents
when he was 12
as they went off to find
well
to find happiness
this situation may also account
for his less than enthusiastic embrace
of the whole concept of
well
of happiness
phineas dreams of
someday
doing something
something
well
something interesting
shunning the extreme nature
of
of great
he is not really interested
in doing something
great
interesting will do just fine
he has a girlfriend
well
sort of a girlfriend
more like a
well
like a girl acquaintance
that sounds less “on the edgeâ€
which suits his centeredness
just fine
her name is flo
though she has come to spell it
phlo
as an expression
of her affinity for phineas
you know
phineas and phlo
the whole ph
sounds like f
thing
you know f
fuh f fuh
well
anyway
phineas wants everyone to know
that while he waits for his
interesting life to begin
he can be found
out by ole’ doc patterson’s pond
in his shell of a bus
you’re more than welcome to come by
just
if you do
don’t be too happy
if you know what I mean
doesn’t sit well with the lad
so if you come by
bring some jelly beans
red jelly beans
because
well
just because
and a tip from me
if you do drop in on phineas
don’t be clever
you know
don’t make any wisecracks about
well
no “short bus†remarks
ok
ok
• • •
•
it struck me the moment I met you
I just didn’t want to upset you
didn’t know how you’d act
if I acknowledged the fact
but now that you’ve asked guess I’ll have to
I know that we’ve only just met
it’s not something I’ll soon forget
but since you want to know
I’ll deliver the blow
but wait cause I’m not ready yet
I fear I’ll be breaking your heart
perhaps tearing your world apart
dropping this kinda news
is like lighting a fuse
so please give me a running head start
this is not what I’d hoped to discuss
and you must know you’ve got a surplus
but man in those slacks and shirt
you’d make a blind man’s eyes hurt
so, do you hold that thing up with a truss
• • •
•
it’s as clear as day
nothing needed to be said
it’s so obvious
should have seen it right away
suddenly it was – Of Course!
• • •
•
presented for your consideration
deadlines
and time
time is relative
a fleeting thing
non-substantive
so how does one keep time
to keep is to hold
or maintain
something in your possession
it would seem
given the insubstantial nature
of time
that one cannot
with time
being the core component
of a deadline
and time unable to be ‘kept’
the logical deduction
is that a deadline
is therefore unable to be ‘kept’
it would also seem
that it is not fully clear
just what a deadline is
is it a relative point
projected into the future
and given arbitrary importance
is it a connection
between telephones
that has gone quiet
is it a boundary
drawn around a prison
beyond which escapees are shot
is it filament with hook
presented to catch fish
that has lost its bait
when considering
this additional uncertainty
why all the fuss about deadlines
in the pursuit
of things relative
fleeting
ethereal
and uncertain
love is the more glorious
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
•
what is it you find so amusing my dear
perhaps it’s the fact I have only one ear
it makes it difficult to accurately hear
so you’ll have to speak that much louder I fear
yes it’s true, as you see, I have only my right
the left was cut off in a terrible fight
and I have not been quite the same since that night
it’s hard to be happy when you’re a pitiful sight
my glasses are impossible to keep on my face
and my hat just refuses to stay in its place
where there once was an ear I have only a space
but having one ear surely is no disgrace
with only a right ear my intake’s askew
I only hear things from a right point of view
so my right point of view I assume to be true
and therefore it’s righteous — what I think and do
now what is it you find so amusing my dear
I hope you’re not laughing at my missing ear
I suggest you had better stop pointing, you hear
’cause a righteous right-eared man is someone to fear
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
NaPoMo poem #29
This is the twenty ninth and the penultimate of the poems I will write this April, in honor of National Poetry Month, as proclaimed by the Academy of American Poets.
This poem is a tongue-in-cheek, but well intentioned look at life’s many gifts, inspired by prompt #29 at read write poem.
• NOTE: these poems will all essentially be early drafts, so edits may occur after their initial posting.
So Many Gifts
•
we were granted
many gifts
when we arrived
here in this life
perhaps the most precious
is the gift of family
to endure
the gift of family
and any other calamity
we were bestowed
the gift of courage
the gift of patience
is a part of this
now when we require
more reinforcement
we have the useful
gift of friends
should all these gifts
prove just too much
there is the gift
of nature’s beauty
if we overdose
on all things tranquil
the fallback gift
is our creative spark
to prevent this gift
from being wasted
we have literature
music and art
and to preserve
dark karmic balance
we’ve been blessed
with the critique clique
finally we come
to this the greatest
of all the gifts
that we possess
and that gift being
the gift of love
though we enjoy
all of these gifts
life still can be
quite tough at times
but don’t despair
no
don’t lose hope
some secret gifts
have we been granted
to give us strength
and keep us going
the first of these
our sense of wonder
and hand in hand
our sense of awe
and should all else falter
there is the failsafe
the secret weapon
our sense of humor
but please take heed
keep careful watch
if you lose this latter
my friend
you’re screwed
• • •
rob kistner © 2009
___________________________
• you can find other NaPoMo offerings at read write poem
NaPoMo poem #23
This is the twenty third of the poems I will write this April, in honor of National Poetry Month, as proclaimed by the Academy of American Poets.
This is a bit of whimsy inspired by the read write poem NaMoWriMo prompt #23, “a different hat”.
• NOTE: these poems will all essentially be early drafts, so edits may occur after their initial posting.
Fashion Faux Pas
(‘hoot’ couture)
•
I see you smirking at my hat
it’s aluminum foil – imagine that
it helps with my cell phone reception
and fascinates my cat
keeps UV rays off my bald cranium
collects morning dew for my geraniums
makes me invisible to radar
and impervious to uranium
when wearing it I’m seen from space
the reflection helps conceal my face
when raining it will never rust
it’s aerodynamic if I run a race
it made my paper’s style page
and it will soon be all the rage
the good news — one size fits all
and it’s great to line your birdcage
so don’t make fun of my chapeau
it’s great for people on the go
and quite handy if you’re grilling out
or wrapping take home from the bistro
a tip in closing I will bestow
don’t use tin, it’s crass and low
folks will stare and shake their head
tin is such a fashion ‘no’
• • •
rob kistner © 2009
___________________________
• you can find other NaPoMo offerings at read write poem