Category: Spoken Word

Swept Away

  • A bluesman’s life and soul: “Music gives me goose-bumps, especially when created from the heart, by a genuine human spirit…”

    • swept-away.jpg

     
    Swept Away

    (- REDUX 2019 -)

    ~

    memphis red
    no longer is

    gray now shines
    from a balding head
    filled with scarlet embers

    memories still burn
    a fired spirit

    too deep for coddled mortals
    to fully fathom

    red is real
    red is legend

    his tales of pain
    of injustice
    the lore of the big muddy

    his eyes
    earthy brown
    turbulent as that river

    his stare
    a deep current
    impossible to escape
    you’re swept away

    his voice
    a tempered edge
    honed by blues

    broadleaf husky
    thick as sorghum
    smooth as beale street bourbon

    the cf martin
    swings from a leathered neck
    on a tattered strap
    stretched and shaped
    by the heft of sorrow
    poured into the soundhole

    marked and scarred
    by years of burden
    of witness

    its character and patina
    bear testament
    to a genuine soul

    cracked and seasoned hands
    reach with suffered care
    to wrap the fingerboard
    in love

    callused digits
    yellowed by habit
    depress taut strands
    no longer catgut

    blood and bone
    grip
    connect
    sculpting emotions

    true life
    ensnared in sitka spruce
    and spiraled steel

    knowing strains rise
    chords of loss

    rhythmic stomp
    stinging verse
    of broken promise
    failed love

    of dirt field
    cruel street
    back alley
    of harsh wisdom

    resonate to fill this space
    to break my heart
    to steal my soul

    swept away

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2007

    __________________________

    photo rendering above entitled: “Knowing”
    rendered by: rob kistner © 2007

    Click here to read about more blues on TOAD

    Reaper Groom

    A MURDER MYSTERY

    I’ve always been fascinated by who-done-it’s and classic horror stories, so I was inspired to write this piece with a ‘retro’ gothic feel.

    Lyle, the socially awkward, seemingly milquetoast villain of this tale has a ‘killer’ obsession. A shy, mild-mannered church organist; he is ‘changed’ into a murdering menace — by loneliness and rejection.

    BE WARNED: This poem, and the collage I created to accompany it, are both a bit graphic — in a noir-tongue-in-cheek sort of way.

    I invite you to enjoy, “Reaper Groom”.

    reaper-groom500d.jpg

    collage above entitled: “Thief of Hearts” — by: rob kistner © 2008

    ___________

    Reaper Groom

    ~

    backlit by a lightening flash
    a figure scurried ‘cross the yard
    between the gravestones he did dash
    head down low, and running hard

    dressed in cape of velvet black
    he seemed to vanish from our sight
    but then we saw him double back
    he would not escape tonight

    elusive as a demon’s shadow
    ghost-like — he could disappear
    but no more, this scourge of sorrow
    finally, we were drawing near

    surround and capture, was the plan
    the hounds had tracked him to this place
    this had to be our wanted man
    though none had seen his evil face

    we were sworn to bring him down
    bloodthirsty was this man — and cruel
    he’d caused such horror in our town
    if he escaped, we’d look the fool

    the target of our townsfolk’s hate
    he must be caught this beast of doom
    he’d killed so many brides to date
    we knew him as the “Reaper Groom”

    he took the lives of countless bride
    murdered them by dark of night
    once betrothed they couldn’t hide
    death was sure to be their plight

    marriage took an awful blow
    as one by one our maidens fled
    our bachelors’ ire began to grow
    there were no wives to share their bed

    this had to stop — no maids for men
    it wasn’t natural, wasn’t right
    this curse would never be again
    it would end, right here, tonight

    we had him cornered in our net
    he’d not escape our clutch this time
    he owed this town an awful debt
    he’d pay quite dearly for his crime

    we closed in slowly, with great care
    we’d make sure he couldn’t run
    we deftly caught him in our snare
    and gathered round him, every one

    we took him roughly in this place
    and chained him to a stony block
    and brought a torch to light his face
    then gasped, and staggered back in shock

    this couldn’t be, not this poor fool
    this shy man of timid smile
    we sought a monstrous evil ghoul
    this was bashful lonely Lyle

    Lyle played organ every Sunday
    and lead the hymns, as we would sing
    our fiend escaped, we’d get him one day
    and when we did, for sure he’d swing

    it wasn’t Lyle, it was another
    Lyle was not the type, you see
    Lyle lived with his aging mother
    so we’d set lonely Lyle free

    but Lyle spoke up in quiet voice
    don’t turn me lose, please, I forbid it
    you see you really have no choice
    cause I’m your man, that’s right, I did it

    I killed these maidens everyone
    I’ve charged this town a heavy toll
    but my spree is over, I won’t run
    this weigh’s too heavy on my soul

    sentenced to hanging at his trial
    Lyle was shortly going to die
    looking sadly stern at Lyle
    the judge inquired of him why

    had he slain all this beauty
    made so many families cry
    he felt an answer was his duty
    so this was Lyle’s cold reply

    for many years I’d been denied
    until my soul was heavy laden
    god knows how often I had tried
    to win the love of a fair young maiden

    I was so consumed with bitter grief
    that, though I’ve caused much pain and strife
    this was my only true relief
    to take from them their tender life

    as mama’s words rang in my head
    I’d cut out their precious part
    there’s more than one way, mama said
    to steal a lovely lady’s heart

    ~ ~ ~
    rob kistner © 2008

    Seasons

  • Suite of four haiku reflecting the seasons…

  • collage entitled “Four Seasons” by: rob kistner © 2007

    •  
    Seasons

    ~

     

    Spring

    (haiku)

    ~

    wings flutter gently

    spring breeze bends full flowered stems

    meadow dance begins

    ~ ~ ~

     

    Summer

    (haiku)

    ~

    green leaf on blue pond

    turns in golden summer sun

    red bird softly sings

    ~ ~ ~

     

    Fall

    (haiku)

    ~

    stalks lie down in fields

    arbors burst with ripened grape

    fall is on the land

    ~ ~ ~

     

    Winter

    (haiku)

    ~

    coarse lands cloaked in white

    lakes bejeweled in crystal

    winter’s dressing hand

    ~ ~ ~

     

    rob kistner © 2007

    _____________________

  • Click here to read more poetry at dVerse

    • Being Now

    NaPoMo poem #25

    This is the twenty fifth of the poems I will write this April, in honor of National Poetry Month, as proclaimed by the Academy of American Poets.

    This was inspired by a prompt at read write poem to write a “how to” about something difficult to do.

    • NOTE: these poems will all essentially be early drafts, so edits may occur after their initial posting.

     

    Being Now

    •

    step gently through the dream-gate

    take hold the strand continuum

    ride the light that carries you

    to the is, was, the will be

    transcendence moment

    when the all is one

    in the perfection

    of pure being

    here now

    alive

    ∞

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2009

    ___________________________

    • you can find other NaPoMo offerings at read write poem

     

    Love & War (two poems)

     

    Love & War

     

    The Nightmare

    •

    my eyes

    crisp from the day’s cruel sun
    burnt by devastation’s fires
    scorched by images of relentless horror

    take refuge
    in this late-evening fog
    settling heavy as a shroud

    clinging
    opaque
    mercifully obscuring

    I am sustained
    by this damp pall
    that descends cool upon me

    wraps ‘round my pained countenance
    fevered with fatigue
    twisted with despair

    drawn
    by a faded memory of honor
    a faint echo of duty
    a frayed thread of human dignity

    I stumble
    broken by this sin I shoulder

    not of my making
    but of my charge

    my sin

    unleashed by others
    who would impose their delusions
    to advance their evil agenda

    those who would rule the world

    a world now broken
    corrupted by their illusions
    spoiled by their vanity

    a world in chaos
    as darkness deepens

    this nocturne
    I have but this ruin-riddled
    highway of blood

    of dying dreams
    violated innocence
    merciless destruction

    of horrific death

    this path of my duplicity
    of my guilt
    my shame

    and so
    I stumble on
    bent by the weight of this falling evening
    drowned in its drenching sorrow

    my spirit hollow and empty
    I slink exhausted
    into this coming night
    and
    the next night
    and
    the night that follows
    that always follows

    captive on this road of murder
    of brutal
    human
    arrogance

    a prisoner
    of this lost highway

    seeking forgiveness

    • • •

     

    The Return

    •

    distant
    slurred
    reverberant

    like a voice in a canyon
    I hear you calling
    from the past

    my name
    rolling sweet as nectar
    from your lips
    soft as orchid petals
    full as a bursting peach

    glistening deep coral
    as they wrapped softly
    ‘round each pouted syllable
    when you 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 drifted apart

    I had struggled
    to tear my eyes from your tears
    that glistened on your lashes
    and around your swollen eyes
    blue as a deep summer sky

    to slip softly
    over the crests of your velvet cheeks
    down the contour of your face
    flushed as sunset
    to lightly salt your quivering lips

    numb and dazed
    I tunneled down the loading gate
    toward the jet
    that took me to hell

    in those final moments
    I locked the image
    of your sorrowed face of love
    deep in my heart

    there it lives as my salvation
    my only grasp on sanity
    in these horrific years

    my lips too
    had quivered on that day
    from the sting of separation

    from the chilling knowledge
    I would soon taste
    the bitter blood of war
    foul with the stench of death

    not yet departed
    I had longed
    on that day
    to gaze once more
    into your brilliant blue eyes
    and taste your sweetness on my lips

    as I return this day
    trying to face reality at 30,000 feet
    I taste the salt of sadness

    I fear a kiss from me
    with my killer’s mouth
    will forever defile
    the fragile innocence of your lips

    soft as orchid petals
    full as a bursting peach

    that glistened
    and quivered
    when last we parted

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2009

    ___________________________________

    …photorendering entitled “Blood Orchid” by: rob kistner © 2008

     

    Nocturne – video-poem

     

    Nocturne

    •

     

    …poem was written, and multimedia production was created by: rob kistner © 2008

    NOTE: To read “Nocturne” CLICK HERE

     

    …poem submitted in response to readwritepoem prompt #85

    Swept Away – multimedia poem

     

    Swept Away

    •

    • NOTE: To insure quality, this video poem is presented as a QuickTime Movie™.

    • To play, please CLICK the start arrow at the left in the bar on bottom of image.

    Morning Gold

     

     

    Morning Gold

    •

    across the meadow

    last night’s dew clings
    fondly to the old-growth

    wrapped in crystalline embrace
    it adorns the stately cedars
    as if diamonds
    that sparkle in the morning sun

    a splendor befitting their beauty

    this Sprring day begins bright and crisp

    bird songs lilt
    carried on a breeze

    I see you afar
    approaching on the path
    backlit by sunrise
    your hair golden in dawn’s glow

    lover beholding beloved
    I sit
    warmed in daybreak’s window
    with tea and fascination

    I watch you
    as you stop to rest

    in this moment
    my love spills over
    floods ‘round me
    until I am consumed

    your lips sculpt a smile

    I’m swept away on passion’s tide

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2008

     

    click below to hear Morning Gold

     

    Nocturne

     

    A brooding full moon, in image, verse, and spoken word

    Author’s note: this piece does not expose a secret, but instead, it deals with the weight and burden of keeping dark disturbing secrets buried away.

     

     

    Nocturne

    •

    hawk moon hangs heavy
    in the damp night sky

    bulbous moist pearl
    rolling
    in a cold chromium fog

    wet slivers of cloud
    smear themselves
    across its face

    irregular

    like translucent sacks
    of moonbeams

    breathing

    glassine billowing pillows
    oozing

    soaked with midnight

    stars float and spark
    glinting
    dripping
    shivering

    frozen splintered crystal tips
    diamond chips
    pinprick rips
    in blackened space

    they wink and wane
    and flutter
    shattered bits of silvered light

    snapping here then not

    behind the ghostly white
    vapor that slithers
    through the firmament

    the world devoid of color
    aglow in sterling grey
    a negative of day

    thick and chilled

    filled with the sound
    of stalking after-dark things

    nocturne

    the sorrowing hour
    to lay bare your soul
    in pale introspection

    in grief of secrets

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2007

     

    To hear poem read by author, click here:

     

    Swoon!

    swoon-large-art-web.jpg

    Rob Kistner © 2007

    SWOON!

    •

    Eyes glide luxurious flesh,

    tracing the soft edge of dark and light

    where the moon fondles your form,

    folding itself upon you through the open window.

    Eyes embrace full measure your lyrical essence,

    lost in the silken tangles of your hair,

    radiant in back-light,

    fanning in soft wisps your graceful neck.

    Eyes linger on eager bud of tender breast,

    pause, entranced by the velvet flower

    sensuously shadowed in satin cleft,

    where supple limb meets supple limb.

    Enraptured by this vision, sweet aglow,

    I swoon, and swell to bursting – intoxicated!

    …

    To hear poem read by author, click here

    Rob Kistner © 2007