Category: wonder

Emerald Eyes

This poem is offered in response to prompt #25 for 2010 at Writer’s Island,
also offered “off-topic” to the October 15th prompt at Big Tent Poetry.

Emerald Eyes

•

emerald eyes captivate
fix me in their gaze
lift me
carry me
to the realm of unfinished dreams

they strip me of fear
longing
of inhibition
to render me transparent

I rise weightless
unburdened of care
an untethered being of pure moment
soaring through universes within universes

a traveler in time and space
ever-expanding consciousness
aware of all
riding the strand continuum
drawing it forward
reeling it back
slipping all temporal bounds

a being of universal presence
adrift in the infinite now
lost in the mystery
veiled in those emerald eyes

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

Baby Cakes

This poem is offered in response to prompt #22 at We Write Poems.

Baby Cakes

•

crave the taste
of my baby cakes
seven minutes
is all it takes

gotta whip ‘em up
nice and creamy
mouthwaterin’
moist and steamy

oh do not rush
you better not
gotta get that
little oven hot

spread ‘em thick
but not too quick
steady stirrin’
will do the trick

ease ’em in
slide ’em out
hot buttered lovin’
fresh from the oven

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

To Soar

This poem is offered in response to prompt #23 for 2010 at Writer’s Island,
the Ginsberg ‘american sentence’ is offered in response to prompt #136 at One Single Impression.

To Soar

•

to feel the warmth of early spring sun
to wander through old growth
to see the sunset into the pacific
to breath in the fragrance of summer
to see joy in another’s eyes
to hear my child’s laughter
to be breath-taken by art
to be dazzled by autumn’s palette
to taste the richness of chocolate
to immerse in the rhythms of music
to see the morning dew sparkle
to hear the sweet lilt of a thrush
to know the quiet of snowfall
to raise my voice in song
to drift on a clear mountain lake
to get lost in poetry
to feel your gentle touch

…is to soar

• • •

to just try to fly is to fall short, one must expect to soar, then leap

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

Kisses Crimson-Gold

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Kisses Crimson-Gold

~

the stir of autumn
enwraps my heart
as summer slowly wanes
riding the early fallen leaves
on the current of october waters
whirling and bobbing on crystal ripples
round and past the river rocks
over rip rap in the stream bed
carried vividly away
into the setting sun

days shorten
shadows lengthen
a quiet melancholy
settles upon the valley
as nature prepares itself
for the slumber of renewal

but not before the crackling
joyous dance of harvest
and a crisp crimson-gold
kiss goodnight

~ ~ ~

rob kistner © 2010

__________________

Brightly coloured fall leaves in a forest stream

Deep Azure

This poem is offered in response to prompt #21 at We Write Poems.

Deep Azure

•

on the boulevard below
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

lover and beloved
we sit by the morning window
with tea and curiosity

we talk

for this moment
our souls spill one into the other
until I am distracted

your lips continue sculpting words
but I’ve fallen into your deep azure eyes

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

Over The Edge

This piece is offered in response to visual prompt Mag 33 at Magpie Tales seen at bottom of post,
also prompt 22 at Writer’s Island,
and prompt #135 at One Single Impression.

Over The Edge

•

From down there, down there,
it’s coming from down there.
From where — down there?
Yes Sis, I swear!

That horrible smell
that’s filling the air,
the one that’s most certainly
impossible to bear,
is coming from that women
with the massive blue hair
sitting alone on the patio chair,
on the deck of the house,
that’s below us — right there!

What a putrid aroma,
you’d think that she’d care.
There are simply some things
that one never should share,
like the stink that is rising
from that patio chair,
on the deck of the house
that’s below us down there.

And the hideous color
of that mountain of hair —
I can’t help it, can’t help it,
I can’t help but stare.

It’s a tangled and horrible monument to
a disgusting and eye-blinding
shade of bright blue —
and it’s causing a feeling of nausea too!

I must look away my heads starting to whirl,
and I feel that my toes are beginning to curl,
I fear over the edge here I’m going to hurl —
and I don’t want to do that in front of a girl.

Maybe I’m wrong
but I would assume,
if one’s going to bathe
in a noxious perfume,
they’d at least have the manners
to exhibit some pride,
and not foul the ozone,
instead — stay inside.

Not to be the forecaster
of gloom and of doom,
but keep the eco-disaster
contained to one room.

And if you’re chromatically challenged my friend,
consider the others that you might offend.
A monumentally grotesque rat’s nest of blue,
is not something I care to look at on you!

• • •

rob kistner © 2010


Mag 33

Ripples

Tankas inspired by this wonderful painting offered as prompt #21 at Writer’s Island,
and by prompt #134 at One Single Impression.



Reflections

•

memories of you
ripples on a mirrored lake
rise and drift gently
into the golden sunlight
carrying me on their crest

• • •

Joie de Vivre

•

clear blue summer sky
deep azure crystalline lake
cool breeze on my face
fresh scent of water lilies
ripples gently lap the boat

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

• painting entitled “Fisherman” by: Vane Kosturanov

Bit ‘O Whimsy

This piece is offered in response to prompt #70 at Carry On Tuesday.



Bit ‘O Whimsy

•

One misty moisty morning
The mist was most prevailing
And then it started storming
On that misty moisty morning

It came up without a warning
hailstones began to hailing
And I missed the morning mailing
On that misty moisty morn

Though I mostly miss the morning mail
That morn I felt mostly forlorn
I had to catch the mail that morn
But by 10 minutes I was trailing

So I began to flailing
Down the lane my feet were sailing
But the mailman was ailing
And hadn’t made his morning mail

So on that misty moisty morning
In a storm that had no warning
When I should have been emailing
My mail and me got mostly soaked

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

• painting entitled “Rain Man” by: Vane Kosturanov

You & Me

…I offer this piece in response to prompt #69 at Carry On Tuesday,
and prompt #18 at We Write Poems,
also the September 6th prompt at Big Tent Poetry,
and the September 8th prompt at Three Word Wednesday…

You &Me

(a poetic quadratych)

•

The Secret

what I said was
don’t touch
go away
leave me be

while inside
I cried out
draw near
stay with me

you are light
you are pure
you are joy
you are free

I am not
I am dark
I am beast
can’t you see

without you
there is much
you don’t know
about me

The Revelation

I lived at the light’s edge
that pooled in the night
on the bleak back streets
of the sad brokenhearted

I hid in the anguish
of the loveless who cowered
in the dark nightmare alleys
of the lost and forgotten

I fed on the grief
of the mourners who wailed
for their horrific loss
in the ruins of death

this was my heartscape
black as mid-winter night
a lightless horizon
no glimmer of hope

trusting was toxic
no foothold for love
relations were carnage
scattered lifeless and cold

The Change

’til a beautiful being
eyes brilliant and true
approached from afar
bearing tinder of love

the graceful arrangement
was deftly ignited
and patiently tended
the fire gently stoked

afraid to come forward
I held outside the glow
but your kindness drew me
we stood by the blaze

with passion it roared
its light pierced my blackness
its heat thawed my soul
my cold heart was warmed

The Miracle

you wrapped yourself ‘round me
gazed into my eyes
your kiss soft and serene
was the essence of healing

with you in my life
I am darkness removed
soaring and weightless
radiant and rising

vital and caring
my spirit’s renewed
illuminated wholly
by a new dawn of dreams

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

• photo above is of the GOASTT, digitally enhanced by: rob kistner 2010

Breakthrough

…this piece is in response to the 19th prompt of 2010 on Writer’s Island,
and offered for prompt 132 at One Single Impression,
and for prompt 231 at Sunday Scribblings….




Breakthrough

•

rise up
clad in colors of a joyful life
rebuke the strife

tilt against convention
the prevailing norm
is a toxic storm

buck the winds of rebuff
ignore the false contention

stare down the face of ridicule
if buffeted by cruel
condemnation

shun the foolish
sadly blown off course
by the brutish force
of blind conformation

be not inclined to fear
nor falter

choose instead
to quell their mindless dread
and so to alter
the contradiction
which grips their head

stay one’s ground
leaning hard on raw conviction
wait the weight
until one’s strength is found

be anchored bold
and deeply hold
to the true and genuine
until your patience spent
revives again

do not resent
remain flexible
to withstand the blows
resisting those
who would see you swayed
and lowly bent

who would see
your spirit broken
for so to savor

instead
raise high your head
don’t ever waver

be never rigid
brittle
prone to break

do not forsake
your heart song
eschew the wayward
noisy throng

breakthrough

wisdom is a supple soul
struck through
by true enlightenment

pierced clean and strong
by wonder

bleeding tolerance
and promise

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

• photo by: Kevin Day, digital photorendering by: rob kistner 2010

Soulfruit

version 1

I taste you like a peach
sweet juice trickles to my chin

I bite you like an Apple
your crisp laughter fills my ears

I devour you like a strawberry
tart and succulent on my tongue

I drink you like thick nectar
you flow rich into my soul

I desire you completely
longing to be fulfilled

I consume you wholly
flushed with wanton pleasure

____

IMG_8651

version 2

my mouth on you
soft
like a peach

you glisten
trickle from my lips

I bite you
sweet
like an apple

your hushed breath
staccato crisp

you taste
tart as a strawberry
succulent
as love’s nectar

a delicious
wanton pleasure

____

rob kistner © 2010

______________

For No One

…this piece is in response to prompt #17 at We Write Poems,
and prompt #69 at Carry On Tuesday,
also the September 1st prompt at Three Word Wednesday…




For No One

•

the cadence
to which I tight step
pulses
in my heart
alone

it is my coursing vital
stirs my spirit
steels my resolve
drives me on
into the fray
emboldened

“to thine own self”
resonates
the chambers
of my soul
sweet
as the song
of angels

if one is not
author
of the life
one lives
it is
plagiarized
and its essence
forged

it is my pen
scribes my epitaph

the spark
must be authentic
or the fire
arson

the flame
that burns within
is mine

do not expect
I will ignite
for you
or blaze
to your vision

you are not
my flint

do not attempt
to chart
my course
I search
my own
horizon

do not
contain me
I live
outside

do not
seek me
on the surface
I break deep
below
the negative

do not
summon me
to your queue

yours is not
my grid
or file

you are not
my piper

this
I know

I stand in line
for no one

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

• artwork by Aynaku, embellished by: rob kistner 2010

The Box

This piece is offered in response to prompt Mag 29 at Magpie Tales,
and the August 25th prompt at Three Word Wednesday,
and prompt #18 at Writer’s Island.




The Box

…a short story of intrigue…

•

“What do you mean Taylor,” Gwen inquired, the strain obvious in her weary voice. “Who exactly is going to confront Dylan… and why?”

Her voice trailed off to an exasperated whisper. The why was not so much a question, as an exhalation of confused frustration. She seemed to know the answer was much too complicated to address at this hour, and she was too spent, physically and emotionally, to want to hear it.

Gwen turned away from Taylor, head lowered. Her arms fell limp at her side, fingers splayed. She was trying her best to process what Taylor was saying, to understand him – to understand the recent events that had brought her to this place in time… trying to make sense of anything. Her head was spinning, and she could feel the fatigue deep in her bones.

She dropped back onto the sofa, half sitting, half lying down – an exhausted slouch. She felt paralyzed, thoughts racing through her mind – fragmented, disconnected thoughts. If only she could clear her head. She was in trouble.
Continue reading The Box

True Work

I offer this piece in response to prompt #18 at Writer’s Island.

______________

AUTHOR’S NOTE: I had this incomplete 3-year-old draft of my poem “True Work” (loosely inspired by Gary Snyder’s “Real Work”). I had wanted, for some time, to edit it into a piece, with which I would be more satisfied. The above listed prompt inspired me to create a suite of poetry, threaded together by the phrase: true work. My focus for this suite being humanity, which was the crux of the “True Work” draft I already had. The digital rendering I created of the hand holding the world helped me finish my vision of this poetry suite.

______________

“empty your love into the world”
“the true work is never done”

 

True Work

____
I bend my back and squat
then straighten at the waist
hunkered ‘neath the weight
I lift clean the load
the warehouseman’s refrain
always on my mind
“back straight
lift with the legs”

the first test – no result
I try a second
then a third
on and on
day after day
long hours in the lab
the formula must be perfect
only perfect will save lives

drywall must be flush
and plumb
also square and seamless
meticulously
I set each sheet
with the level and the bob
then pause
to wipe my sweating brow

I curse the clay
do battle with fatigue
I coax my muse
to commit to form
the first draft of my vision
to then modify
and remold
until the ultimate creation

these are elements of the work I do
or did
or may yet do
and I am you
and you are me
and we are all together
in this endeavor of our daily life

but this is not our true work

to bend to lift someone in need
to help carry their burden
until they again stand steady

to seek the components of peace
to formulate the dialog
that fosters understanding

to measure well tolerance
to stand squarely flush
with truth and level justice

to visualize universal love
to create the enduring model
for a free and vital world

this — is our true work

so little done
so much to do

* * *

 

If Only
____

stressed beyond limits

earth’s fragile balance falters

but this can be changed

her future is in our hands

if only we do true work

* * *

 

Endeavor
____

abstain from false pride

prayer does not a halo make

that requires true work

____

rob kistner © 2010

 

* photorendering above entitled “In Our Hands”
by: rob kistner © 2010

Old Man’s Prayer

…this piece is in response to the 16th prompt of 2010 on Writer’s Island,
and visual prompt Mag 27 at Magpie Tales (see image at bottom),
also offered for prompt 129 at One Single Impression,
and for prompt 228 at Sunday Scribblings….




Old Man’s Prayer

•

successful as a younger man
the grind became my home
and I a conduit of worry
could I keep the crazy pace

years spun wild as a top
around faster ever faster
life layering its patina
etched deeply in my face

suddenly no longer young
now looking back from 63
I’ve known triumph I’ve known tragedy
they’ve marked me both the same

I’ve borrowed bought and sold
strayed through several shades of grey
but have I leveraged my soul
just to play the fleeting game

I pray I will not be an old man
gazing lonely out my window
trying to remember
exactly how long it has rained

not sitting silent by the fire
lost in contemplation
wondering if all I lost
was worth what it was I gained

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

• photo of top from the movie Inception

_________________



Mag 27