Message in a Bottle

In the spirit of the 1st prompt on the newly re-opened Writer’s Island, I retrieved this message from my imaginary bottle, unrolled, then read it — this is what it said:

___________________________

Seamen brave and strong as we

There’s a truth that we all learn

When brave and strong men go to sea

Tis not certain they’ll return
___________________________

October 23rd, 1997

This may be the last few hours of my life. I feel compelled to take this paper and pen and chronicle my end – to feel I did not die in vain… in faith that someone may find this.

I penned the brief sea chant you see at the top, because it continues to turn over and over in my head.

I have no radio or communications devices. They were all destroyed. I have no way of getting a message out — save this crude method.

How I hope that someone will find this. The address of my family and their phone number is on the back. Please, whoever may discover this – see that it gets to my family. Thank you so very much!

I’m the only one left. Carey was killed in the crash, and Gill succumbed to his mortal wounds last night. I rolled his body into the ocean to satisfy the sharks, and keep them at bay for a bit longer.

They’ve circled through the night — it’s the third night they returned. They get bolder each time – the largest has lost all fear. He’s bumped me several times in the last couple of hours. He’s taunting, he knows I’m nearing my end.

When the attack comes, and come it will very soon — it will be vicious and final. I’m certain I will not survive it, but I’m reasonably confident it will be over quickly. At least three of the most aggressive circling are great whites – large enough to finish a man in a few quick rips.

I’m so very weary; I almost wish it would just happen. The uncertainty of waiting is getting to be too much… I’m exhausted… I’m ready.

This was to be our last run up from Cuba. So many uneventful trips… I think we grew careless. We’d broken out a couple bottles of the contraband Varadero and lit up a couple of the Cohibas to celebrate this last trip. I never ceased to be amazed how much money we were making smuggling in illegal Cuban Rum and Cigars… just unbelievable.

We were literally flying over the wave tops in our custom 32′ Donzi race-hull speeder. We weren’t full open, but we were doing 70 knots on the calm seas — the 1,000 horses purrin’ like a kitten.

We were too caught up in the booze and stogies to notice the sleeper cross-wave until it caught us sideways at mid-hull and snapped this cigarette boat like a twig – it just exploded out from under us.

One minute I am in a speeding boat with my two best friends skimmin’ the waves – the next minute we’re in the water, with just a piece of the aft hull in tact. The rest was splintered flotsam and jetsam. Our cargo, what wasn’t destroyed, or on the bottom of the deep blue — floated and bobbed in their wooden cases like square corks.

Carey was dead, Gill critically wounded, and I – just dazed. I dragged Gill and I up onto the small fragment of the Donzi that was still afloat, where Gill eventually died. Carey had floated away. The sharks found him in less than an hour. They finished him in a turbulent frenzy.

Before the end comes I want to say my farewells to my family. Ironically, I’m going to seal this message in one of the Varadero Rum bottles. It was smuggling this shit that got Carey and Gill killed – and soon I as well.

Kathy, my sweet wife, you’ve been the love of my life – patient, understanding… you make me so happy, though I don’t show it all the time. I get caught up in the fog of life’s distractions — buried in my pride and insecurity.

But alone out here, under the warm Atlantic sun, a calm has settled over me. I’m filled with peace, and a joy that is my love for you! I see with great clarity how much you mean to me as my wife. My emotions are overwhelming me. I see how remarkable our relationship is.

So, my love, when I’m gone, please see these words as a place you can visit and be nurtured. A private, wonderful place you can go, to know these treasures that have always been in my heart. I will be there – close your eyes and you will feel me there, and my love.

And my darling daughter Jennifer — after all these years, you have never lost your magic. Like a brilliant sorceress, with one word, you can cast your spell, and put me in a wonderful dream. Your magic word is, “Daddy!” You say this as you smile deeply into my eyes — “Daddy!” I melt.

I will always be your daddy and you will forever be my little girl, my firstborn, my beautiful daughter! Thinking of you here, now, tears fill my eyes.

You make certain you don’t settle in life for anyone who doesn’t love, respect, and appreciate you as much as I do, as your family does.

You make sure you introduce any guy you may fall for to mom, and to your brother. If they don’t approve, you listen closely to their reasons why. Do not compromise your integrity — ever!

Your father loves you Jen… I love you dearly.

And Justin, my son — my baby… ours is a tough relationship, tough love, no room for timid. It is so easy for me to see your faults, and poke at them — for there in you go I. We are so very much alike it scares me.

Your imperfections glare at me because I possess them all, every one of them within me — and more. Photos of me from my past, uncanny, they might as well be you.

But it’s where we are not alike that your miracle begins.

You are smarter than I ever was. You care for people, honestly. You face life with strength and courage. I just marvel at you – I really do! You have accomplished so much already in your life – and you’ve just begun.

We argue at times, but my love for you is deep son… my pride is lasting. It’s impossible with these words, to tell you what you mean to me. But every word for love and pride – I feel in my heart for you!

I know you will miss me, and probably feel lost and angry at first – but you will recover quickly, I know you will. I know how intelligent and strong willed you are.

Please take care of your mother, and Jenny. They will need your strength, just as you will need their nurturing.

I love you Jus, and I know you love me — I always have known. We are father and son. inseparable forever — remember that!

And Aaron, I find myself thinking so much about you. I’m looking at your picture in my wallet. It’s my favorite picture of you, son — the one I cherish most since your passing.

It is the simple snapshot, taken at the airport, upon your return from having run the New York City Marathon.

You have a gentle, triumphant smile. Your eyes are beaming behind the “cool” shades you have on. Your jacket sleeves rolled in casual hip-ness, bag thrown carefree over your shoulder, and your medal hangs proudly around your strong neck.

You are fiercely handsome!

How profound this captured moment proved to be, taken just before the finish line of your 18 years — it said it all. Your race was run, your bag was packed, and your reward was in your hand. You now fly my sweet angel – fly!

Dad will be there soon. I can’t wait to throw my arms around you. I have missed you so very much, my gentle giant – but I’m coming.

Kathy, Jenny, Justin – I don’t want you to cry for this old man too long. I am not afraid out here right now. I feel Aaron with me, so very close – and soon he and I will see each other again.

We will both wait for each of you guys to finish your business down here on earth – then we will all be together. But take your time and enjoy all there is in life.

Don’t be too upset with wayward old me. I might have been a smuggler, but I never hurt anyone – and I loved you all from the bottom of my heart.

I only have two pieces of paper, so this message must come quickly to an end. I really am not frightened. With my last breaths and energy I will be hugging you all, squeezing you tightly – and kissing you all good-bye.

I love you; please know that – I love you all so much!

Kathy, go see Warren. He has a key for you. Then go see Grace, she has an address for you. Finally see Barry, he has a box number for you. They don’t know about each other.

Use these things together and you will be comfortable for the rest of your life.

When you trim the Christmas tree each year, think of me as you hang the Father Christmas ornament. You know it is my favorite.

Good-bye… until we are all together again!

poem & flash fiction by: rob kistner © 2010

NaPoWriMo #29

This is my Twenty-ninth, and penultimate post for National Poetry Month 2010

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…this poem was inspired by D.S. Apfelbaum’s day 29 post at readwritepoem…

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Space Is

•

a lightless void of soundless vacuum
spinning masses of revolving orbs
hurtling fragments in crystalline vapors

molten cores
mingled gasses
dead husks
black holes

magnetic icefalls
plasma rain
liquid lightening
solid clouds

attractions and repulsions
of precarious fragility

a frozen dance of chaos
on the tentative edge of balance

unfounded fear
unquenchable wonder
unrealized dreams
ultimate frontier

relativity’s fabric
tangled in the cloth of time

reality’s illusion
set in fantasy’s foundation

ceaseless hope
endless adventure
unexpected catastrophe
boundless courage

humankind’s triumph and sad folly
the seductive promise of the future

our salvation
infinity’s threshold
the eternal question
the elusive answer

the everlasting bastion
of never-ending truth

a longing call
a constant listening
a driving force
a reason why

fountainhead of myths
spark of religions
and other superstitions
home of the gods

magnificent obscurity
a source of mystery
font of knowledge
cause of fiction

the unknown of the unknowable
nothingness absolute

the billions and the billions
ever expanding everything

…space is

• • •



rob kistner © 2010

____________________________________

artwork entitled “Infinity’s Door” by: rob kistner © 1998

____________________________________

…see what offerings are this day at readwritepoem

NaPoWriMo #28 – part 2:

This is part 2 of my twenty-eighth post for National Poetry Month 2010
• one free verse poem
• one ecstatic poem


____________________________________

…this first poem was inspired by Julie Jordan Scott’s day 28 at readwritepoem
the second is an edited rewrite of a poem I wrote a couple of years ago that I wanted to share…

____________________________________


In following Julie’s suggestion that we let intuition guide us to a theme, a subject, essentially to the “prompt” for this poem for day 28 of NaPoWriMo 2010 — what presented itself to me several times was a question. Why do I write poetry? The answer that surfaced — for my personal solace, my peace of mind, for my sanity. Thus came forth the prompt for this day.

 

Sanity

•

in the sorrowing hours
at full depth of night

alone with my thoughts
my terrors
my dreams

sculpting words into wedges
that pry open my psyche

expose raw emotion

lay bare my soul

that I might glimpse who really I am
and be certain still that I feel

here is my sanity

• • •

 

____________________________________

 

∞

•

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

∞

•


• poem and ecstatic by: rob kistner © 2010

____________________________________

…see what else was intuited this day at readwritepoem

NaPoWriMo #28

This is my twenty-eighth post for National Poetry Month 2010
• one free verse poem
• one tanka


____________________________________

• inspired by day 28 of National Poetry Month

____________________________________


 

Not Spring

•

the moment of not-spring
has no bold herald
save a passing notation
on one’s calendar

easily missed

there is not a disruption
in the earth’s crust

there is no disturbance
in the air

the planets
do not misalign

the moment of not-spring
is a non-moment
as can be the moment of not-love

it can pass by unnoticed
no disruption
no disturbance

but the realization
of not-love
is a storm
more fierce
than even the worst
of spring’s fury

it can break the earth
wide open

leave one gasping
for the next breath

as all the stars
fall from heaven

• • •

 

____________________________________

 

Sweet Recall

•

fresh-placed flower scent

feel of soft grass under knee

memories still grip

more and more are sweet recall

hard tears turning to soft smiles

• • •


• poem and tanka by: rob kistner © 2010

____________________________________

…check out the offerings at readwritepoem

NaPoWriMo #27

This is my twenty-seventh post for National Poetry Month 2010
• one acrostic
• one tanka


____________________________________

• inspired by Carolee Sherwood ‘s day 27 prompt at read write poem to write an acrostic

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Evolution

•

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.

• • •

 

____________________________________


 

Stone Fox First

•

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

• • •


• acrostic and tanka by: rob kistner © 2010

____________________________________

…check out who’s gettin’ acrostic at readwritepoem

NaPoWriMo #26 – Power / Alternatives

This is my twenty-sixth post for National Poetry Month 2010
• one free verse poem
• one tanka


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• inspired by Jill Crammond Wickham’s day 26 prompt at read write poem

____________________________________


 

Power

•

let us speak of power

the writer’s words
the artist’s eye
the craftsman’s hands
the singer’s voice
the player’s soul
the actor’s courage

all who rise up in creativity
to share their gift

who elevate our humanness
shun our negative self

who share their spirit to inspire

who see great possibility
in the face of great challenge

who will not succumb
but prevail
as a kindled flame
to light our darkness

theirs is the power
they are the powerful
for they empower

• • •

 

____________________________________


 

Alternatives

•

three hundred miles gone

we’re just above dream canyon

big storm front building

cycles won’t make the snow pass

guess we point our two wheels south

• • •


• poem and tanka by: rob kistner © 2010

____________________________________

…check out the other offerings at readwritepoem

NaPoWriMo #25 – part 2: Fissures

This is part 2 of my twenty fifth post for National Poetry Month 2010

…this piece that follows was inspired by prompt #113 at One Single Impression

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Fissures

•

life is generous
with the good and bad
countless experiences
joyous and sad

it would appear
you’ve had your share
you’ve garnered wisdom
learned how to care

you have known joy
you’ve tasted pain
stricken with sorrow
but smiled again

there have been hardships
and there’s been blessings
helpless frustrations
moments of guessing

tears cried for others
fears of your own
you’ve not always reaped
what it is you’ve sown

you’ve been envied
but you’ve been loved
you’ve helped pull through
been rudely shoved

rightly praised
and wrongly treated
momentarily dazed
but not defeated

you’ve been criticized
words harshly spoken
you’ve been knocked
but never broken

through it all
you have persisted
you have endured
and you’ve resisted

the easy temptation
to harbor hate
never blaming others
for what is your fate

you’ve steered clear fissures
not fallen in cracks
kept moving forward
not looking back

now your facial fissures
those knowledge tracks
display those proudly
when you smile back

you’ve been a good man
since your youth
time is witness
to this truth

the testimony
shines with grace
it’s etched indelibly
in your face

• • •

rob kistner © 2010


…photograph by: Mehmet Akin

NaPoWriMo #24 – In Vain / Daddy’s Girl

This is my twenty-fourth post for National Poetry Month 2010
• one free verse poem
• one tanka


____________________________________

• This poem that follows is inspired by Marie Gauthier’s NaPoWriMo day 23 prompt at readwritepoem to find and use a colloquial phrase — and by the current frustration I am feeling trying to deliver on my promise of at least 1 poem a day for 30 days. This day I am blank – my muse is being quite difficult. So for inspiration I looked to a poem I’d written 3 years back about just such a situation of writer’s block. I wrote this new poem from those 3-year-old bones, sparked additionally by Robert Lee Brewer’s NaPoWriMo day 23 prompt at Poetic Asides: exhaustion.

____________________________________


 

In Vain

•

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

• • •

 

____________________________________


 

Daddy’s Girl

•

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

• • •


• poem and tanka by: rob kistner © 2010


____________________________________


…see what other coin of phrase you might find at readwritepoem

NaPoWriMo #23 – Skyward Suite / Midnight Gliding

This is my twenty-third post for National Poetry Month 2010
• one free verse poem
• one three-poem suite

• one tanka

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• the first poem is inspired by Sage Cohen’s day 23 prompt at read write poem

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Spread Offense

•

…making PB&J, as a wrestling match…


it appears everything is ready
for a great competition today

this has been the moment
we’ve anticipated
since the TV was paused
some 5 to 6 minutes ago

the first jar has made its appearance
I see the knife on the sideline
and the napkins indicate
they are ready
standing by
in case of accident

hands baxter signals
he’s ready

looks like tonight it will be wood
yes
it is
the wood cutting board for this one
and it seems to be
it is
recycled material
well done

hands is reaching across the table now
grabbing hold of the plastic flap
he’s got a solid grip on the bread
with a swift and practiced maneuver
he wrestles two pieces to their backs
firmly on the board

he now grabs the jar by the lid
raises it to his chest
and
and
he’s struggling
can’t seem to…
no wait
hands has done it
the lid is free of the jar

he now has the knife in his right hand
and with deep probing jabs
he’s bringing blade full
after blade full
with deft swirling motions
from the jar
and spreading it layer after layer
on the helpless bread
unable to budge from the board

we just got a report
that the bread is indeed
honey oat nut
these are all first string players in this one

well
it appears hands has won the first
of what will be three contests
he has successfully achieved P and B tonight
and with great flair

no drops
goops
no tears

masterfully done

there was that incident
with the tongue on the flat of the blade
but it was apparently a clean move
so no penalty assessed

we’re out of time for now
we will have to wait until next time
to see if grape
the big jar
makes it into the match
as hands baxter will be going for J
in the next round

if he can make it that far
then the big finale will be milk
so don’t miss that one

this is voice gruffly signing off
inviting you to stay with us
through this PB&J regional series
to see if baxter builds a big one

that’s all from here

• • •


____________________________________


Skyward Suite




I Am Balloon

•

I will see the earth today
as the heated air
fills my billows
I am aloft
in free floating flight
to abandon all control

I will resound to the earthbound
listen to their voices rise

tune to the animals
their symphony of sounds

I will drift as far and as long
as fuel and time permits
feel the wind take me

I will soar so high
leave the treetops
far below
until all I hear
is the voice of the breeze

see the world
bend away
over the horizons

see all it’s wonders
all of nature
the random
and the regimented
the wild
and geometric

I will see it all
from a different perspective

swept up in ever-climbing
silent ascent



• • •




I Am Bird

•

I will glide
in buoyed flight

I will soar skyward
in sweeping circles

lift high on mighty thermals
never again to be earthbound

not a prisoner of this stone and clay
no longer captive of gravity today

this day will be soaring
and swooping
and diving

giving thanks for feathers
and hollow bones



• • •




I Am Kite

•

the breeze of promise begins to freshen
waft and build
it gathers strength

belief awakens
I quicken
anticipation spirals anew

the building currents draw taut my line
with an urgent tug the moment arrives

I billow
stand and dance
my sail-skin fills

my leading edge
aerodynamic
sculpted tight against my frame

caught full by the mounting breeze
I lift with grace
rise with purpose

deft hands
and a most careful eye
guide me safely airborne

further faster I ascend
carried skyward on friendly drafts

empowered by winds of fortune
this day I have taken flight

• • •

 

____________________________________


 

Midnight Gliding

•

high meadow sparkles

crisp snow crunches under skis

midnight cross country

the landscape glows alien

like gliding across the moon

• • •


• poems and tanka by: rob kistner © 2010

____________________________________

…check out the other odd couples at readwritepoem

NaPoWriMo #22 – The Gaia Suite

This is my Twenty-second post for National Poetry Month 2010
• an Earth Day message
• two tankas
• one prayer


____________________________________

• • Happy Earth Day • •

____________________________________


• Go and visit the Earth Day Action Center 2010, and please — be aware!




An Earth Day message:

These are some thoughts I would like to share on this Earth Day 2010. It is from my heart, and expresses my great concern for this planet earth, and all of us who are traveling aboard her. If you are not in the mood for heavier fare, you can skip down to the poetry below this message.

For the rest of you, I see our global society becoming more and more desensitized to killing, suffering, the dignity of women, our failing stewardship of this planet, and the value of life in general.

Popular art reflects culture; it has in all of history. The ongoing proliferation of movies, video games, music, comic books, our dress and personal trappings, TV, even the TV commercials; this all cast a disturbing reflection of the direction a core section of the people of the earth are moving. And the less than subtle movement to cast doubt, even ridicule, on those who believe that the care of this world needs our attention NOW! One might argue that any of these individually is perhaps moot, but taken as whole, it begs to be examined — I feel.

Our children and adults alike, spend hours playing graphic video games in which the sole purpose is bloodletting — maiming and murdering, in the most violent and gruesome ways. There are many wonderful video games, but the breadth and depth of the “snuff” games is cause to pay attention.

The gladiator-like fighting cultures that have arisen in recent years is something to look at. These are no longer the staged violence of pro wrestling, in itself a bit unsettling – these are real blood for the sake of blood. In Rome, the rise of gladiators was a sign of the accelerating decline of the Roman Empire. We may not be there yet, but what does this current, rampant thirst for blood have to tell us?

Another litmus that has always reflected the culture, is the impact of man’s religious constructs. Too often, the role they play is the manipulation and repression of his freedoms. I have nothing against the numerous religious constructs man has created. For those so drawn, they are a place for the safety and certainty they require.

However, when radical religious minorities begin to attempt to dictate and rule the masses, imposing their constructed values and fundamentalism, especially when they claim it is the will of god – we’ve got to take serious notice.

These are the signs that point to the stripping of freedom of responsible individual thought and personal rights – and essentially, eradicating the essence of personal responsibility. Today, with the rise of the repressive extreme fundamentalism that we see around the globe, it is akin to the eve of the dark ages. I don’t think we will descend to those extreme depths, but what does it mean when we have so many who would lead us there – even if, in some cases, it is unwittingly?

I so want to champion optimism — but I cannot and will not turn a blind eye to the signs I see. None of us had better do so. We all need to become proactive for balance. That is the key. Balance the extremes of this world; ecological, social, moral, financial, and the like.

To be proactive I have started this creative blog, Image & Verse, to begin, in my small way, to penetrate the root sensitivity of our society. I firmly believe the embrace and expression of creativity is the key to elevating our human species.

I write poetry, speaking in sparse focused voice at times, entertaining lofty and beautiful thoughts at others, also embracing our human sensitivity and sensuality, and holding a mirror to reflect what is beautiful, or to reflect what I see as troubling — because I believe poetry has the power to penetrate the human psyche to greater depths than any written form.

Poetry actually has the ability to alter people on a level that strict written word often cannot. If I write an essay, I make you think; maybe even alter your opinion. I write a poem, I have the chance to make you feel something, in your core – that can alter your hardwired being. I believe this.

I think we urgently need to probe to these depths of the human psyche now, to send out these altering sparks, because I think there is trouble brewing, on some fronts, that could have dire consequence for the long-range future – of the planet and humankind.

I also write poetry to celebrate, to lift up my own spirit, to have hope, to see possibility – to protect my personal sanity.

So let us dance, sing, embrace the beauty and the miracle of life and this magnificent world in which we live, and seek joy and truth – but let us not be a Nero. Our Rome is beginning to smolder.

–and so it goes–
…Rob

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…this art piece immediately below is entitled “Gaia Yields” by: rob kistner © 2007…


The Gaia Suite

Gaia Weeps

•

man seeks dominion

frail balance has been disturbed

gaia is weeping

man clings to his arrogance

denial does not absolve



Gaia Yields

•

seeds push seeking sun

sky is pulling with spring rain

gaia yields new life

if man is responsible

the balance can be restored



Prayer For Balance

•

mother gaia you embrace us
carry us safely
as we hurtle thousands of miles
every hour of every day
through infinite space

you provide for us our every need
sustain our bodies with your abundance
nurture our spirits with your beauty
your endless wonders

your need is simple

that we live in balance with your rhythms
with our fellow travelers on this amazing journey

that we know gratitude
humble stewards of your countless gifts

for millennium upon millennium
we lived in harmony
attentive
reverent
but we’ve grown arrogant

foolishly
we believe we have dominion over you
over all in your realm

in pursuit of intellect we lost our sense
our equilibrium
lost our way

even as we watch you suffer
we cling to our ego
to our destructive delusion of supremacy

we do not see
do not understand

please forgive us
be patient
do not forsake us
we can learn
we must learn

love for you is still strong
among your wayward children

this voice of love cries out
please listen
it resonates more loudly with the passing of time

precious mother gaia
grant us time to again find our way
our humility
our center

the balance

• • •

• tankas and prayer by: rob kistner © 2010

____________________________________
…thanks to Catherine for her prompt, and check out the other offerings at readwritepoem

NaPoWriMo #21

This is my twenty-first post for National Poetry Month 2010
• one free verse poem
• one short prose

• one tanka

____________________________________

• inspired by Kristen McHenry’s prompt at read write poem

____________________________________




As I age, my imperfections begin to manifest themselves more and more. I once was young, and handsome, and strong – but that all is waning, and I sometimes feel despair. But the irony here is that, in seeing and feeling more and more acutely, my imperfections, it also eventually shines a light on how fortunate I have been in my life – and the despair often shifts to tearful gratitude… even joy! That is what this poem is about.

 

Chill Winds

•

chill winds of time
rise in dissonance
seasons of cold rain
hiss and tick
my weathered panes

life’s essence
slowly slips my being’s grip
it’s warmth
ever-fading

the pall and ache
wrap firm my bones
suppress my spirit
slowly steal my living core

I despair of rigid form
drained of vital sap
drawn and withered
robbed of flex and grace

my light of memory dims
my pool of knowledge clouds

dear and beloved go
one by one
beyond my call
beyond the joy and chaos
of this temporal plane

what remains is sorrowed pain
and sinking will

then you call my name
beckon me to your embrace
to sooth and comfort my discontent
to draw me into your love

I see again that life’s been good
that we are blessed to have known all this
and in that moment

joy

• • •

 

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Above It All

•

I want to live in a treehouse
way up high in the branches
of a big redwood

several observation platforms
at different levels
as you hand-wench yourself
into the forest canopy

* optional motorized system

a three-story treehouse
huge wrap around porches
at each level

the top level
one big open room

a place I could write
work on my art

where my wife kathy
could have her fiberart studio
her big toika loom
several navajo hand looms
assembly tables
all her “found” stuff
so key to her abstract soft-sculptures

the roof
one big deck

being able to see
far as the eye could see
so very liberating
exhilarating

riding out big storms
like flying
but anchored
secure

our treehouse
would be made of
anodized aluminum
stone
leathers
and wood
many woods
teak, cedar, oak, maple, and walnut
lots of tempered crystal-clear acrylic

I’d hand feed the eagles
the hawks, the osprey
certainly in my mind

I’d run guywires
slide lines
between tree tops

we could soar
through the sun-dappled canopy

a place high up
where I could work, live, dance, laugh
in the nude
if I wanted

and make love to my wife
windows wide open
the sun and breeze
free to come and go

no comments from
or concerns of
neighbors

where I could crank up my jazz

I want to live in a treehouse
in our treehouse
and truly be
what I’m often accused of being

removed
above it all

• • •

 

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Jumping

•

hunched down leaned forward

rising with knees soundly gripped

jumping big horses

clearing hurdles one by one

keep him reined but let him run

• • •


• poem and tanka by: rob kistner © 2010

____________________________________

…check out the other splendid imperfections at readwritepoem

NaPoWriMo #18 – Human Arrogance

This is my eighteenth post for National Poetry Month 2010
• one free verse poem
• one tanka


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• inspired by Irene’s day 18 read write poem prompt / and #49 at carry on tuesday

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…a thing of beauty is a joy forever, a captive wild soul — is a tragedy


 

Pacing

•

from rippled sinew black as midnight
bores a stare of molten gold

a furious but calm inferno
searing deep to burn your soul

I watch helpless this panther’s pace
held captive in this foolish zoo

cold eyes rivet snarled contempt
unfathomed pools of quiet rage

on this panther paces paces
turns and paces back he paces

graceful stride of brute resolve
presses on to test the limit

proud this captive soul just paces
frustration turns anger retraces

this brutal prison of false environ
does not fool this mighty beast

observe how he continues pacing
instinct certain this is not home

his piercing gaze fixed well beyond
his suffered fate of cruel confine

see the panther pacing pacing
his nature steeled his spirit strong

relentless sorrow wild longing
drive on and on his constant stride

this will not break his fierce resolve
he tracks freedom he stalks life

imprisoned he will forever pace
and he will pace

and he will die

• • •

 

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Out Of Step

•

nature is a dance

transcendent syncopation

rhythmic side by side

but the chorus line falters

humankind is out of step

• • •



• poem and tanka by: rob kistner © 2010

…collage just above entitled “Nature’s Anger” by: rob kistner © 2006
…panther image digitally rendered & edited by: rob kistner 2010 — base image source anonymous…

____________________________________

…check out what’s prowling over at readwritepoem

Vicarious



Vicarious

•

unquestionably joy
in a most unexpected place
the eyes of an innocent
cruel society deems disabled

bent and stooped
gripped and twisted
confined to constant care
and his rolling metal chair

his gentle eyes reflect a wonder
my heart has long since lost
by vanity extinguished

his spirit knows only trust
it pours forth from his soul

he rocks and waves
sways and vibrates
fully alive in the now

positioned near the stage
he is enthralled by the rhythm
enraptured by the magic

the guitar soars
the saxman wails
the singer roars
the drummer flails

he is consumed by every note
every beat
every nuance

he experiences an ecstasy
at which I can only marvel
can only enviously imagine

oh, if I could but feel the joy
this precious being feels
so complete
and unexpected

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

___________________________

• you can live vicariously at One Single Impression

NaPoWriMo #9 – part two: That Moon

This is part 2 of my ninth post for National Poetry Month 2010



____________________________________

…this is a very sobering piece written precisely to Robert Peake’s prompt at read write poem,
and influenced by prompt #9 at Magpie Tales…

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That Moon

•

that moon
that child
hold eternity’s promise in share

colorful pails on the ocean’s beach
festooned in starfish and octopus

campfire’s ‘neath a canopy of forever stars
jelly and jam on crustless bread

lipstick smeared on a giddy grin
the world of pretend

the strum of imagination
that brings song to the young heart
the thrill of dance to a child’s feet
like god’s marionette
that drives away the limp of sorrow

but now
summer’s nocturne
has robbed the colors of the day

families gather to reminisce of
the reds oranges blues
the violets and periwinkles
so as not to forget

in hopes that the joy will return
to massage the rigid cold to warmth again
the sun to re-torch the heavens

the children first see the gray descend
the gapes and gaps
the lever of lies
that loose the flaps that confine the fear

they feel the slippage
the hole in the universe
the backward motion
as all things gentle are sucked in

gray has overcome the landscape
gray is in the houses
and the homes
gray is at the dining table
black awaits in the chamber
when no one sober roams these rooms
and no one safe
is that child

when wrong things burn
bitter as paregoric
the way jugged whiskey
johnny walker
burns the throat
burns that skin
like bare knee on rough rug
like pumice on raw flesh
and winter chills the heart

when laughter bows out
and lies bow in
like the poison in a lizard’s wattle
with denial of the promise
of violet and periwinkle
oranges blues reds

but now
gray

and black waiting at the fringe
with the talon’s piercing sting
and the startled bruise
that begins the tome
of that child’s life
disappearing like smoke up a chimney

that child’s smile stowed away
in keeping for the time of that moon
and that promise
when the periwinkle will return

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

(inspired by a Michael Kenyon poem, “Feast”)

• photorendering entitled “The Edge” – by: rob kistner © 2010

____________________________________

…for more NaPoWriMo 2010 day nine poems, go to readwritepoem

NaPoWriMo #7 – Free / Ready to Roll / Old School

This is my seventh post for National Poetry Month 2010
• one free verse poem
• one haiku
• one onomatopoeia
• one noxious fume

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Free

•

fueled by the freedom of the open road
we race our way into the sunset
leaning tightly into curves
wind whipping our hair
our knees tucked
heads down
we rocket

thriving on the thrill of the throttle
embracing the magnificence
living in the moment
not counting time
or keeping track
just being
free

• • •

____________________________________

 

 

Ready to Roll

•

engine oil changed

grips cleaned tire pressure checked

spring’s highway beckons

• • •




 

Old School

•

(onomatopoeia)

kick down — kick down — kick down

rest

kick down — kick down

rrrroarrr

rev rev rev rev

• • •

poem, haiku, and onomatopoeia verse by: rob kistner © 2010

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Here’s a little sumpin’ sumpin’ I wrote for Alan Summers’ day 7 RWP prompt: “humor in love”.

 

Phew

•

who knew lovemaking would end
with my lover breaking wind
oh god did that foul stench offend
we’ll not soon make sweet love again

here’s one thing that I’ll be hope’n
if we do the windows open
no refried beans next time we’re flirty
‘cause on a scale of ten that fart’s a thirty

•

(in tanka form)

our loving did end
when my sweet lover broke wind
a stench to offend

no beans next time we’re flirty
ten scale – that fart’s a thirty

• • •

poem and tanka by: rob kistner © 2010

• photorendering of man holding nose from: Getty Images — modified by: rob kistner 2010

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…for more NaPoWriMo 2010 day seven poems: readwritepoem