The Edge

 

The Edge

•

standing at the edge
feeling far below
the great tides

the ebb and flow
the rise and fall

the come and go of centuries
wave by wave
day by day

might incarnate
the power of indifference
the surge of perfect apathy

and I
as insignificant as the grain of sand
bounced and tumbled
dragged helpless in the undertow

and that crest of froth
rises up in beckon
the silk of azure blue
slides smoothly down its slope of back
as it dances on the deep

how easy I could slip
into that fathomed realm

down down ever down
into the waiting silence
without so much a noticed sound

absorbed into the churn and roar
without so much a ripple
to disturb the steady surf

a subtle crease
irrelevant
erased even as it came

• • •

rob kistner © 2011


• linked at Magpie Tales

Golden Lady

 

Golden Lady

•

golden lady in sensuous silk
a beauty sure to mesmerize
sculpted by a master’s hand
so seductive as to scandalize

a stare of comely crystal blue
floats above a ruby pout
spellbound by her magic eyes
she holds your soul with no way out

her tongue tip teases her top lip’s edge
like a supple paintbrush flowing
her smile will fire and hypnotize
then wrap around you knowing

you are now her helpless captive
quite hopelessly addicted
in the velvet grip of this smoldering waif
is she an angel — or is she wicked

• • •

rob kistner © 2011

• linked at Magpie Tales

____________

image by Bert Stern

The Journey

 

The Journey

•

beckoned to the final tide
called forth by the ferryman
spirit stirs to the distant voice
that draws you to the journey

caught still in this mortal realm
soul resigned to embarkation
time folding in upon
as slow you approach the vessel

• • •

rob kistner © 2011

• linked at Magpie Tales

____________

image by Mostafa Habibi

The Dimming

 

The Dimming

•

here is the change

the forgetting

the slipping away
into the haze of memory

the frustration
of no longer being able
and still
the burning longing to…
remember

and you
dimming in this fog
midst the times we have cherished
the places we have loved
fading beyond reach

an ever-mounting loneliness
like so many vacant seats

empty

• • •

rob kistner © 2011

• linked at Magpie Tales

Wonder

 

Wonder

•

to grow up
is to chase off
our innocence
our naïve belief
in the world as a beautiful place
to harden against the magic
of our childhood dreams

but if by chance
we can cling to just one
perhaps we can hold on
to our precious sense of wonder

• • •

rob kistner © 2011

• photo: “Alice in Wonderland” by Yuki Valentine

Ballo diVita

 

Ballo diVita

•

he
a master of time and space
she
so young and trusting

he
a wizard of colors and words
dazzled her with danger and dreams
she
a nubile daughter of nature
anointed him with exotic pleasures

he
replaced the sun in her sky
with a fire he conjured and kept
she
warmed herself in its heat
came to his bed at its setting

they
the left foot and the right foot poised
to step forth in creativity’s dance
to whirl and glide persistent and true
in the measure and balance of love

• • •

rob kistner © 2011

King of Sunrise

 

King of Sunrise

•

on the boulevard below
last night’s rain puddles
midst the chaos of metro-clutter
held hostage by tire and curb
as if abandoned by the waters of earth

it shoulders its way through the gutters
in search of mother sea

this day begins golden and crisp
bird songs echo empty sunrise streets

me and the first edition
we sit by this morning window
with coffee and curiosity
quietly serenaded by the 5:00 AM news

I read
occasionally glimpse the screen
grow troubled by our human plight
amazed how we never learn
when the answers seem so obvious

in this moment
the tv drones
my frustration rises
my spirit slips
my mind drifts
lifting on the vapor ribbons
wafting from my steaming cup
until I stare distracted

the announcer’s mouth continues sculpting words
but I’ve fallen deep into my thoughts
imagining how different it would be
if I ruled this world

• • •

rob kistner © 2011

• linked at Magpie Tales

Why Raven?

 

Why Raven?

•

there stands a raven in the rain
liquid-black as molten coal
beside a woman
besot and broken
thoughts so black and molten
outstretched in her anguish
ravin’ in the rain

raven in the rain
why is it that you stand here
so very soaked and sullen
beside this woman so besot
so broken and bereft
heart so black and shattered
ravin’ in the rain

has her ravin’ called you forth
do you feel kinship in her blackness
does it bind you common thread
is there a faint scent of death
carried on her plaintive breath
she outcast and shunned
so like your thankless plight

picking ‘mongst the carnage
rooting in the road-kill
the writhing crawling carcass rot
left the spoiled — not the spoils
this is your lot is it not
to consume the left-for-dead
the world’s lost decay

raven in the rain
are you here to feast today

• • •

rob kistner © 2011

• linked at Magpie Tales

Slithered


The Snake Charmer, Henri Rousseau, 1907

 

Slithered

•

ever hissing ever hissing
the smooth slithered snake
stealthily winds its slender self
to slowly settle in the shadows

to set its searching sights
on its unsuspecting prey
an ever patient sentry
coiled to seize its precious prize

with surety of purpose
this silent sleek assassin
will strike swift and certain
never missing never missing

• • •

rob kistner © 2011

• linked at Magpie Tales

Clown

 

Clown

•

I’m the sad little clown with the frowning face
the round red nose and the great big tear
this meek facade and silly sham
belie the horror that I engineer

life’s dealt me cold my hand is slack
not one queen no king nor ace
so violence now dwells in me
masked behind my woeful face

no one suspects the evil soul
that festers deep in this funny fool
they know not the monster here
my gentle sheen conceals the cruel

they don’t realize a broken heart
a ruined life makes one quite mad
they simply see the pitiful
the painted face that looks so sad

the shaggy coat the baggy pants
the red suspenders the big white glove
they do not know it hides the hand
that choked the life from the one they love

town after town state after state
bodies mount in the circus’ wake
in the dead of night at the dark of moon
in frenzied fever each life I take

each beautiful each innocent
each unaware that they would die
there will be more on the road ahead
one for every tear you made me cry

when the circus comes and the tents go up
the people cheer in each sleepy town
because the poor fools just don’t know
who’s really come is the killer clown

• • •

rob kistner © 2011

_____________________

for two more tales of murder written in dark rhyme click “more”

Bogged

 

Bogged

•

that’s the thing about ruts
the longer we remain bogged
the harder it is to escape

•

stopping is no option

to lose the way
is to keep going
keep moving forward

lest one be rutted in uncertainty
rigid with the rigor of fear
bogged down in despair
paralyzed

stalled in hopelessness
the giving in
the giving up

caught in anguish
the rot that sets
with the loss of wonder
when grip lets go of dreams

arthritic loss of faith
debilitates the soul

cripples the manifest light
that shines forth
at the leap into dark unknown
into the sacred mystery

frozen is the doubting man
withered in a worried cage
terrified of the wrong step
of the journey all in
of daring the way unmarked

thus
he bleeds out the color of life
to become cold and grey

a petrified husk
of brittle remorse

mired in regret
for never having shone so brightly
as to blind the eyes of death

stopping is no option

• • •

rob kistner © 2011

• linked at Magpie Tales

Safe Harbor

 

Safe Harbor

(scene from a mystery)

•

“What do you mean Eric,” Grace inquired, the strain obvious in her weary voice. “Who exactly is going to take on Sebastian … and why?”

Her voice trailed off to an exasperated whisper. The why was not so much a question, as it was 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.

Grace turned away from Eric, head lowered. Her arms fell limp at her sides, fingers splayed. She was trying her best to process what Eric was saying, to understand him – to understand the recent events that had brought her to this place in time … 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.

She looked at her hands, palms down in her lap, her eyes glazing over. Her vision drifted to her wrists, her left wrist in particular — to her watch. Slowly it came into focus, and she realized she was staring at the broken crystal face of her Audemars Piguet Promesse.

Ever since Sebastian had given her this watch for their anniversary, her life had turned upside down – but it had also turned a corner. Fate had pushed her round that corner, and she would never turn back again. Her life as Mrs. Kensington was over.

She knew this, knew it as surely as she knew she missed her children. Something must be done to get them out of that house – his house. It could no longer be her home, but they would always be her children – and she feared for them. They had to be part of whatever direction fate was leading her.

It was fate that had broken the crystal – fate, and her quick reflexes, blocking Sebastian with her forearm as he lashed out at her in anger, following their anniversary dinner.

He had apologized, explaining it away as the result of stress. “It will never happen again,” he’d said in his most gentle and sincere voice – but she was far too familiar with this empty promise. This was not the first time, and the incidents of abuse were escalating.

She’d only come into his office that evening to thank him again for the gorgeous timepiece. She thought this was where he’d retired after leaving the dining table. But she could see, in the subdued light, that he was not there. The mahogany paneled room was empty.

She loved the aroma of his Classic Port pipe tobacco that permeated the walls. Her father had also smoked that blend in his Barling Meerschaum, and the heady fragrance was comforting to her – so she lingered. That’s when she noticed it, on the small file cabinet next to his desk, in the shadow of the light from the Tiffany lamp. It was her red leather handbag.

Wondering, she walked over and picked it up, only to realize it was not her bag. What she held was a red leather courier bag. Inside she noticed an odd looking carved box. Her curiosity got the better of her, so she lifted it out, that’s when Sebastian entered. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Put that god damned box down,” he’d shouted — then flew into a rage.

Why had her discovery of the strangely etched box sent Sebastian over the edge? What were those letters that spilled out when she dropped the box upon being viciously slapped?

They’d looked terribly official, with their seals and embossing – and written in a language that she did not recognize. Sebastian certainly scrambled frantically to collect them from the antique Persian rug, and return them to the box. But she managed to conceal one, sliding it under her hips as she lay where she’d fallen after being struck.

Sebastian’s bizarre reaction to the correspondence scattered on the floor, and the foreign language they contained, had piqued Grace’s interest. Instinct drove her to hide the envelope until she was able to carefully fold and secret it into her pocket, as her husband hurried from the room, with the curious box in tow.

Grace felt it was important that she take this letter, so she spirited it out of the room, found her actual red leather shoulder bag, and buried the puzzling document deep inside for safekeeping. She’d planned to somehow learn more about its origin and content.

It was again fortune that lead her the next morning to the jewelers, seeking a new watch crystal. It was while standing at the counter, waiting to be served, that she’d spied Sebastian coming out of an alley across the street, scurrying through the rain. He carried a red umbrella and in his left hand, and in his right, there was the red courier bag again.

Her husband was quickly approaching a woman standing at the curb — a stranger to Grace. They’d exchanged a few words, and had climbed into a waiting limousine. Grace had broken from the counter in a hurry, and bolted through the door to get a better look.

Unfortunately, as she’d reached the sidewalk and acquired a reasonable view of the vehicle, it had sped away. She had noticed markings on the door, and a license plate, a type she had not immediately recognized – but she could read neither.

Providence had orchestrated this chance encounter, and unfolded this convoluted chain of events for her — but what was she to do. Where could she begin to unravel this mystery? All this was flooding through her mind when she was startled back to the present by Eric, returning to the room with pillows and a blanket.

“I will take the sofa tonight,” he said, “You’re completely burned out. I’m putting you in my room,” he continued in a kind and caring tone. “My bed is amazingly comfortable, and you need sleep – lots of good, deep sleep.”

He reached down and took Grace’s hand, helping her to her feet. Gently wrapping his arm around her waist, he escorted her down the hall and into his room. Stopping just inside the door, he said, “You will be safe in here. We’ll talk about everything in the morning,” and he gave her a warm hug, stepped back into the hall, and closed the door.

Grace realized there were too many questions to answer, too many unknowns — just too damned much to even think about right now.

“Yes, in the morning,” she mumbled to the door. Then, hugging her red shoulder bag with the mysterious envelope tucked securely inside, Grace shuffled across the room and collapsed onto the bed.

• • •

rob kistner © 2011

_________________________

THREE POEMS FOR YOUR CONSIDERATION:


“Golden”


“Spared”


“Vanished”

The Mask

 

The Mask

•

when donned the mask
the transformation
smoulders forth the other

the fantasy
on wings of dreams

she is she
and too
the other

unleashed at light of passion’s moon
manifest at your request
sustained this night
at her delight

she is your isis
she is your venus
she is your every longing loosed

she brings everything in life you miss
bestowed with aphrodite’s kiss
but as you burn you should know this
beneath the mask waits a dark abyss

• • •

rob kistner © 2011

• linked at Magpie Tales

Boldy Go

 

Boldly Go

•

the great wheel of time
turns ever slow and steadily
its ponderous mass unstoppable
it presses onward mightily

climbs the mortal mountain
bearing the weight of history
of ages and civilizations
borne then razed by its immensity

our lifetimes ride this wheel
how far is but a mystery
locked in fate ’round we go
rolling bold toward hidden destiny

frail temporal beings
of a most amazing bravery
we dream of a tomorrow
for which there is no guarantee

adrift toward a future
of veiled and vague contingency
still — we dare to love
despite this vast uncertainty

• • •

rob kistner © 2011

• this poem linked at Writer’s Island and One Single Impression

Sea Song

• this poem linked at Writer’s Island and One Single Impression

 

Sea Song

•

sad she comes
everyday
to these empty shores
on wings of memory
to serenade this sea

a song of longing
bowed on strings
of a broken heart
mournful for the one
lost to these silent fathoms

her tears
steady as the mists
relentless swept away
by these cold
indifferent waves

only they
know where her lover lies
so everyday she comes
taunted by these tides
to seek their mystery

and every night
darkness falls
chill upon this deep

her forlorn refrain
shatters in the moonlight
the sea holding cruel tight
to its precious secret

• • •

rob kistner © 2011

_________________________

TWO OTHER RECENT POEMS:


“And So”


“The Sync”