The Dance

NOTICE: intended for mature readers only…


“Venus and The Sailor” by Salvador Dali, 1925

The Dance

•

he felt the weight of her thigh
pressing against his
and the flesh of her hip
urgent against his groin
and the warmth
as he responded involuntarily
feeling a heat spread through him
a quickening of his pulse
as he swelled and swooned
growing rigid and eager
and a deep need overtook him
as he reached ’round her
firmly encircling her waist
with his great arm
bending her forward
with the mass of his body
and with his other hand
freeing himself
to enter her fully
consumed by her wetness
in a dance of dizzying desire
his urges hot and husky
on her ear and cheek
as he churned in slow pleasure
building in evermore lustful lunges
ever increasing in pace and tension
as they danced and danced
spinning into a carnal fury
until a great release
swept over them
and they melted together
in a fevered bliss
matching breath for slowing breath
and he bringing his lips
softly to the sweet nape of her neck
as they drifted to earth
entwined in the joy
and the afterglow
of love’s lingered embrace

• • •

rob kistner © 2012

…I wrote this as one uninterrupted piece to reflect the passionate nature and consummate flow of those final peak moments when one is wholly swept up in the deep and urgent throes of making love…

• this piece inspired by this visual prompt at Magpie Tales

Cloistered

This piece deals with the strange duality we all carry with us through life, the unique contradiction between the person we think we are, and the ‘many’ other persons others perceive us to be from their experience of us, as filtered through their differing individual perceptions. Fair or not, convenient or not — we are ‘judged’, and our lives are impacted to one degree or another, every day by how we measure up to each of these interpretations of the “I” we are thought to be. This includes the “I” we perceive ourselves to be. Which one is real, which one is valid — or is any one of them truly definitive? The phrase “I am” presents a fascinating philosophical quandary.


image by René Magritte

Cloistered

•

when another
tells you of yourself
you’re shown the dance they see
your outward choreography

but you hear not of the music
that rings true in your mind
that leads and drives the steps
for this music they know not

you are shown the reflection
not the light that shines inside
that illuminates your soul
to guide your steps and stride

are we the I we know
the self we see full measure
or are we the other
the one known to another

for if the valid one
be the one most known
then we are that other
the one to ourselves unknown

for surely when compared
the majority story shared
is of the manifest other
the one seen by another

and so we live our life
cloistered in this other
and live this life alone
even when by many known
for the you that’s shown
is the you that’s not your own

• • •

rob kistner © 2012

Morphling


image by Francesca Woodman

Morphling

•

I will not be confined
always in motion
eternal ebb and flow
perpetual like the seas

my spirit an eternal liquid
in everlasting flux
expands unrestrained
seeking freedom

I will not be defined
my nature is fluid
my essence is turbulent
deep but ever changing

my heart in constant surge
challenges boundary
seeking balance that is mine
to change at will

reach not for me
I will not be held
do not name me
I will not be yours

• • •

rob kistner © 2012

• this piece inspired by this visual prompt at Magpie Tales

Perception’s Window


artwork by Jack Vettriano

Perception’s Window

•

we are infinite beings
awaking slowly
from some infinite place

our coming to be
unknown to us as any mystery
our essence an enigma

learned in stories
in waiting relationships
gradually we open to our identity

awareness dawns
like the rising of a newborn sun
breaking on our window of perception

we feel its warmth
and flow effortlessly into timelessness
as though immortal

we see not over the horizon
for we see no horizon
but limitless eternity

we comprehend no end
immersed only in the now
given of our origin

it is therein exists the miracle of life
we are infinite beings in this moment
dreaming to sustain the moment

• • •

rob kistner © 2012

• this piece inspired by this visual prompt at Magpie Tales

Evening Prayer


image:“House At Dusk” Edward Hopper © 1935

Evening Prayer

•

sun sits low on the horizon
dusk slowly advances
the breath of night begins to stir
all the daydreams are gone to bed

I sit quiet
close by the open window
soothed by the cool breeze
warmed by the memories
that huddle ‘round me

from far into the past
they drift
forward through the years

they visit gently
one by one

memories of those
I’ve been well to know
those I’ve been blessed to love
those that have got beyond
a tender tear for every one

a sweetness fills the air
just a touch of soft regret

my heart is full
my spirit calm
I surrender
to fate’s embrace

would this evening never end
but soon
the lingering day
will bow its head
twilight too will fade

as the waxing night
blankets my chamber
I fall still
and pray

pray to be carried away
in deep
peaceful sleep

• • •

rob kistner © 2012

• this piece inspired by this visual prompt at Magpie Tales

Well Traveled

…while it is true that, in the end, it is the journey that validates the destination — we do arrive at a point in life, where keeping one’s eye looking down the road, while seeing all we pass along the way, is what keeps the journey alive and meaningful…

 

Well Traveled

•

from here
the road ahead
is traveled differently

a shorter stride
a stiffened gait
a lessened pace
guarantees it so

but being long a traveler
provides insight
to match the bruise and scars
of years and miles

and the will to move
can best the journey
where wisdom is employed

questions arise

what destination now
what supplies available
what light of day remains

with no destination
there is no journey
only aimless wander
and supplies are short
daylight precious

loss of purpose
lack of focus
hastens journey’s failure

at this distance
this late hour
failure
is not an option

so I will go forth
eyes down the road
one foot then the other
in steady stride
focused on the goal

to arrive at love
spirit whole
full spent
from a road well traveled

• • •

rob kistner © 2012

Yet

…inspired by the first day I met my wife, 25 years ago…

 

Yet

•

had she not appeared in that clearing
so lost

had she not crossed my threshold
on that september day

had not her voice
drifted like silk on a summer breeze
to wrap sheer and sweet
around my heart

had not I been drawn
like a bloom to the morning sun

had not I been captivated
as a hummingbird
by a drop of nectar
crystal on a velvet petal

had not my love come down
soft as a rolling mountain meadow

had not this dream been born

had not my life begun again

• • •

rob kistner © 2012

• linked at Magpie Tales

 

Arrested

…something captivating about a woman in (or almost in) uniform…

 

Arrested

•

she’s left only her jacket on
unbuttoned
blousing open

the gold of her badge
glints fetchingly
in the glow of candlelight

her breasts
partially veiled
soft in the amber wash
gently rise and fall
with her heavy breath

helplessly
my eyes glide her length
fondled warmly
by the lush half-light
folding upon her
from the single flame

they pause
entranced by the velvet flower
sensuously shadowed
in the satin cleft
where supple limb
meets supple limb

intoxicated by this vision
I can only stare
and melt

utterly arrested

• • •

rob kistner © 2012

• linked at Fireblossom Friday

 

Drowning

 

Drowning

•

on the boulevard outside
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

lovers and their beloved
sit by morning windows
with tea and curiosity

they talk

in those moments
their souls spill one into the other
entranced

somewhere
tender lips are sculpting sweet words

but here in this quiet
I drown in your gaze
fallen into azul pools

• • •

rob kistner © 2012

• linked at Magpie Tales

 

Morning’s Pardon

…morning brings we fallen mortals forgiveness and hope…

 

Morning’s Pardon

•

fallen into night’s embrace
held down by dark shadows
I writhe in the arms of nightmare

would that I could rise
into the light of dawn’s nod
but I’m flesh, weak, consumed by flesh

purity laid raw entangled in my sin
skin to skin with my obsession
restrained to roil in my transgression

but soon the light of morne
will fold itself upon me pardoned
to pray I not be too far drawn asunder

• • •

rob kistner © 2012

• linked at Magpie Tales

This Heart

 

This Heart

•

this heart’s now yours
this damaged heart
this brittle fractured aching heart
broken by you, every part

I’ve no use for this ruined heart
plucked here from my chest
I seek a new and vital heart
one that’s far less stressed

a fresh heart that’s unbreakable
a heart able to forgive
unmarred unscarred yet tender
beating with the joy to live

• • •

rob kistner © 2012

• linked at Magpie Tales

___________________

image: “Red Spot II”, by: Kandinsky

Rāgarāja’s Daughter

 

Rāgarāja’s Daughter

•

radiant vision silken skinned
translucent alabaster blaze
torrid as a teen’s temptation
leaned low here before me yearning

on plush cloud so sensuous
sweet comely goddess forward bent
graceful face aglow with craving
you conjure ardor’s obsession

a’bloom in beckoned fiery swoon
forearms rest on pillow soft
thoughts aflame in primal need
lips burning smile a fetched seduction

Rāgarāja’s daughter lush with Spring
smoldering in golden light
that folds upon you satin supple
to bathe in warmth your arched desire

divinely-pleasing luscious morsel
served up by a master’s hand
passion bound to tantalize
to hypnotize my hungry eyes

lost in carnal fantasy
fired by this goddess buff
arises now my animal
in a beastly urgent lust

to wrap ‘round
this maiden magic
flesh to flesh
to full consume
to thrust
and thrust
my randy lust
’til passion’s seed
has turned to dust
and wanton
carnal flames
are snuffed

Spring’s sweet madness
at last
enough

• • •

rob kistner © 2012

• linked at Magpie Tales

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