•
the hollow wallow
aglow in the spotlight’s heat
to boast odes of praise for him
in death
who had few words of warmth for him
in life
while those who love him
pay true tribute
with searing tears
of silent grief
• • •
rob kistner © 2011
this final edit inspired by prompt #24 at Writer’s Island,
prompt #23 at We Write Poems,
and prompt #74 at Carry on Tuesday.
•
from rippled sinew black as midnight
bores a stare of molten gold
a furious but calm inferno
searing deep to burn your soul
unyielding is 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 his bounds
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
• • •
(haiku)
•
caged beast close your eyes
have no fear of letting go
dream of wild freedom
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
Masquerade
•
when donned the mask
the transformation
smoulders forth
the other
the fantasy
of your desire
carnal fire
on wings of dreams
she is she
and too
the other
unleashed at light
of passion’s moon
a masquerade
to ignite your soul
manifest at your request
sustained this night
at her delight
she is isis
she is venus
she is your every longing
loosed
to bring you every pleasure
she is everything
and all of this
bestowed
with aphrodite’s kiss
as you burn
remember this
beneath the mask
your real bliss
• • •
•
go down in trial
endure the tribulation
emerge rapt in grace
steeled by the tempering fire
molten molded pure and strong
• • •
early shadows fall soft
vesper’s velvet blanket
drapes ’round my shoulders
envelops me in calm
there is still road to travel
eager to keep the journey
I’m drawn by the beauty
of the rising moon in sunset
coaxed by a soothing breeze
I venture on toward my love
rolling amber fires the lane
spreads warm ‘cross the horizon
mist begins to rise and waft
nestled in the valley
I see my hearth & home
guilded copper in this eventide
my heart quickens
stirred by this gorgeous vale
the ribbon of its brook
entwines my soul in wonder
my smile sweetens
my pace livens
I hum a quiet evensong
in the grace of this splendid day
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
look instead outside the glare
in the quiet place beyond
where no accolades are strewn
and no ivy laurels donned
where daily life is hard
and the living less than grand
where the strength to persevere
depends on the extended hand
where the poor struggle without
the weak endeavor day to day
it’s here by selfless sweat of brow
the brave endure to find a way
willing to give all they’ve got
to daily do what must be done
to share when even they have not
to face their fear not turn and run
to reach and help the one’s in need
to fight the fight that must be fought
more than the words — to do the deed
to stand and smile not shrink distraught
it’s among these who seldom win
yet rise each day and strive again
it’s here your search should begin
it’s here you’ll find your champion
• • •
(tanka)
•
kind words quell salt tears
strong hand steadies unsure step
warm smile calms heart’s fear
no praise sought or expected
quiet humble champion
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
This poem is offered in response to prompt #22 at We Write Poems.
•
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
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
• • •
to just try to fly is to fall short, one must expect to soar, then leap
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
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
•
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
This type of poem is known as a haibun, and combines prose with haiku. It is offered in response to the September 20th prompt at Big Tent Poetry.
The Taste
•
It was an embrace I’d wished had been endless, at our tearful farewell – your body supple and warm, pulsing with life.
I passed through security, turned and fixed on your gaze – prayed it was not the last time I’d look into your eyes. I wandered dazed down the ramp, to the jet that would take me to the fury of hell. I locked your face of love deep in my heart.
That cherished image proved my grasp on sanity through two years of horror – through the sting of separation, the bitter taste of war, the foul stench of death.
I return this day, facing reality at 30,000 feet, the salt of sadness on my lips. I am ashamed, frightened to see and touch you again, but I burn to do so.
I fear a kiss from my killer’s mouth, will forever defile your precious lips – lush as sweet cognac, that day we parted.
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
NOTE: this piece is by no means a condemnation of the men and women who are sent into the teeth of hell to fight, suffer, and sometimes die. Rather, it is an expression of my deep respect for what they endure, and a quiet tear for what is so often sadly lost in so doing.
•
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
•
there is no half-eaten answer
with which to embellish
or to skirt the evidence
the stench of truth
permeates the debris of proof
in a swarm of crusted guilt
the orphaned child of supposition
abandoned on the dock of iniquity
impaled by the chant of sterile innuendo
wearing a temporary backbone
fashioned of suffering
and the tears of innocence
to witness the violent clash
of malevolence and courage
and remain forever mute
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
•
I’d like to make myself believe
the dream I dreamt as a young man
that we can change the world’s heart
to embrace love for one another
I’d like to make myself believe
people are by nature good
that we can live in peace
and make the world a better place
I’d like to make myself believe
universal understanding
is a common goal
of the peoples of this planet
I’d like to make myself believe
we haven’t lost our faith
in these sacrosanct ideals
of an elevated life
I’d like to make myself believe
there still exists somewhere
a shared and nurtured vision
of a paradise on earth
I’d like to make myself believe
but empty runs the hourglass
again I’ve heard the daily news
and I’m so weary, and brokenhearted
yes, I’d like to make myself believe
I’d like to, really like to
but sometimes now I even wonder
if anyone ever truly did
• • •
_________________
Time Running Out
•
once demure discourse
now rhetoric to offend
volatile neighbors
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
• haiku above also offered for the visual prompt Mag 23 at Magpie Tales,
and the September 15th prompt at Three Word Wednesday.
Mag 23