Day Breaker

“stream-of-consciousness rant”

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”Drinkin’ Thinkin’” by: rob kistner © 1997

 
DayBreaker

(hard-drinkin’, jazz-lovin’, workin’ man’s lament)
~

day breaks
on
a new week’s
sun

putrid
as the stains
on my
flesh-soaked
mattress

damp
as my sour
mat
of fevered
greasy
tangle

hot
as my
whiskey-foul
breath

another
un-commuted
sentence

6A-6P
’til
merciful dusk
delivers me

jack-knifed
into
my
jack and coke

don’t obsess
in sorrow

drown
all
‘da-way
down

a bottom-dive
to comatose

no virtue
feigned
nor
implied

mad goes
the struggle
‘til
saved by
jazz
48 over
‘da
dub-ya
hump

2
debauched
24’s
then
the hissing
sting
of monday
and
the mindless
6-6 grind
120 n’out

cruel numbers
game
goes
round round
and ever round
’til
the tombstone’s
tender
solace

~ ~ ~

rob kistner © 2019

 

  • Click below to see what’s being imitated at dVerse:

    Imitation Practice

  • 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

    What is / Continuum Redux

    I wrote this pair of poems inspired by the ‘We Write Poetry’ prompt #12



    What Is

    •

    yesterday is money spent
    a corner turned
    the choice that’s made
    the tear that’s shed
    the sentence spoken
    the breath exhaled
    the fuel consumed
    it’s burned to ash

    today is influence
    momentum moving
    the raindrop falling
    hands on the wheel
    the river flowing
    the voice that’s singing
    it’s face to face
    it’s real time

    tomorrow is the land of dreams
    it’s the great unknown
    the wheel of fate
    it’s the far horizon
    the dawn approaching
    the planted seed
    has no guarantee
    yet it’s full of promise

    • • •

    Continuum Redux

    •

    yesterday was once today
    today likewise was once tomorrow
    tomorrow will be yesterday
    but first it must become today

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010


    Blue Temple

    …response to prompt #14 from Magpie Tales



    The image of this plate above, this week’s prompt at Magpie Tales, immediately put me in mind of serenity. Also, while the plate may be Chinese in origin, it also made me think of the ancient Japanese poetic form called tanka.

    Tanka are 31-syllable poems that have been the most popular form of poetry in Japan for at least 1300 years. As a form of poetry, tanka is older than haiku, and tanka poems are evocative.

    During Japan’s Heian period (794-1185 A.D.) it was considered essential for a woman or man of culture to be able to both compose beautiful poetry and to choose the most aesthetically pleasing and appropriate paper, ink, and symbolic attachment—such as a branch, a flower—to go with it.

    Tanka have changed and evolved over the centuries beyond the traditional expressions of passion and heartache, and styles have changed to include modern language — but the form of five syllabic units containing a total of 31 syllables has remained the same.

    Each line of a tanka consists of one image or idea. One does not seek to “wrap” lines in tanka, though in the best tanka, the five lines flow seamlessly into one thought or feeling.

    This particular visual prompt also sparked my recall of a simple, but wonderful piece of art I discovered a few years back, entitled “Blue Temple” by Vorffy.

    So here I present my tanka entitled “Blue Temple”, including for your pleasure, the Vorfffy art piece of the same name.

    _____________________________




    Blue Temple

    •

    birds in the blue sky

    sampans on the blue waters

    blue temple gateways

    serenity is sacred

    approach with your heart open

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010


    Dark Stream, Deep Current

    22 ripples

     

    ripple 1
    •

    a place within
    closed away from scrutiny
    from the world

    angry at the wind
    at the rain
    at daylight

    angry at your smile
    at the sound of your voice

    angry at it all

    this is where I live
    and how

    you come
    like a void
    false journey-mate

    embossed with promises

    a coat of synthetic
    edges peeled back
    its leatherlessness
    revealed

    shivering
    I wrap it round me
    seeking warmth

    but it is not supple

    ill-fitted
    it does not hold my form

    you do not remember
    the bend of my arm

    nor the silk
    that slid
    slippery underfoot
    on the marble aisle

    as we stalked love
    and the vain promise
    it would be constant

    as the wind
    as the rain
    as daylight

     

    ripple 2
    •

    I lean upon my folded fist
    cool against my temple
    elbow solid
    on my cluttered desk

    eyes drooped
    and closed
    aflame with spoiled sleep

    face slacked
    head cocked
    tilted to the right
    heavy with confusion

    skull upon the finger bones
    in weighted indecision

    procrastination presses down

    the whooshing hum
    of cooling bytes
    relentless in my ears

    thoughts like digits
    on a dollar slot
    spin unsettled in my mind

    they neither click
    nor lock in place
    they tumble
    in a jumble

    they roll and blur
    just out of focus
    lost in mental fog

    sunken in my office chair
    I remain
    immobile

    paralyzed by perplexity

    imprisoned
    by the chaos
    awhirl in my mind

    the freedom of decision
    impossible to manage

    nothing will be done
    this day

    no first step can be taken

     

    ripple 3
    •

    do not look upon me
    in this untended state
    grown over
    with regret

    rampant with cynicism
    with unbridled bitterness

    in this winter season
    of dormant bloom
    waning hope

    my color has all faded
    gone to random hues of grey
    the faintest blush of tint


    Continue reading Dark Stream, Deep Current