NaPoWriMo #22 – The Gaia Suite

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


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• • Happy Earth Day • •

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• 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

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…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

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

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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

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…check out the other splendid imperfections at readwritepoem

NaPoWriMo #20 – Heroes

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


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• inspired by Jessica GC’s prompt at read write poem

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Reality At 30,000

•

(a hero returns)

distant
slurred
reverberant

like a voice in a canyon
I hear her calling in my mind
my name
rolling sweet as nectar
from lips soft as orchid petals
full as a bursting peach
glistening deep coral
as they wrapped softly
‘round each pouted syllable
when she bid me tender farewell
so long ago

our fingertips had strained to grasp
until the final sensation of warmth
of touch
had faded
and they had drifted apart

I had struggled to tear my eyes
from her tears
that glistened on her lashes
and around her swollen crystal blue eyes
to slip softly over the crests
of her velvet cheeks
then down the contour of her face
flushed as sunset
to lightly salt her quivering lips

and as I passed
numb and dazed
through the tunnel of the loading gate
toward the jet
that took me to hell
I had at that moment
locked the image
of that sorrowed face of love
deep in my heart

It had proved my salvation
my only grasp on sanity
in those horrific years
over there

my lips too had quivered on that day
with the sting of separation
and the chilling knowledge
I would soon taste the bitter blood of war
foul with the stench of death

having not yet departed
I had already longed to gaze again
into her brilliant blue eyes
and taste her sweetness

yet

as I return this day
trying to face reality
from 30,000 feet
I taste the salt of sadness

for I fear
a kiss from me
with my killer’s mouth
will forever defile the fragile innocence
of those luscious lips
soft as orchid petals
full as a bursting peach
that glistened
and quivered
when last we parted

• • •

 

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Eternal

•

tears on flushed pale cheeks

warm held hand grows cool and still

she has left this earth

my love is now eternal

how do I face tomorrow

• • •

 

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…here is a bonus “whimsical” poem written in response to the day 19 prompt at poetic aside


 

Phineas & Phlo

•

phineas morton is not a happy guy
that’s not to say he’s sad
he just decided long ago
not to live life on the extremes
so he would describe himself as
well
as centered
yes
phineas morton is a centered guy

he lives in the abandoned hull
of a short
yellow
school bus
left there by his parents
when he was 12
as they went off to find
well
to find happiness

this situation may also account
for his less than enthusiastic embrace
of the whole concept of
well
of happiness

phineas dreams of
someday
doing something
something
well
something interesting
shunning the extreme nature
of
of great
he is not really interested
in doing something
great
interesting will do just fine

he has a girlfriend
well
sort of a girlfriend
more like a
well
like a girl acquaintance
that sounds less “on the edge”
which suits his centeredness
just fine

her name is flo
though she has come to spell it
phlo
as an expression
of her affinity for phineas
you know
phineas and phlo
the whole ph
sounds like f
thing
you know f
fuh f fuh

well
anyway
phineas wants everyone to know
that while he waits for his
interesting life to begin
he can be found
out by ole’ doc patterson’s pond
in his shell of a bus

you’re more than welcome to come by
just
if you do
don’t be too happy
if you know what I mean
doesn’t sit well with the lad

so if you come by
bring some jelly beans
red jelly beans
because
well
just because

and a tip from me
if you do drop in on phineas
don’t be clever
you know
don’t make any wisecracks about
well
no “short bus” remarks
ok

ok

• • •



• poems and tanka by: rob kistner © 2010

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…check out the other heroes at readwritepoem

NaPoWriMo #19 – Ah Hah!

This is my nineteenth post for National Poetry Month 2010
• one limerick
• one tanka


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• inspired by Rallentanda’s day 19 prompt at read write poem

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Surplus

•

it struck me the moment I met you
I just didn’t want to upset you
didn’t know how you’d act
if I acknowledged the fact
but now that you’ve asked guess I’ll have to

I know that we’ve only just met
it’s not something I’ll soon forget
but since you want to know
I’ll deliver the blow
but wait cause I’m not ready yet

I fear I’ll be breaking your heart
perhaps tearing your world apart
dropping this kinda news
is like lighting a fuse
so please give me a running head start

this is not what I’d hoped to discuss
and you must know you’ve got a surplus
but man in those slacks and shirt
you’d make a blind man’s eyes hurt
so, do you hold that thing up with a truss

• • •



…now before anyone judge me too harshly, let it be known that I have more in common with this gentleman than I care to admit, and — I couldn’t help myself, I believe the devil made me write this…

 

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Eureka

•

it’s as clear as day

nothing needed to be said

it’s so obvious

should have seen it right away

suddenly it was – Of Course!

• • •


• limerick and tanka by: rob kistner © 2010

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…check out the other ah-hah’s at readwritepoem

NaPoWriMo #18 • part 2 – Mask

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

• VARIATIONS ON THE MASK •

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…these two free verse poems are inspired by prompt #112 at One Single Impression…

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Unmask

•

outside
evening breezes freshen
a wind chime hangs in the eave
rings time to time

inside
we sit with dinner
complacency
little resonance

we care for one another
our love
goes without saying

meal finished
we clear the table
converse very little
no need
we know each other
know without saying

task done
we part quietly
me to my keyboard
you to read

outside
sunset paints the deck soft amber
tubular bells welcome twilight

inside
a silent shadow lurks
indifference

I reflect
times we’ve hurt each other
caused thoughtless pain

that carelessness forgiven
we are bound
goes without saying

outside
brisk wind greets day’s end
chimes pleasantly keep pace

inside
turbulence stirs as I type

I wonder of our happiness
surely we are
goes without saying

but
why is it we do not say
so much we never say

we wear masks of silence
to hide the vulnerable face of love

how dangerously foolish

my heart wants to cry out
shatter the stillness
rouse you from your pulp & plot

talk with me
it shouts
I lift my mask
see me now
see me new

talk with me
I can still surprise

let us speak what is not spoken
unmask what’s in our hearts
before love is gone

without ever saying

• • •



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The Mask

•

the other smoulders
when donned the mask
the fantasy that you desire
heart of passion
on wings of dreams
when she is the other

unleashed at light of moon
brought forth at your request
sustained 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

beneath the mask
the real bliss
your precious wife
your treasure

• • •

rob kistner © 2010



• 1st art piece entitled “Gamayn”
• 2nd art piece entitled “Peacock”
both fabulous works by: Marilena Mexi



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…to read NaPoWriMo #18 • part 1, CLICK HERE

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…like masks like I do, click here

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…

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…check out what’s prowling over at readwritepoem

Deadline



 

Deadline

•

presented for your consideration
deadlines
and time

time is relative
a fleeting thing
non-substantive

so how does one keep time
to keep is to hold
or maintain
something in your possession

it would seem
given the insubstantial nature
of time
that one cannot

with time
being the core component
of a deadline
and time unable to be ‘kept’
the logical deduction
is that a deadline
is therefore unable to be ‘kept’

it would also seem
that it is not fully clear
just what a deadline is

is it a relative point
projected into the future
and given arbitrary importance

is it a connection
between telephones
that has gone quiet

is it a boundary
drawn around a prison
beyond which escapees are shot

is it filament with hook
presented to catch fish
that has lost its bait

when considering
this additional uncertainty
why all the fuss about deadlines

in the pursuit
of things relative
fleeting
ethereal
and uncertain

love is the more glorious

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

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…catch more pursuit of deadlines at Sunday Scribblings

NaPoWriMo #12 – Look Poet / Croissants

This is my twelfth post for National Poetry Month 2010
• one free verse poem
• one haiku




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…this piece was inspired by a prompt by Carolee Sherwood over at read write poem…

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Look Poet

•

poet
do not weave
your fabric of myth
or speak to us in grand verse
telling of the song
of the spheres
or the days
before this dark time

help us see
the real place of light
hear the clear voice of truth
know the pure heart of justice

look poet
look at the terrible suffering
tell us where that is birthed

tell us how to see
with our own eyes
so that we might reach in
and tear out the pain
uproot the sorrow
crush the evil

you see many things poet
but you talk in riddles
you avoid the cold
and the hard way
for the soft path
of platitudes
and metaphors
of meter and rhyme
but this is not the time

look poet
look into the fire
feel it burn your eyes
char your soul
tell us how that feels

let us hear you scream
rally us
set us ablaze

lift your pen
like a sword
and strike down
the imbalance

show us the grip
and we will join the battle

but you must tell us
poet
tell us what is real
in the power
that is plain language

we will listen

• • •

 

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Croissants

•

fragrance of baked dough

aroma of warm butter

croissants tasty hot

• • •

poem and haiku by: rob kistner © 2010

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…for more poems about other roads left untraveled, go to readwritepoem

Pre-Dawn Window



 

Pre-Dawn Window

•

in this moonlit forest
midnight shimmers
through the misty boughs of old growth
as if star clusters dance the branches
above our high-mountain meadow
lake aglow like sterling satin

like a crystalline wonderland
this night holds deep and quiet
save a great white owl
echoing through the sparkling cedars

lover and beloved
we entwine
wrapped in a pre-dawn half-wake
a semi-lucid trance
be-dazzled by the spectacle
just outside our window

I hear myself whisper
how long have I been awake
is it morning
yet I do not want to know
I do not want to break this spell

but rather
to lie here in your arms
and fall again
into gentle slumber
to traverse with you
the time and space of dreams

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

• photorendering entitled “Moonlit Waters” – by: Daniel Pierce
_______________________________

…catch the other differences at Carry On Tuesday

NaPoWriMo #11 – Play Ball!

This is my eleveth post for National Poetry Month 2010
• one free verse poem
• one haiku




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…this piece was written in keeping with the spirit of a prompt by Angie Werren over at read write poem who asked us to write about the choice we didn’t make…

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Spring Recall

•

it is this time every year
perhaps coaxed by the warming breezes of spring
that a flood of recall is unleashed

smell of leather oiled in neatsfoot
clatter of wooden bats in a canvass bag
rattle of metal spikes on concrete
snug feel of the ballglove
tuggin’ on the cap
rollin’ the bill just right

smoothness of the cowhide sphere
grip on raised seams
click and clack of the catcher’s gear
cheers, jeers and sometimes tears
right foot on the rubber
excitement of taking signs
leg coiled for delivery
the hey batter batter
pop of the ball in the pocket
anticipation of an onrushing grounder
launching the throw across the diamond
shielding my eyes in a high sky
relief of snagging one in the webbing

feel of polished hardwood
crack of the sweet spot
exhilaration of connecting solidly
breaking down to first
taking a good lead off
soft slide into the base
the thrill of swiping second
the joy of crossing home
my teammates in a dog pile
sweet sweet exhaustion
knowing I left it all on the field

your arm around my shoulder
the pride in your eyes
root beer at the soda fountain
with the team after the game
riding home on the tailgate
of our old Edsel wagon

it is every year
at this time
that I think of all of this
that I think of you

how you wanted me to try pro
how the scout felt I had the arm
it is the path I didn’t take
you never made me feel sorry

thank you for these memories
thank you for your love

• • •

 

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Chalk Lines

•

chalk lines laid on dirt

crack of white ash on cowhide

son’s smile is a joy

• • •

poem and haiku by: rob kistner © 2010

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…for more poems about other roads left untraveled, go to 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

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• you can live vicariously at One Single Impression

NaPoWriMo #10 – Woodpeckers / Hiking

This is my tenth post for National Poetry Month 2010
• one free verse poem
• one haiku




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…this piece was written in the spirit of Pamela Sayers’ prompt “Celebrate!” at read write poem…

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Woodpeckers

•

the two red crests are busy
hammering away
peck peck peck
big chucks of the dead pulp
flying in all directions

the elusive couple has come
down into the yard
from the climbs
of the old-growth forest
that surrounds our home
to get their fill
of early-season insects

comfortable as two dancers
they circle each other
bobbing and weaving
on the old Douglas stump
peck peck peck

beautiful in black
bold scarlet topknots
vivid white to frame the faces
majestic in their size
and mystery

these life-mates
rule our woods
often heard
peck peck peck
seldom seen
save a passing glance
of red and wing

but here they are
resplendent in the Oregon sun
emboldened by mating season
and the spring bounty

they flit occasionally
in turn
to the nearby red cedar
centuries old
live and looming
but they return to the stump
peck peck peck
preferring the delicacies
in the decaying remains

the smaller starkly-striped Downy
with his crimson cap
and wings white on black
has joined them
in this supper hour


but he swings
and pecks quietly on the suet
dangling from the eaves
having been ushered indiscreetly
from the Pileated’s banquet


a gorgeous Northern Flicker
speckled and curious
observes at a distance
from the forest canopy
not partaking in this evening’s feast

my wife and I sit silent
and amazed
captivated by the glory of nature
being celebrated
just beyond our bedroom window


we join the celebration
grateful for the privilege
humbled by this spectacle
hopeful for our planet

• • •

 

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Hiking

•

each crest a new thrill

each fresh turn an adventure

hiking the forest

• • •

poem and haiku by: rob kistner © 2010

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

NaPoWriMo #9 – part two: That Moon

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



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…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

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

NaPoWriMo #9 – Jazzzzz

This is my ninth post for National Poetry Month 2010
• one free verse poem
• one haiku




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…this piece was written in keeping with the spirit of a prompt by Robert Peake, over at read write poem…



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Jazz in a Parallel Universe

•

we was scorchin’
torchin’
in the zone
lighting chops
flamin’ righteous

primo riffin’
smokin’ sacred
glorified ‘n sanctified

fused bruised and overused
the big axe jumped
pumped
and thunder thumped
lubed ‘n locked âN lugnut crazy

scene was pure
to the fringe
slammin’
jammin’
come to jesus

skins was raucous
reeds was rippin’ trippin- sanity slippin’
blood ‘n bone on broken tusk
brass ‘and n balls to the bell-tone edge

soul elation
elevation
riot smooooooth
‘n devastation

upright
‘n bottom tight
we brought down the house
this velvet night

• • •







 

Jazzin’

•

first notes soar skyward

stars shine in the clear night air

jazzin’ has begun

• • •

poem and haiku by: rob kistner © 2010

• artwork at top of post entitled “Hot Licks” – by: rob kistner © 1997

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…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

• • •

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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