Month: June 2018

Unspoken

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Unspoken

~

so many times
I looked tenderly upon you
filled with love

you were my sun
my light

I looked with admiration
unceasing gratitude
for who you were in my life

for how you wrapped our children
in the cocoon of your heart

freeing them to fly
when ready were their wings

for your gentle way
that drew our friends close
holding fast
harbored in your kindness

but years numbered
one upon the next

I remained all too mute

until fate carried you
beyond the sound
of my foolish voice

would that I had a bottle
to carry my loving words
across the ocean of time

over the horizon of death

to tell you the 10,000 things
I said too seldom in your life

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~ ~ ~

rob kistner © 2007

Collecting

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Collecting

~

once I have
all I can get
I’ll still want more
and more

and yet

the stuff I have
I must ignore
to have the time
to find some more

to stash
with what it is I got
so there’ll be nothing
I have not

and when I have
all that there is
I’ll sit back
and say

gee wiz

I’m not certain
this is all
there is

though what I have
is gathering dust
and some perhaps
is gathering rust

I’ll search for more

because I must

~ ~ ~

rob kistner © 2007

 

  • inspired by George Carlin and Dr Seuss

    • Nocturne

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    Nocturne

    ~

    hawk moon hangs heavy
    in the damp night sky

    bulbous moist pearl
    rolling
    in a cold chromium fog

    wet slivers of cloud
    smear themselves
    across its face

    irregular

    translucent sacks
    of moonbeams
    breathing

    glassine billowing pillows
    oozing
    soaked with midnight

    stars float and spark
    glinting
    dripping
    shivering

    frozen splintered crystal-tips
    diamond chips
    pinprick rips in blackened space

    they wink and wane
    and flutter

    shattered bits of silvered light
    snapping here then not

    behind the ghostly white vapor
    that slithers through the firmament

    the world devoid of color
    aglow in sterling grey
    a negative of day

    thick and chilled

    filled with the sound
    of stalking after-dark things

    nocturne

    the sorrowing hour

    to lay bare your soul
    in pale introspection

    in grief of secrets

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2007

    Midnight Snowfall

    winter-night

     
    Midnight Snowfall

    ~

    in moonlit forest
    midnight’s snowfall shimmers
    deep and still
    through the boughs
    of old growth
    like a dance of star clusters

    it blankets
    our high-mountain meadow
    in crystal down

    this night
    fell quiet and crisp

    a great white owl
    echoes
    through frosted cedars

    lover and beloved

    we entwine
    in passion’s heat
    ‘neath winter’s window

    until
    with dreams
    and one another
    we sleep

    a gentle slumber
    adrift in wonder
    unmoored
    of time and place

    we breathe deep
    this winter nocturne
    wrapped in reverie’s
    ebb and flow

    my heart is carried
    to a moment
    in a winter
    long ago

    you
    by firelight
    in my arms
    an embrace
    your face aglow

    a mid-winter midnight
    ‘neath frosted moonlight
    crystaline stars
    a’dance above

    our hearts
    in pure surrender
    that magic night
    we first made love

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner  ©  2018

    That Hollywood Sparkle

     

    That Hollywood Sparkle

    ~

    it’s not so much we resent the hungry
    no more than do we despise the poor
    rather we avoid and dismiss them
    with the dull cough of apathy
    we find them disturbing and dangerous
    they disquiet our comfort
    they disrupt our summer stroll downtown

    we do not flow with the milk of kindness
    our part is more the dark brandy of denial
    afterall what is it we can really do
    we do however praise our stars
    for their sensitivity toward the downtrodden
    it makes the less fortunate more glamorous
    and we like the hollywood sparkle it imparts to tragedy

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 6/26/18

    Corycian Promise

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    Corycian Promise

    ~

    Wee hours,
    with the sane asleep,
    this writer’s steeped
    in conflicted inspiration.

    My thoughts are vague,
    I’m filled with doubt,
    words tossed about
    the unyielding empty page.

    I start, then stop,
    I write, then not,
    unclear, I’m caught
    in merciless hesitation.

    Fickle muse, please —
    a promise of spark
    to light this dark
    that grips me like a cage.

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2007