rob kistner © 2019
~
bird songs carry on freshening breeze
flowers awaken to the kiss of bees
my soul to fullest measure filled
splendor brings me to my knees
rob kistner © 2019
broken in your cruel hands
it was abused — then cast away
like some cheapskate’s knickknack
or worthless bauble with which to play
it was not your shiny ornament
to decorate your ego
nor a piece of bric-a-brac
to collect like some odd curio
not a trifle toy or novelty
this heart was so much more to me
than some lowly dime-store tchotchke
to be abandoned thoughtlessly
no, it was not some silly whatnot
to dingle-dangle in your hands
I didn’t offer you some gewgaw
because I’m not your doodah man
I really can’t believe you’d think it
was just some silly trinket
I’ve now no need for this ruined heart
so I plucked it from my chest
to find a warm and vital heart
this is now a lover’s quest
I seek a fresh and vibrant heart
one of a perfect size
and a kind and gentle lover
who will hold it as a prize
No, I can’t believe you’d think it
was just some silly trinket
~
a heat spreads through them
a quickening of pulse
as they ignite
passion overtaking them
he reaches ’round her
firmly encircling her waist
with his strong arm
he pulls her to him
with the power of his body
she acquiesces fully
folding upon him
as they begin a dance
of dizzying desire
his pleasure
red hot and husky
on her ear and cheek
her head tilts back
her blue eyes close
as slowly they turn
together they churn
building in lustful pace
they dance and dance
spinning and spinning
whirling in a carnal fire
a tempest of sensation
they melt together
in fevered bliss
matching breath for breath
his lips
soft on the nape of her neck
willingly offered
as they’re overcome
smoldering in love’s embrace
rob kistner © 2019
Leaning comfortably into the turns, breeze streaming through our long hair, we wind our way into the mountains, into the evening, alive with the two-wheeled freedom of the open road, not counting days, not keeping track. We’re just feet up and rolling – free!
We glide between alternating shadow and light, as the sun reveals itself, from time to time, warming us from between the peaks, as it begins to settle behind the western slope of the Rockies.
Four friends who’ve shed the structured mantle of life, to venture into the random, the unknown — to embrace the magnificent perfection of living in, and for, the moment.
Up out of Boulder, down into Dream Canyon we scramble, each rider alternately surging to the front of the pack — enjoying the thrill of the throttle! Flying, without leaving the ground.
Down we sail, twisting along the asphalt as it snakes its way. Upcoming curves often hidden from view, disappearing behind the rise of a slope. Mountain peaks soar, enfolded in clouds, that roll snd tumble through the brilliant blue sky.
We charge onward, transfixed by the wonders surrounding us, filled with an exhilarating touch of danger, to season this awesome excitement of discovery!
It’s five decades since those days of freedom. My days are not so carefree now. I’m rooted in responsibility, balancing the blessings and the burdens of life — bent by the yoke of worry, made heavy by the weight of loss.
I now lean into life, feet firmly planted, braced against the changing winds of time and fate. Yet, occasionally, I still feel that longing for freedom stir, feel that 4-cycle vibration beneath me, feel that breeze on my face, once more tossing my youthful mane.
A smile nudges its way onto my face, coaxed by those memories of freedom — of potent, visceral friendship. Someday, before it is too late, I would love one last time, to lift my feet, roll that throttle, and race toward that far horizon.
the freedom of feathered wing
over hollow bone
riding the thermals
climbing ever upward
gliding
circling
warmed by the sun
adrift in the heavens
free as the breeze
that envelopes me
suddenly…
I dive earthward
wings tucked
rocketing down
toward the crystal blue
of a crisp mountain lake
my vision
piercing the clear surface
penetrating to the bottom
then I sail out
racing purposefully
a talon’s reach
‘cross the wind-blown chopwater
and connect
a slight tilt in my wings
carries me skyward once more
my prey in my powerful grasp
lifting toward the treetop
of a massive conifer
towering at water’s edge
reaching the peak
my wings at full extension
I flap them gracefully backward
pulling against momentum
the prize viced in my beak
I glide down
gently reaching
to land soft as a fallen leaf
in the uppermost branches
the victorious hunter
home again
