Month: May 2023

Original digital art entitled “Sssspecial Kissss” by: rob kistner © 7/19/23

Paint me coral
like a snake
darling
I’ll slither lovingly
just for you

or panda red
my sweet thing
I’ll cuddle
the whole night through

if you’ll be gentle
my lover
butterfly my cheeks
tart tangerine

paint my fantasies
flamingo rose
paint my carnal thoughts
serene

paint me
with the soft brushes
like wings of a dove

paint me
with mink brushes
of hot impassioned love

stroke’em sensually eager
‘cross my glistening skin

and if I swoon like a swan
paint me once again

paint me
spread like a peacock
with iridescent lust

then accent all my edges
with lion-golden dust

paint me lonely
like a wild dear
paint me sad
as a turtle
paint me fragile
as a baby bunny
like a bossy badger
paint me mad
just please paint me so good
because I am sooo bad

painted human body art — by: Alexa Meade

paint me bare naked aching
paint every rise — touch every fall
be sensual with the liberties your taking
move sloth-like slowly, paint it all

paint my beating heart
a sultry tamarin gold
then paint my tender secret parts
make your brushstrokes brazen bold

titillate me tiger
with your special
sablecat-tipped brush

paint me dappled
like a cheetah
make my animal blood rush

paint me wolfen-eyed wilding
paint me mountain lion hush

paint me leopardly languid
and lecherously lush

paint my skin a steamy smolder
just let it all flow fully

paint me lil’rough
like my big bear
I like a bit’a bully

or fingerpaint me
in a frenzy
mind spinning
cannot think

paint me juicy as an oyster
or paint me slippery salmon pink

now — should you run out of brushes
and exhaust your fingertips
paint me deep with gentle kisses
the final strokes
your lush coral lips

Original digital art —“Coral Kissss” by: rob kistner © 7/19/23

*
* 24 creatures from earth, air, and water referenced above — d’ya find ‘em all?

*
rob kistner © 2022

The poetry animals are at: dVerse

Self Portrait — by: Alexa Meade

 
I was the walrus
the fool on the hill
and the nowhere man
I would be nowhere still

but many a hard day’s night
it was you who held my hand
down this long and winding road
now it won’t be long to Pepperland

*
rob kistner © 2023

Poetry at: dVerse

 
S oon I’ll be leaving for the moon
though mars is where I want to go
big red will simply have to wait
zero hour’s 10 AM today

liftoff will take me into space
I’ll then be heading for the moon
rocketman’s weightless wonderland
this earth will no longer hold me

see — mars is very far away
very far’s where I want to be
though I’m soon leaving for the moon
it’s not quite far enough for me

of course, I’ll always love you dear
yes darling, yes — I’ll miss you too
I remember — I said we’d wed
but today, I leave for the moon

*

rob kistner © 2021

Poetry at: dVerse

Meet my maddening muse

at times
he’s so unfocused
unclear
uncentered

he can be unsettled
unleveled
disheveled

his message fractured
misaligned
garbled

though I try to interpret
it’s just a blur
amorphous

it’s so aggravating
even infuriating

no solid inspiration

aswim in desperation
each night
becomes each morning

here I sit
in the wee hours
while the sane sleep
I’m steeped
in contradiction

hypnotized in trance
watching concepts dance

thoughts vague
filled with doubt
words tossed about
the unyielding page

I start
then stop
I write
then not
I’m caught

it’s all mercilessly unclear
debilitating confusion
an exasperating delusion
an unreachable conclusion

terminal hesitation
mad mental extrapolation
jostled communication

oh hell
it’s creative constipation

utter agitation
supreme frustration

jumbled afterimages
of conflicting thoughts
bring quiet rage

fickle muse — please
just a spark
to squelch this dark
that grips me like a cage

I’m seekin’ clarity
not charity

shine a lil’light
I’ll do the write

just settle
damnit

settle!
 

“Seeking the Muse” by: rob kistner © 2007

*
rob kistner © 2023

Poetry at: dVerse

*
rob kistner © 2023

Poetry at: dVerse

Why
really… why

this is your first question here…
why?

well…
probably because I was exhausted
a night of tequila does that to me

I vaguely remember…
I nearly crashed the Range Rover
drivin’ home last night

and there’s another great question…
where…

…where the hell did I park
that damned P440e

but…
the question
that had me most intrigued
when I woke up this morning
and carefully looked around
was…

HOW the fuck!?

*
rob kistner © 2023

Poetry at: The Sunday Muse

See this abomination

this abomination begat of your myth
this abomination begat of your nightmare
this abomination begat of your creation
of your searing guilt

it is I — am this monster

I walk the darknes
that you so dread

I am your dead
I am your thrall

but still
I am you
your darkest de-evolution

the hideous you
insane to the bone

I am become the evil
you fear to embody

you live your unholy will
through my vile visage
which you hate like sin

a vicarious violation

but still — here am I
and here still
you beseech me

here to come
here to be
each putrid morning
that I might share
for your diseased ears

weak and miserable
come I — obedient
the broken fool

I am sustained
by this damp pall
that descends upon me
this era of growing darkness

that wraps ’round
my vile countenance
fevered with your fatigue
twisted with your despair

drawn forth at your call
to taste this death
I stumble
damaged by your sin
unleashed now
upon a broken world
corrupted by illusion
spoiled by arrogance

a world in chaos
as darkness deepens

this nocturne
I return
with this ruin-riddled
bloody horde
this violated innocence

this horrific death
this guilt
this shame

to tell you of
the innocence I’ve reviled
in your unhodly name
as we play
your hideous game

and so
I stumble on
bent by the weight of your evil
drowned in drenching sorrow

I slink angry
into this coming night
and
the next night
and
the night that follows
that always follows

captive
of your horrendous nightmare
of unbridled brutality

always your prisoner
in this forlorn world

guilty of your sin
guilty of your festered ways
seeking forgiveness
always
seeking forgiveness

that never comes

*
rob kistner © 2023

Poetry at: The Sunday Muse

Here
in the dream level
most like drowning
the id holds court

our darkest secrets
play out
in the false light
of veiled memory

recollections of fantasies
intersect our nightmares
drawing us
onto the plane of shadows
through the lair of the lost

into the realm
of the almost familiar
where everything lives
at the edge of clarity

unmade promises
teeter precariously
on the tips
of rigor’d tongues

and hearts break
under weight
of unexpressed love
a sorrow
impossible as
breathing underwater

it is here
I forsook forever
that which
I never found

forgiveness

*
rob kistner © 2023

Poetry at: The Sunday Muse

 
A stare of comely crystal blue
floats above a ruby pout
she takes you in devouring
has her way, then casts you out

tongue slides smooth ‘cross tender lip’s
like a saber being hone
her smile will have you hypnotized
as she cuts you to the bone

beautiful eyes — worldly wise
sleek as steel — tall and strong
swift and cunning — motor running
she might acquiesce, but not for long

think she is the one you seek
that would be a big mistake
she is anything but weak
she will make your small earth — quake

if this woman gets her grips on you
you better pray you’ll be released
‘cause she’s a lethal life force
both beauty — and the beast

*
rob kistner © 2023

Poetry at: Sunday Muse

Spring sun
warms my shoulders
lingering longer
each day

spring awakens

the pacific northwest
stirs to life
alfresco

days take on a exhilarating glow

the nurturing rains of spring
are subsiding

the air
especially mountain air
becomes intoxicatingly ionized

its a heady elixir
breathing the hyper-fresh air
bathing in the sunlight
which brilliantly illuminates
the cascade peaks

nature’s calendar
notated in golden rays
as soon —
solstice approaches

old growth stands
stretching upward
empowered by the vigor of spring
to meet the approaching summer

towering overhead
they offer their shade
to the forest floor

beneath their protective canopy
a complex world unfurls

freshened streams
crisp with spring melt
wend, pool, then stir
to careen their way
down the mountainside

briskly chill
energy charged

tumbling enlivened
between boulders
and tree fall

nature’s diversions
warmed by the nearing
spring sun

crystalline azure
high mountain lakes
ripple spritely
in the spring breeze

these lake basins
sharp cloud-spanned climbs
cascading rivers
and deep gentle meadows

each forged
not so long ago
by the sculpting hand
of the ice age

carving glaciers

all still reflect
their chiseled origins
and the power
of their geophysical youth

a world in harmony
transcending time

earth’s heartbeat
resonates in my bones

old growth
anthropocene forests
climb surrounding summits

now-dormant volcanic ranges
born of chaos and fire
loom boldly
in the distance

snow-capped giants
enshrouded in morning mist
pierce the skyline

subalpine wild flowers
paint the pastoral valley’s
of this breathtaking world
in vivid color

soul stirred
I gently gasp

a magical tapestry of life
unfolds before me

the approaching solstice
heralds summer’s peak
when neither dark of night
nor light of day
hold sway

this is a time of balance
a time of new birth
a time of continuing growth
a time of gratiurde

a sun-drenched
cornucopia of possibility

where seemingly dreams
— like new life
become reality

in this wilderness realm
I find my rhythm
I find my place
I find my sanctuary

the moon waxes and wanes
the sun rises and sets
the tides ebb and flow
waves crash and recede
nature sleeps and awakens

while here
midst this flux of existence
the mountains stand
constant
eternal

and the patterns repeat

*
rob kistner © 2023

Poetry at: dVerse
 

Poetry comes to me
in the breeze
stirring the trees
in a forest high canopy

in the rustle of leaves
and dried conifer needles
underfoot
hiking

in the drumming
of my footfalls
on old growth root chambers

in the crackle
of a chill
late night
campfire

in the cries, calls
chuffs, growls, and belling
of wild nature

it arrives in the roar
of the rolling waves
of the pacific ocean
crashing on rocky shores

or pounding cliff facades
flanking the oregon coast
thrusting skyward
from the ocean froth

it reveals itself
in a glimpse
of the moon rising

in the misty beams
of sunlight
falling golden
into a forest clearing

it floats
between the notes
of a mellow jazz tune

it comes unbidden
dancing elusively
in and out of my thoughts

it murmurs in the ripples
lapping my drift boat
fishing
a peaceful mountain lake

it comes enwrapped
in the sounds
of pacific northwest
wilderness

it comes in the quiet
deep in the night
when all else
has fallen away

it whispers to me
drawing me deeper
into the mystery
of it all

coaxing me to the edge
of awestruck comprehension

yet leaving me aglow
in brilliant bewilderment
warm in the embrace
of wonderment

compelled to write

Gary at his Nevada City, California, home.

*
rob kistner © 2023

Poetry at: dVerse
 

We are
the buds and the blossoms
the late-falling leaves
the arc fulfilled
the time come

come to the here
and the now

for all
that we are
at this moment eternal

gazing
into the fractured mirrors
of peace
love
and undersanding

embracing belief

*
rob kistner © 2023

Poetry at: dVerse

I’m your soul-mirror
the light
that fills your darkness

the found for your lost
the hope for your despair

I’m your neutral
blanking your negative
expelling it
from your realm of joy

it cannot sustain
I’ll reflect your complexities
so insecurity withers

and fades

*
rob kistner © 2023

Poetry at: dVerse

~ troubled man, pertinent and poignant messages, fucking otherworldly entertainer ~

 
So you say
you are the light
you know what’s right
you know the way

you are the prophet

HA!

you seek
only the meek

the mailable
herd minded

control
for profit
is your agenda

manipulator
strangulator
devastator

evil’s capitulator
is what you are

we’ve heard it all before

empty platitude
feigned gratitude
false attitude

no latitude of vision

defiles trust

single-minded lust
for power
dominance

swinging wildly
undisciplined

riding down the light
subjugating the bright

megalo
your god of need

mammon
your god of greed

inaptitude to lead

ineptitude to know

no rectitude
to even care

walking dead

talking head

ghost
of the machine

ghost
in the machine
of life

voice
of the machine
that gives you
life

conjurs your image

makes you dance
pitiful puppet

powerless
dominated
controlled

mindless specter

shell
blight
parasite

your piper promises
I will not
heed

from your hand
I will not
feed

by the light of truth
I am sustained

you are
innocence profaned

seducer
abuser
malevolent mouthpiece

mr. webster

by darkness
manipulated
nominated
elevated

so toxic
dangerous
deadly

but truth
will turn to power

soon
will come your hour

*
rob kistner © 2023

Poetry at: The Sunday Muse

the only way
is to keep
going

balanced of vision

step at a time

keep moving
forward
lest one
atrophies

frozen
are the over cautious
withered in
a cage of worry

to grow rigid
with
the rigor mortis
of fear

or worse still
immobilized
by apathy

unmoving
fallen
to the wayside of life
ineffective

here
you watch the flow
of people

the shuffle of feet
with their different sounds
according to their shoes

see shapes of faces
unsmiling lips
unconcerned of you

their void curve
denounce truth
dismiss dreams

yet unseen
the gossamer curtain’s
fall
defines their soul’s duality

the divergent reality
through which
truth is stumbling
blind

dreams hobble
maimed

terrified

you remain still
unstirring

horrified
of the wrong step

of the falacy
and frailty
of the journey all in

stiff
with unbending
ignorance
traumatizing terror

paralyzed
gawking inward
at hopelessness
at failure

fearful
that the cracks in your facade
will leave you
exposed
vulnerable

the slip begins

the
giving in
the giving up

the rot
that sets in
with
the loss of wonder

when grip lets go
of dreams

of possibility

arthritic loss of faith
debilitates
the spirit

cripples
the manifest light
that shines forth
at the leap
into darkness

into uncertainty

into the sacred unknown

of daring the way
unmarked

and thus
bleeds out
the color of life
of living

to become old
cold
grey
bent
infirm

useless

and the core-dead
furrows of wisdom
and venerable beliefs
are sown from a tower
of cracked logic

left unnurtured

to die
as putrefied husks
of
brittled remorse

and you
mired in
regret
for never having
shone so brightly
as to blind
the eyes of death

stopping is no option

*
rob kistner © 2023

Poetry at: The Sunday Muse