At the sorrowing hour
in deepest night
alone with my thoughts
my terrors
my dreams
sculpting words into wedges
that pry open my psyche
expose raw emotion
bare my soul
here I might glimpse
static free
who really I am
here is my truth
*
rob kistner © 2022
Poetry at: dVerse
After the brutal way you departed
after the forgotten goodbye’s never said
after horror’s realization would not go away
after there was nothing left to enjoy
after the laughter fell silent and mute
after the sadness collected day upon day
after the spaces fell hauntingly empty
after the familiar grew distant and dead
after our time together faded far to the past
after the bitter taste of grief stung my lips
after the loneliness mounted unbearingly
after your memory spilled through my fingers too fast
I did not think you could go deaf in the quiet
I did not think sorrow would burrow in so far
didn’t think the screams in my head would turn to riot
nor did I know how deeply this silence would scar
*
rob kistner © 2022
Poetry at: The Sunday Muse
Poetry at: earthweal
Will you again
be my sweet Juliet
my love for you
still burns hot
drives me utterly mad
you are bewitching
you are by far
the truest love
I’ve ever had
a radiant vision
silken skinned
a translucent
alabaster blaze
torrid
as a teen’s temptation
your body beckons
with invitation
standing here
before me
yearning
my needs are fired
consumed
I’m burning
you must be mine
you will
eternally
my nubile vixen
my dream sublime
oh yes
you are my Juliet
your graceful face
brazen aglow
my fingers tangled
in your hair
I bring your lips to mine
sure — but slow
swept away
I lay you back
on velvet sheets
wrapped in my arms
my eyes aflame
in fetched seduction
I explore
your secret charms
I will be your Romeo
if you let me
I’ll be your last
please — my love — agree
I am always
your potent Spring
here smoldering
on passion’s pyre
lost in the golden light
that folds upon you
soft as satin
silk desire
my fingers trace
your young glistening back
that tempting tapers
to the tender fire
a wonderland
for fingertips
to touch
and tease
and tantalize
such beauty
of unworldly measure
only gods
could fantasize
engulfed
I explore
your quivering body
love-inflicted
soul-addicted
you’re beautiful
as any Juliet
so luscious
heavenly grand
a divinely-pleasing
sculpted vessel
brought forth
by Aphrodite’s hand
a vision
as to hypnotize
enticing in the candle’s flicker
fondled by my hungry eyes
with willful hands
of pleasured probing
I wrap slender waist
then slowly slide
‘cross pleading hips
of sensuous rise
to fall
into the fiery folds of eros
sculpted
from the charms of Venus
’tween dual swells
of timeless myth
that writhe
in throes of pure desire
atop two lithe
and lathen’d stems
drawn by pleasure’s angels
tempered in their sacred fire
come my Juliet
be forever mine
I am your Romeo
until end of time
we knew they’d come for us
never let our sweet love be
not two so different
real love is never free
before we let
Azrael take us
let us die
to pleasured lust
‘til our hungry souls
are sated
’til my passion’s seed
has turned to dust
let our wanton
carnal flames
blaze ever bright
to roar ecstatic
not be rebuffed
in flames of eros
we’ll burn down this night
before they are
forever snuffed
Angel Azreal
*
rob kistner © 2022
Poetry at: dVerse
H ere in the Pacific Northwest, there is a rosy-red colored, rich cacophony of glorious song birds: the House Finch, Purple Finch, Red-breasted Sapsucker, and the Red Crossbill, along with songsters of other feathers, like the Western Tanager, that fill the mountain fresh breezes with their trills, tweets, twitters, chirps, and cheeps — the sweet sounds of spring! It perks the ears to bring a smile, and stirs happiness of the heart — lifting one’s spirit out of the doldrums of winter.
The sweet refrains ignite a crisp aliveness, so that all, no matter the age, health, or circumstance, feel the spark of gratitude for simply being alive. The belief that, in spite of it all, possibility still abounds, and life may truly be better. Poets and minstrels, down through the ages, into our present time, have equated and do equate, these lilting arias to the sound of joy — melodies played on the heart strings. Everywhere we go, their beauty spills into our day, brightening our sense of self, and bringing lightness to the world.
Western Tanager
Sapsucker, Purple Finch, Crossbill
*
rob kistner © 2022
Poetry at: dVerse
https://youtu.be/c6BbnQ3yL0w
https://youtu.be/kIqRwOFpi1o
A real pity it is to say…
but a person can lose their home
a person can lose their fine clothes
a person can lose their fancy trappings
a person can grow old, losing their vitality
and all that must be met
with courage
with kindness
a gentle greeting
understanding
and proper aid
even a brave person — to lose their *music
such a person would lose their joy — their mind
it would be the dark death of their verve their soul
and that would prove to be the true tragedy of their life
*
rob kistner © 2022
Poetry at: The Sunday Muse
R.I.P. John Prine 1946-2020 — you are missed
A voice in Ukraine sings out – may it be just one in a chorus of courageous resistance!
* Music means many things — faith, belief, courage, optimism, joy, sanity, strength, humility, memory, wonder, creativity, sorrow, forgiveness, celebration, soul, patience, hope, love — this, and much much more, is all one’s “music”! All the things above and beyond the material. Music of the spheres.
You are always there
I know for sure you are
some times quite near
only to again be far
I chase you through the fields
pursue you up the hill
I never seem to catch you
and know I never will
I have followed you every day
morning noon and night
but you rush on steadily
just beyond my sight
you are also always coming
but you can never quite get here
just when I think I see you
the picture’s again unclear
I must certainly admit
you’ve kept quite the pace
you’re not here or there
you are everyplace
though that day can never come
when we’re finally face to face
fact is — you’ve kept me busy
hope you prove worth the chase
I wonder — will you be good
or instead will you be bad
or will I simply find out
that I have just been had
if where I think you’re heading
simply proves to be untrue
that all along you’ve played me
then I am bloody mad — fuck you!
*
rob kistner © 2022
Poetry at: dVerse
*ANSWER: it’s the “future”. You can’t catch it. Even if you think you did, you’d find what you are holding is the present, the future has already got ahead of you. If you should happen to catch and stop the future, guess what — what you got is your death, then you definitely got no future. Truth is, the future is never quite what you thought it to be.
Briskly clean
silky cool
it spills in
the open window
slips satin soft
sly and sensuous
sheer and silent
as the moon
it wafts and tumbles
it tantalizes
swaddles you
in sweet refresh
dances gently
up your arms
across your chest
to brush your cheek
encircles itself
soft upon you
in satisfying
fond embrace
whispered rushes
fluttered breaths
night breezes
caress your skin
a lilting tender
breath of comfort
zephyred fingers
toss your hair
as quiet strains
of procol harum
serenade you
off to dreamland
drifting you deep
into spring night slumber
painting your dreams
a whiter shade of pale
Whiter Shade of Pale rose
*
rob kistner © 2022
Poetry at: dVerse
Smell of gloveleather
oiled in neatsfoot
smooth ash bat handle
heft on my shoulder
scrape of metal spikes
on concrete sidewalk
crisp chalklines
on soft tan dirt
seamed cowhide sphere
cupped in my hand
ballcap tugged snug
steppin’ on the diamond
remembering you dad
*
rob kistner © 2022
Poetry at: dVerse
Dad managed my high school hardball team. I managed both my sons after he passed. This coming summer, my surviving son will again manage my grandson, this time in his first year in Little League — and so it goes.
Oh but to live
high in the trees
just you and me
way way up
among the towering branches
in the forest canopy
where we can see
far as our eyes can see
and the feeling is free
intoxicating
liberating
exhilarating
a magic like flying
a place high up
in the sun-dappled trees
where we’d live
laugh
and make love
you and me
in the warm light
of peace
windows wide open
hearts wide open
minds wide open
future —
wide open
livin’ life slow
in the sun
and the breeze
embracing our dreams
replacing our worries
with belief in tomorrow
free to come and to go
livin’ life free
high among the trees
truly to be
free to fly
*
rob kistner © 2022
~ both artworks by Vika Muse of Ukraine ~
Poetry at: dVerse
My life’s focus — only my own
not giving thought that I might share
now foolish me I am alone
the path back home has overgrown
oh how I long to be back there
you were unselfish with your heart
now I see certain I was blind
I tore our tender love apart
ungrateful fool — I did depart
dreaming there’s better I could find
please my love — please now hear my plea
desperately I call to you
my empty life has turned on me
its seduction was trickery
in my life — you — were what was true
talk what you please of future spring
and sun-warm’d sweet to-morrow
when shunned love won’t heed your calling
and you’re fickle heart is rightly breaking
it is the loneliest of woe
*
rob kistner © 2022
Poetry at: dVerse
Hello…
hello…
testing testing
hello…
testing 1 2 3…
can anybody hear me…
hello
is anybody out there…
I can’t see clearly
damn these fogged lenses!
hello
hello
testing…
do we have connection?
is anybody even listening?
hello-oh-oh-oh… Ooo… Oooo…
*
rob kistner © 2022
Poetry at: The Sunday Muse
Oh —
if I could but glide
like a bird in flight
I would soar skyward
in sweeping circles
lifted high
on mighty thermals
not earthbound
not prisoner
to this rock and clay
not a captive
of gravity
of memory
of heartache
this day
my spirit
would be light as air
untethered
away
gone
*
rob kistner © 2022
Poetry at: The Sunday Muse
The moon sets
in pre-dawn’s soft glow
as comes the fire
of day’s first light
carried confidently
by the lantern bearer
to lead us out of night
to chase ashened dreams
and welcome morning
morning’s a feeling
a wonderful healing
the sunlight revealing
all darkness was stealing
from our sight
from our heart
in this night
as we rise
we fix our eyes
on the dawning
knowing
miracles are possible
our hearts spawn a melody
to carry us through
until twilight
bids the day adieu
but as sunlight’s chorus swells
morning spreads its magic
*
rob kistner © 2022
Poetry at: dVerse
When the fire of love
flickers dims and dies
and a shadow falls
deep in darkened eyes
hollow words of love
become but empty lies
that open door
of a tender heart
has swung quietly closed
round the fragile part
what once so sweet and effortless
can never again feel right
and the fall begins so near unseen
as though but the passing of night
until one morning no dawn breaks
no tenderness nor warmth awakes
and a loneliness encircles slow
you seek the one that you’ve loved so
she’s here arms reach
she shares your bed
you roll and turn
then lift your head
you search her face
in the predawn glow
whose eyes these are
you no longer know
you feel no tears
you feel no fight
a knowing rises from this night
sadly it will never again be right
it’s in this painful clarity
you realize
you know
though she’s still here in your bed
her heart
left long ago
*
rob kistner © 2022
Poetry at: dVerse
~ my little buddy Blackee ~
Oh it’s fine that logic’s got beyond me
I might turn off my mind completely
sanity’s so very overrated
I don’t think it means much — you see
so who’s to say that I can’t fly
and whose right is it to question why
I wear my trousers inside out
it helps keep the pockets dry
I see you smirking at my hat
it’s aluminum foil — imagine that
it helps with my cell phone reception
and fascinates my trusty cat
although I think my sweet cat Blackee
wonders if perhaps at times I’m whacky
he looks at me bemused and startled
on days I dye my long hair khaki
yes I do lose track of time
days and weeks — is that a crime
you know — it’s all just one’s perspective
you’ve got yours — I’ve got mine
and I’ve a language of my own
like no other that you’ve known
my cat Blackee understands me
it’s all we speak when we’re alone
Blackee sings backup in a band
he tells me they are really grand
they sing all night in another language
so I don’t really understand
some girl made a song about him
I personally think it’s kinda grim
makes Blackee sound like he’s bad
he says it’s just this girl’s whim
now if you see me on the street
ignore the cowbells on my feet
it helps keep gawkers out my way
I’m not nuts — I’m just offbeat
but my little Blackee loves me
he tells me so — every day
and he believes that I can fly
he thinks the day’s close I finally try
*
rob kistner © 2022
Poetry at: Day 7 NaMoWriMo