•
ever hissing ever hissing
the smooth slithered snake
stealthily winds its slender self
to slowly settle in the shadows
to set its searching sights
on its unsuspecting prey
an ever patient sentry
coiled to seize its precious prize
with surety of purpose
this silent sleek assassin
will strike swift and certain
never missing never missing
• • •
rob kistner © 2011
the graceful glide
engulfed by the spire
in a roar of golden orange
horribly beautiful
perversely mesmerizing
obscene
devastating images
torrents of humanity
raining down
desperation their only escape
masses of humanity
racing
to outrun the unbelievable
praying
to be delivered from the inconceivable
traumatic images
shrines of free commerce
consumed
by the unbearable weight
of their fragile significance
plummeting to earth
in a cloud of self-destruction
heartbreaking images
screaming
dazed
terrified souls
consumed
by the unbearable weight of the moment
staggering onward
to outdistance the surging roll
of all-engulfing
pulverized aftermath
courageous images
battered
determined
tireless heroes
those who were called
who served unselfishly
some
who gave the ultimate service
haunting images
color
gender
ethnicity
wiped away
from the ashen-grey faces
of the traumatized throngs
now just masks of calamity
all made equal
by horror and grief
one nation
under siege
inconsolable
with tragedy and sorrow
for all
unforgettable images
burned into our hearts
•
I’m the sad little clown with the frowning face
the round red nose and the great big tear
this meek facade and silly sham
belie the horror that I engineer
life’s dealt me cold my hand is slack
not one queen no king nor ace
so violence now dwells in me
masked behind my woeful face
no one suspects the evil soul
that festers deep in this funny fool
they know not the monster here
my gentle sheen conceals the cruel
they don’t realize a broken heart
a ruined life makes one quite mad
they simply see the pitiful
the painted face that looks so sad
the shaggy coat the baggy pants
the red suspenders the big white glove
they do not know it hides the hand
that choked the life from the one they love
town after town state after state
bodies mount in the circus’ wake
in the dead of night at the dark of moon
in frenzied fever each life I take
each beautiful each innocent
each unaware that they would die
there will be more on the road ahead
one for every tear you made me cry
when the circus comes and the tents go up
the people cheer in each sleepy town
because the poor fools just don’t know
who’s really come is the killer clown
• • •
rob kistner © 2011
_____________________
for two more tales of murder written in dark rhyme click “more”
when my forlorned
fallen face
is commonplace
when no one intrudes
to question
what’s the matter
because all around
are caught up in the blues
oh if only
you could find it
in your heart
to forgive
this sadly lost
and broken man
who much too late
understands
he was a fool
and in his sorrow
understands
why you refuse
but how I wish
ill-tempered weather
would ensue
to drive the joyful
all around me
to indoor spaces
so I’d be spared
the pain
of smiling faces
and the bitter
bitter memory
of losing you
~ ~ ~
rob kistner © 2011
______________________
How Poetry Comes to Me
by: Gary Snyder
It comes blundering over the
Boulders at night, it stays
Frightened outside the
Range of my campfire
I go to meet it at the
Edge of the light
•
and he saw them leaving
and he opened his mouth in farewell
but only dust escaped
and broken dreams
and a spoiled promise
from long ago
left too long on the shelf
so he raised his hand
to gesture a wave
but he was rigid
and could not
and they did not hear him
and they did not see him
for he had already vanished
• • •
rob kistner © 2011
• linked at Magpie Tales
•
how impertinent
moth and junebug
what’s with all this buzzing chatter
you’re bump and thump and all a’clatter
worrying with the frontporch light
steaming on this august night
such racket over a minor matter
while here below you
my heart breaks in silence
• • •
rob kistner © 2011
• linked at Magpie Tales and OSI
•
when donned the mask
the transformation
smoulders forth the other
the fantasy
on wings of dreams
she is she
and too
the other
unleashed at light of passion’s moon
manifest at your request
sustained this night
at her delight
she is your isis
she is your venus
she is your every longing loosed
she brings everything in life you miss
bestowed with aphrodite’s kiss
but as you burn you should know this
beneath the mask waits a dark abyss
• • •
rob kistner © 2011
• linked at Magpie Tales
•
sad she comes
everyday
to these empty shores
on wings of memory
to serenade this sea
a song of longing
bowed on strings
of a broken heart
mournful for the one
lost to these silent fathoms
her tears
steady as the mists
relentless swept away
by these cold
indifferent waves
only they
know where her lover lies
so everyday she comes
taunted by these tides
to seek their mystery
and every night
darkness falls
chill upon this deep
her forlorn refrain
shatters in the moonlight
the sea holding cruel tight
to its precious secret
• • •
rob kistner © 2011
_________________________
TWO OTHER RECENT POEMS:
•
connection
to make contact
searching for the sync
the heart of the matter
in this solitary journey
from womb to tomb
a stranger
on the bus of days
seeking distraction
chatting them up
to suppress
the voice of isolation
immersed in the small talk
of love
and accomplishment
to drown
the incessant murmur
of alienation
the chant of abandonment
ever there to remind
that we board alone
to make our way
toward an enigmatic destination
clinging
to a vague vision
of home
to disembark
as we began
• • •
rob kistner © 2011
• collage entitled “The Sync” – by: rob kistner © 2011
__________________
• linked at Carry On Tuesday and Magpie Tales
•
the landscape
losing its gild
mottles
in gunmetal grays
fractured storm clouds
churn
in huddling menace
brightened breezes
that sizzled in the aspens
build
buffeted by the angry front
thrashing
into brittling winds
the world
tumbles towards darkness
my heart
shudders in deep shadow
mourning love’s devastation
scorching words
bite and sting
where they sizzle still
blistering my careless tongue
would that it rain
drown the lands
that I might
turn my face to the sky
flood my foolish mouth
charred by regret
with drenching waters
of contrition
to douse the cruel fire
of that
which should never have been said
• • •
rob kistner © 2011
• collage entitled “Sorrow” – by: rob kistner © 2011
________________
inked at Writer’s Island
This poem was sparked by the incredible power of our earth, as exhibited most recently by the devastating tornadoes that swept through the American Southeast, and with deep reverence and sympathy for those who suffered as a result. I admire greatly your courage and will to live.
Unfazed
•
we live
by its grace
at its mercy
with delusions of mastery
so close to extinction
grappling awestruck
day-in day-out détente
survival in spite
brute power
incredible beauty
this tolerant
indifferent planet
perhaps the imminence of peril
embellishes our wonder
ignites our superstitions
kindles our will to live
but our light will blink out
this orb will evolve
shine on
unfazed
• • •
rob kistner © 4/29/11
•
he wakes
unbidden by alarm
lingers in the darkness
warm neath the blankets
fumbling for the lamp
follows moments of procrastination
before he lifts himself upright
slides feet into slippers
to rise ever so stiffly
from the comfort of bed
pulling on his robe
he ambles to the kitchen
takes a cup from the shelf
pours chamomile tea
brewed ready each morning
by the wonders of technology
he retreats to his office
to his chair
where it waits
welcoming
in a pool of soft light
buffered against the chill
of pre-dawn dark
he sits
sips steeped motivation
quietly peeling away fog
that layers his mind
residue of another fitful night
he is somber
but pleased to be awake
to be alive
grateful for the peace
and the quiet of early morning
fleeting though it is
his thoughts
begin to un-blend
to gather
in a cohesive palette
stirring his notice
slowly they sort
in colors of mood
melancholy greys
fear’s dark ebony
purples of pain and anger
the violet of regret
sorrowful blues
gentle peaceful greens
golden joy
laughter’s bright amber
love’s ruby red
the scarlet of passion
this morning
reflections on his mortality
newly threatened
shoulder in coldly
crowding his reverie
pondering his plight
cursing fate
he struggles
neath the weight of uncertainty
a riot of emotions
overcome him
he seeks clarity
he reaches for his laptop
his tool of resolution
his canvass of language
in the spreading saffrons
and corals of dawn
he begins painting deep indigo
• • •
rob kistner © 2011
A Poem Using Three Lines from Norman Dubie’s “Of Politics & Art”
(the borrowed lines are italicized)
•
here
on the farthest point of the peninsula
an office building is burning
ignited by a single match
careless or criminal
not yet known
inconceivable
that such a structure
can be so wholly engulfed
but the fire was too fierce
and the distance too great
for rescue
but what of the fury
in that single first flame
to have leapt so viciously to consume
to ravage
to devastate so absolutely
it is always there
la nature du feu
like the rage of a repressed
and violated being
too long held down
unjustly deprived
confined
all potential denied
where there is great potential
spirit squelched
where there is great spirit
sometimes a whole civilization can be dying
until finally a single incident
the spark
unleashes a righteous inferno
that has no bounds
it is always there
la nature du feu
all around the good people gather
stare in disbelief
how is this possible here
not realizing that such power to combust
to blaze so brilliantly
can only be suppressed for so long
it is always there
la nature du feu
ready to explode
like the fury in the head of that match
and when the smoulder becomes full flame
all will burn
out here on the peninsula
and in here
at the still and protected center
• • •
rob kistner © 2011
•
the hollow wallow
aglow in the spotlight’s heat
to boast odes of praise for him
in death
who had few words of warmth for him
in life
while those who love him
pay true tribute
with searing tears
of silent grief
• • •
rob kistner © 2011
Wedges
•
he was slicing wedges
prepping for the night crew
when the stranger entered
walked quietly to the bar
it happened fast
no one saw him draw
the shot traumatized the patrons
no one saw his face
he vanished into the evening
before anyone comprehended
the frail thread of life
severed in a heartbeat
• • •
rob kistner © 3/1/11
…written for Magpie Tales
