NaPoWriMo #26 – Power / Alternatives

This is my twenty-sixth post for National Poetry Month 2010
• one free verse poem
• one tanka


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• inspired by Jill Crammond Wickham’s day 26 prompt at read write poem

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Power

•

let us speak of power

the writer’s words
the artist’s eye
the craftsman’s hands
the singer’s voice
the player’s soul
the actor’s courage

all who rise up in creativity
to share their gift

who elevate our humanness
shun our negative self

who share their spirit to inspire

who see great possibility
in the face of great challenge

who will not succumb
but prevail
as a kindled flame
to light our darkness

theirs is the power
they are the powerful
for they empower

• • •

 

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Alternatives

•

three hundred miles gone

we’re just above dream canyon

big storm front building

cycles won’t make the snow pass

guess we point our two wheels south

• • •


• poem and tanka by: rob kistner © 2010

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…check out the other offerings at readwritepoem

NaPoWriMo #25 – part 3: The Circle Game

This is part 3 of my twenty fifth post for National Poetry Month 2010

…this poem was inspired by the April 25th prompt at Poetic Asides — write a poem inspired by a song…

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In considering today’s Day 25 prompt by Robert Lee Brewer at Poetic Aides, I was drawn to the taxing journey that is NaPoWriMo every year — which caused me to reflect on the larger journey that is life itself. The journey we all take, different though they may be.

Such a long way I’ve come on this road of life. The distant horizon intersects the vanishing point of my past. Yet still, my life stretches far back over that horizon, into the fog of memory — past vanishing point upon vanishing point. So great is the distance, that recollection staggers me.

The miles I’ve traveled, the experiences I’ve gathered, the people I’ve known — these are a part of me. Likewise, the joy, laughter, pain, tears — the fear, courage, the battles won and lost, the scars… these are all fibers of my being. As is the love, hate, compassion, exhilaration, desperation, wonder, the discovery — through the days, weeks, months, though the seasons, the years.

So many lifetimes I’ve consumed, so many different people I have been. Each unique and precious, even the most painful — for they are my collective self. All has knitted together, folding and building upon itself, to create this journey that is me. I am defined by my journey, and by my journey, I am known to others — this man of 63, still seeking enlightenment and actualization.

Robert has inspired me to share a poem by Joni Mitchell, to which I have added a poem in the form of three verses. I made a draft attempt to do this 3 years ago but abandoned the project. Now I am motivated to complete the endeavor.

My poem will appear italicized and in a different font color, blended into the body of Joni’s poem. Joni put her poem to music. Entitled the “The Circle Game”, it first appeared in April of 1970, on her “Ladies of the Canyon” album. I have always been drawn to the magic of these words. I find it a brilliant reflection on the journey of life.

Joni is one of the finest female poets of our time, a fact sadly often overlooked, because of her great success in music. She is also an exceptional artist. Click here if you would like to go to her site and “discover” this brilliant, and still active, creative soul.

I’ve done my best not to spoil the power of what was originally written. Here is Joni Mitchell’s beautiful “The Circle Game”, begging your indulgence of my humble additions.


 

The Circle Game

•

yesterday a child came out to wonder
caught a dragonfly inside a jar
fearful when the sky was full of thunder
and tearful at the falling of a star

then the child moved ten times round the seasons
skated over ten clear frozen streams
words like, when you’re older, must appease him
and promises of someday make his dreams

sixteen springs and sixteen summers gone now
cartwheels turn to car wheels thru the town
they tell him, take your time, it wont be long now
till you drag your feet to slow the circles down

so the years spin by and now the boy is twenty
though his dreams have lost some grandeur coming true
there’ll be new dreams, maybe better dreams and plenty
before the last revolving year is through

and the seasons they go round and round
and the painted ponies go up and down
we’re captive on the carousel of time
we can’t return, we can only look behind
from where we came
and go round and round and round
in the circle game

the hands of time swing round faster and faster
life begins to carve his journey in this man’s face
a successful man with riches, but he wonders
how long past 40 can he keep this pace

suddenly he’s looking back at 60
he’s known tragedy and triumph both the same
he’s borrowed bought and sold his way to power
he’s leveraged his soul to play the game

now an old man gazing out his window
trying to remember how long it’s rained
he sits alone here by the fire in contemplation
was all he lost worth what it was he gained

and the seasons they go round and round
and the tides of fate they go up and down
we’re captive in the ebb and flow of time
we can’t return, we can only look behind
from where we came
as we take our final turn
in the circle game

• • •



copyright © Siquomb Publishing Company
additional verses by: rob kistner © 2010


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…photo of Joni Mitchell from her website, Joni Mitchell.com

NaPoWriMo #24 – part 3: Evensong

This is part 3 of my twenty fourth post for National Poetry Month 2010

…this poem was inspired by the April 24th prompt at Poetic Asides — write an evening poem…

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Evensong

•

as dusk descends upon this place
my stride holds smooth and steady
with grace and heady expectation
the downing sun a gentle gold embrace

early shadows fall soft across my face
as vesper’s velvet blanket
drapes its comfort ’round my shoulders
splendid calm envelops me

there is still some road to travel
I am eager to keep the journey
drawn by the beauty
that is the rising moon in sunset

facing into the evening breeze
I venture onward toward my love
rolling amber fires the lane
spreads warm ‘cross the horizon

a fog begins to rise and waft
I see nestled in the valley
my blessed hearth & home
veiled copper in eventide

my heart rises in the moment
caught up in this gorgeous vale
the ribbon of its brook entwines
wraps my soul in evensong

my smile sweetens
my pace livens
I hum a quiet melody
the wonder of another day

• • •

rob kistner © 2010


…artwork entitled “Evening Glory” by: Steven Mitchell

Vicarious



Vicarious

•

unquestionably joy
in a most unexpected place
the eyes of an innocent
cruel society deems disabled

bent and stooped
gripped and twisted
confined to constant care
and his rolling metal chair

his gentle eyes reflect a wonder
my heart has long since lost
by vanity extinguished

his spirit knows only trust
it pours forth from his soul

he rocks and waves
sways and vibrates
fully alive in the now

positioned near the stage
he is enthralled by the rhythm
enraptured by the magic

the guitar soars
the saxman wails
the singer roars
the drummer flails

he is consumed by every note
every beat
every nuance

he experiences an ecstasy
at which I can only marvel
can only enviously imagine

oh, if I could but feel the joy
this precious being feels
so complete
and unexpected

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

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• you can live vicariously at One Single Impression

NaPoWriMo #9 – Jazzzzz

This is my ninth post for National Poetry Month 2010
• one free verse poem
• one haiku




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…this piece was written in keeping with the spirit of a prompt by Robert Peake, over at read write poem…



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Jazz in a Parallel Universe

•

we was scorchin’
torchin’
in the zone
lighting chops
flamin’ righteous

primo riffin’
smokin’ sacred
glorified ‘n sanctified

fused bruised and overused
the big axe jumped
pumped
and thunder thumped
lubed ‘n locked âN lugnut crazy

scene was pure
to the fringe
slammin’
jammin’
come to jesus

skins was raucous
reeds was rippin’ trippin- sanity slippin’
blood ‘n bone on broken tusk
brass ‘and n balls to the bell-tone edge

soul elation
elevation
riot smooooooth
‘n devastation

upright
‘n bottom tight
we brought down the house
this velvet night

• • •







 

Jazzin’

•

first notes soar skyward

stars shine in the clear night air

jazzin’ has begun

• • •

poem and haiku by: rob kistner © 2010

• artwork at top of post entitled “Hot Licks” – by: rob kistner © 1997

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…for more NaPoWriMo 2010 day nine poems, go to readwritepoem

Sing

 

 

Sing

•

a tear can cloud the brightest day
song will brush aside the clouds
is not sadness just a passing state
but what a melody can chase away

a tune played true with voice in tow
little sorrows flee from such display
thing is, so few will dare seek joy
and thus succumb to feeling low

yet when life is lived in harmony
what hurt you have will drift and fade
joy in chorus will lift the heart
it swells the soul in reverie

is it not foolish to keep bliss entombed
to see not but the dark and gloom
sing — and laughter will light the room

a song is but a little thing
and yet what joy it is to sing

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

• photorendering entitled “Sing For Joy” – by: rob kistner © 2010
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…catch the other tunes at Carry On Tuesday

The Book(s)

Two books that changed everything for me — “On The Road” by Jack Kerouac,

and “The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test” by Tom Wolfe.

I was a disenchanted-college-student-rock-musician and had just been awakened by the ’67 Summer of Love, when I came upon both of these books in the Spring of 1968 in a bookstore in Clifton, Ohio, just down from the Ludlow Garage, where my band, Stone Fox, had just opened for the Allman Brothers and Santana.

These books fueled my frustration with “the system”, sparked my wanderlust, and eventually found me and my three best friends, astride internal combustion iron horses, young men heading west — and thus began the rest of my life.

What these books represented was not a map for the rest of my life, I’m well beyond that angst. Rather, they’re important to me because they were the catalyst that first ignited my genuine independent thought, and empowered me to act on that thinking.

Following here is a poem I wrote which reflects, quite well, where my head was during that period. You can also click on the highlighted passage young men heading west in the previous paragraph to read a poem I wrote about the motorcycle journey.

 

Bohemian Nightfall

•

when night fell on bohemia
the streets were set ablaze
in black light
in strobe light

it was tie-dyed psychedelia
when night fell on bohemia

jack and neal were on the road
ridin’ with the fire-whores
of angst and indignation
like combustin’ carnal fireballs
when night fell on bohemia

allen was howlin’
pal’n with corso
and long’n for peter

hunter, groin deep
in the brain-drug flesh festival
…hunter was fearful
and loathing it all
when night fell on bohemia

bill, stark naked
was lunchin’ with the devil
jelly-rollin’ in a hell fire
when night fell on bohemia

gary headed for cold mountain
to watch it all from sourdough
electric bob went subterranean

me – stung by disenchantment
the swollen outlaw bastard
coming fast
hard as holy hell
cresting and crashing in
just as night fell on Bohemia

I was on my way
howling mad
and mind-expanded
in a rolling demon’s fire,
lighting the night
dancing with beelzebub
raving and blazing
hormone’d-hungry
lusting and longing to gorge
every forbidden morsel and crumb –

the smorgasborgadelic mindfeast

when night fell on bohemia
ken and tim
gathered up the faithful
on the magic bus
and stole off with the future

like pranksters

ever further

• • •
rob kistner © 2008

…this post was inspired by sunday scribblings

Duet

Duet
•

rounding a bend
brushing through waist-high fern
I crest a knoll and stop

mesmerized

awash in the warm brushstrokes of evening
filtered through this woodland realm
as the waning sun paints the world golden

below me
a pristine ribbon of silver-blue water
flecked with sunlight
sparkles like a strand of gems

transfixed
I marvel at the beauty
at the power
of this mighty river

as it tumbles in timeless clarity
over boulder and falls
ever onward

its lyric voice
beckons me

I come
entranced
stand immersed in its energy
captivated by its duet with the wind
that plays the boughs of the towering pines
singing down the lofty climbs
to gently brush my face
toss my hair
and dance past me round a bend
in perfect harmony

serenaded in this evensong
sunset has melted into moonrise
the waters ripple sterling in soft applause

the moon sets aglow this splendid concert
so I listen
spellbound

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

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• photographs taken near my home in the Cascade Mountain foothills

top photo entitled: “Sunlight on the Clackamas”
bottom photo entitled: “Moon over the Santiam”

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…this edited rewrite of an older work of mine was inspired by sunday scribblings

Unexpected

NaPoMo poem #27

This is the twenty seventh of the poems I will write this April, in honor of National Poetry Month, as proclaimed by the Academy of American Poets.

This poem is an edited rewrite of a older poem of mine and was inspired by a moving personal experience, offered here in response to the NaPoWriMo Wordle prompt #27 at read write poem.

• NOTE: these poems will all essentially be early drafts, so edits may occur after their initial posting.

 

Unexpected

•

unquestionable joy
in a place most unexpected
the crystalline eyes of an innocent
cruel society deems disabled

bent and stooped
impossibly twisted
confined to constant care
and his rolling metal chair

a hardscrabble life
that would drive a lesser soul
to lunacy

but his gentle eyes reflect a wonder
my jaded heart has long since lost
by arrogance extinguished

his timeless spirit knows only trust
it pours forth from his being

positioned close and cozy
to the modest stage
he is enraptured by the music
engulfed within the rhythm

enthralled by this magic
he is beaming
like an angel

the band plays fast
the band plays slow
the band plays loud
the band plays low

he rocks forward
he rolls backward
waves in jubilation
and launches heart and soul
into a wicked shoulder wiggle
as he vibrates unabashed
with pure delight

the veins of his neck
stand out full and proud
as he tosses back his head
uninhibited in laughter
tears of joy
leaking down his cheeks

his person full alive
his essence full aware
his nascent bliss aglow
he is wholly in the now

he is filled with every note
wrapped up in the cadence
sparked by the drumbeat
thrilled by every nuance

he experiences an ecstasy
at which I can only marvel
its clarity and power I can never know

it’s at this moment
that I realize
how much I do not understand

as I behold this able man

faint envy stirs
watching his unbridled joy

so complete
and unexpected

• • •

rob kistner © 2009

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• you can find other NaPoMo offerings at read write poem

 

My First

NaPoMo poem #8

This is the eighth of the poems I will be writing each day here in April, in honor of National Poetry Month, as proclaimed by the Academy of American Poets.

• NOTE: these poems will all essentially be early drafts, so edits may occur after their initial posting.

 

My First

•

radiant in the bloom of youth
perfect skin of alabaster
eyes blue as the sea of Zanadu
chestnut hair flows thick and lustrous

your voice is soft as spring’s first breeze
as rich and melodic as Chopin’s sonata
your beauty smolders like an august night
so much more than captivating

as your satin robe falls soft away
your shoulders catch the moon’s embrace
and as you gaze into my eyes
my heart and all of time stands still

my eyes then glide your wondrous flesh
trace the gentle edge of dark and light
where moonlight fondles your perfect form
as it enfolds you through the open window

I follow full measure your lyric essence
lost in the tangles of your silken hair
aglow in nocturne’s silvered light
as they fan in wisps your graceful neck

I linger on eager bud of tender breast
then fall entranced by the velvet flower
shadowed in the satin cleft
where supple limb meets supple limb

I reach to take you in my arms
to learn the feel of you on me
with precious care I lay you down
and enwrap you in a lover’s passion

alive in a rush of sweet sensations
I’m swept away in a flood of pleasure
so wonderfully new – you are my first
the one I always will remember

• • •

rob kistner © 2009

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• you can find other NaPoMo offerings at read write poem

 

Nocturne – video-poem

 

Nocturne

•

 

…poem was written, and multimedia production was created by: rob kistner © 2008

NOTE: To read “Nocturne” CLICK HERE

 

…poem submitted in response to readwritepoem prompt #85

Swept Away – multimedia poem

 

Swept Away

•

• NOTE: To insure quality, this video poem is presented as a QuickTime Movie™.

• To play, please CLICK the start arrow at the left in the bar on bottom of image.

The Gig

 

…a musician’s tale told in multi-era players’ lingo…

 

The Gig

•

man we was cookin’
we maxed the zone
the gig
was flamin’ righteous

I was on my chops
hammered primo riffs
my fender
was really smokin’

our upright dude
laid down cool bottom
his big axe
thumped with thunder

the scene was jake
we was jammin’ smooth
our stick man
rocked his traps

we kicked our tunes
brought down the house
the night
was true far out

the leg were fox
freak, we were stoked
to my pad
we all were trukin’

but first château blanc
to down some slyders
sweet midnight
belly bombs

next the pony keg
to cop some kingers
to set
a mellow buzz

then down the rabbit hole
full blown away
to wrap
this trip pure golden

• • •

rob kistner © 2009

 

…following is the English interpretation

The Performance

we were playing quite good
one of our best performances ever

I personally was playing my guitar exceptionally well
technically and creatively

our bass guitar player was playing deep and strong

everybody present was having a great time
our drummer was playing his very best

every song sounded very good
the crowd reacted with tremendous applause

the women in attendance were beautiful
we all were able to secure dates and were going to my house

but first we went to White Castleâ„¢ restaurant
(a hamburger chain found throughout Midwestern USA)
for some hamburgers

then we stopped at a convenience store
to purchase some Schoenling Little Kings Cream Ale
(beer that comes in short 7oz. green bottles)

and had a wildly exciting party
that lasted until sunrise

 

• • •

…poem inspired by read write poem #61, found at “readwritepoem”

 

Nocturne

 

A brooding full moon, in image, verse, and spoken word

Author’s note: this piece does not expose a secret, but instead, it deals with the weight and burden of keeping dark disturbing secrets buried away.

 

 

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

like 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

 

To hear poem read by author, click here: