Hands of Neptune

…response to prompt #12 from Magpie Tales

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Hands of Neptune

•

like the disembodied
hands of Neptune
reaching from a rocky confine

breaking surface
into the watery realm

seeking
grasping
needing

but entombed
in a glassened globe
a crystal cage

cruelly shut away
from that which is most desired

contact
connection

prisoner
in brutal isolation
banished
even from the lesser gods

condemned eternally
to never know
the redemption of touch

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

Sad Little Clown

…presented as a second gracious salute to the first prompt from Big Tent Poetry

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Sad Little Clown

•

I am 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 a queen
no king nor ace

the violence
that dwells within
is masked behind
my woeful face

no one suspects
the evil soul
that festers deep
in this funny fool

they know not
the monster in me
the gentle sheen
conceals the cruel

they don’t realize
a broken heart
a ruined life
makes one quite mad

they simply see
the pitiful
and 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
and killed their 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

‘cause in their ignorance
what they don’t know
who’s really come
is the killer clown

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

____________________________________

photo from: Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus

Message in a Bottle

In the spirit of the 1st prompt on the newly re-opened Writer’s Island, I retrieved this message from my imaginary bottle, unrolled, then read it — this is what it said:

___________________________

Seamen brave and strong as we

There’s a truth that we all learn

When brave and strong men go to sea

Tis not certain they’ll return
___________________________

October 23rd, 1997

This may be the last few hours of my life. I feel compelled to take this paper and pen and chronicle my end – to feel I did not die in vain… in faith that someone may find this.

I penned the brief sea chant you see at the top, because it continues to turn over and over in my head.

I have no radio or communications devices. They were all destroyed. I have no way of getting a message out — save this crude method.

How I hope that someone will find this. The address of my family and their phone number is on the back. Please, whoever may discover this – see that it gets to my family. Thank you so very much!

I’m the only one left. Carey was killed in the crash, and Gill succumbed to his mortal wounds last night. I rolled his body into the ocean to satisfy the sharks, and keep them at bay for a bit longer.

They’ve circled through the night — it’s the third night they returned. They get bolder each time – the largest has lost all fear. He’s bumped me several times in the last couple of hours. He’s taunting, he knows I’m nearing my end.

When the attack comes, and come it will very soon — it will be vicious and final. I’m certain I will not survive it, but I’m reasonably confident it will be over quickly. At least three of the most aggressive circling are great whites – large enough to finish a man in a few quick rips.

I’m so very weary; I almost wish it would just happen. The uncertainty of waiting is getting to be too much… I’m exhausted… I’m ready.

This was to be our last run up from Cuba. So many uneventful trips… I think we grew careless. We’d broken out a couple bottles of the contraband Varadero and lit up a couple of the Cohibas to celebrate this last trip. I never ceased to be amazed how much money we were making smuggling in illegal Cuban Rum and Cigars… just unbelievable.

We were literally flying over the wave tops in our custom 32′ Donzi race-hull speeder. We weren’t full open, but we were doing 70 knots on the calm seas — the 1,000 horses purrin’ like a kitten.

We were too caught up in the booze and stogies to notice the sleeper cross-wave until it caught us sideways at mid-hull and snapped this cigarette boat like a twig – it just exploded out from under us.

One minute I am in a speeding boat with my two best friends skimmin’ the waves – the next minute we’re in the water, with just a piece of the aft hull in tact. The rest was splintered flotsam and jetsam. Our cargo, what wasn’t destroyed, or on the bottom of the deep blue — floated and bobbed in their wooden cases like square corks.

Carey was dead, Gill critically wounded, and I – just dazed. I dragged Gill and I up onto the small fragment of the Donzi that was still afloat, where Gill eventually died. Carey had floated away. The sharks found him in less than an hour. They finished him in a turbulent frenzy.

Before the end comes I want to say my farewells to my family. Ironically, I’m going to seal this message in one of the Varadero Rum bottles. It was smuggling this shit that got Carey and Gill killed – and soon I as well.

Kathy, my sweet wife, you’ve been the love of my life – patient, understanding… you make me so happy, though I don’t show it all the time. I get caught up in the fog of life’s distractions — buried in my pride and insecurity.

But alone out here, under the warm Atlantic sun, a calm has settled over me. I’m filled with peace, and a joy that is my love for you! I see with great clarity how much you mean to me as my wife. My emotions are overwhelming me. I see how remarkable our relationship is.

So, my love, when I’m gone, please see these words as a place you can visit and be nurtured. A private, wonderful place you can go, to know these treasures that have always been in my heart. I will be there – close your eyes and you will feel me there, and my love.

And my darling daughter Jennifer — after all these years, you have never lost your magic. Like a brilliant sorceress, with one word, you can cast your spell, and put me in a wonderful dream. Your magic word is, “Daddy!” You say this as you smile deeply into my eyes — “Daddy!” I melt.

I will always be your daddy and you will forever be my little girl, my firstborn, my beautiful daughter! Thinking of you here, now, tears fill my eyes.

You make certain you don’t settle in life for anyone who doesn’t love, respect, and appreciate you as much as I do, as your family does.

You make sure you introduce any guy you may fall for to mom, and to your brother. If they don’t approve, you listen closely to their reasons why. Do not compromise your integrity — ever!

Your father loves you Jen… I love you dearly.

And Justin, my son — my baby… ours is a tough relationship, tough love, no room for timid. It is so easy for me to see your faults, and poke at them — for there in you go I. We are so very much alike it scares me.

Your imperfections glare at me because I possess them all, every one of them within me — and more. Photos of me from my past, uncanny, they might as well be you.

But it’s where we are not alike that your miracle begins.

You are smarter than I ever was. You care for people, honestly. You face life with strength and courage. I just marvel at you – I really do! You have accomplished so much already in your life – and you’ve just begun.

We argue at times, but my love for you is deep son… my pride is lasting. It’s impossible with these words, to tell you what you mean to me. But every word for love and pride – I feel in my heart for you!

I know you will miss me, and probably feel lost and angry at first – but you will recover quickly, I know you will. I know how intelligent and strong willed you are.

Please take care of your mother, and Jenny. They will need your strength, just as you will need their nurturing.

I love you Jus, and I know you love me — I always have known. We are father and son. inseparable forever — remember that!

And Aaron, I find myself thinking so much about you. I’m looking at your picture in my wallet. It’s my favorite picture of you, son — the one I cherish most since your passing.

It is the simple snapshot, taken at the airport, upon your return from having run the New York City Marathon.

You have a gentle, triumphant smile. Your eyes are beaming behind the “cool” shades you have on. Your jacket sleeves rolled in casual hip-ness, bag thrown carefree over your shoulder, and your medal hangs proudly around your strong neck.

You are fiercely handsome!

How profound this captured moment proved to be, taken just before the finish line of your 18 years — it said it all. Your race was run, your bag was packed, and your reward was in your hand. You now fly my sweet angel – fly!

Dad will be there soon. I can’t wait to throw my arms around you. I have missed you so very much, my gentle giant – but I’m coming.

Kathy, Jenny, Justin – I don’t want you to cry for this old man too long. I am not afraid out here right now. I feel Aaron with me, so very close – and soon he and I will see each other again.

We will both wait for each of you guys to finish your business down here on earth – then we will all be together. But take your time and enjoy all there is in life.

Don’t be too upset with wayward old me. I might have been a smuggler, but I never hurt anyone – and I loved you all from the bottom of my heart.

I only have two pieces of paper, so this message must come quickly to an end. I really am not frightened. With my last breaths and energy I will be hugging you all, squeezing you tightly – and kissing you all good-bye.

I love you; please know that – I love you all so much!

Kathy, go see Warren. He has a key for you. Then go see Grace, she has an address for you. Finally see Barry, he has a box number for you. They don’t know about each other.

Use these things together and you will be comfortable for the rest of your life.

When you trim the Christmas tree each year, think of me as you hang the Father Christmas ornament. You know it is my favorite.

Good-bye… until we are all together again!

poem & flash fiction by: rob kistner © 2010

NaPoWriMo #29

This is my Twenty-ninth, and penultimate post for National Poetry Month 2010

____________________________________

…this poem was inspired by D.S. Apfelbaum’s day 29 post at readwritepoem…

____________________________________

 

Space Is

•

a lightless void of soundless vacuum
spinning masses of revolving orbs
hurtling fragments in crystalline vapors

molten cores
mingled gasses
dead husks
black holes

magnetic icefalls
plasma rain
liquid lightening
solid clouds

attractions and repulsions
of precarious fragility

a frozen dance of chaos
on the tentative edge of balance

unfounded fear
unquenchable wonder
unrealized dreams
ultimate frontier

relativity’s fabric
tangled in the cloth of time

reality’s illusion
set in fantasy’s foundation

ceaseless hope
endless adventure
unexpected catastrophe
boundless courage

humankind’s triumph and sad folly
the seductive promise of the future

our salvation
infinity’s threshold
the eternal question
the elusive answer

the everlasting bastion
of never-ending truth

a longing call
a constant listening
a driving force
a reason why

fountainhead of myths
spark of religions
and other superstitions
home of the gods

magnificent obscurity
a source of mystery
font of knowledge
cause of fiction

the unknown of the unknowable
nothingness absolute

the billions and the billions
ever expanding everything

…space is

• • •



rob kistner © 2010

____________________________________

artwork entitled “Infinity’s Door” by: rob kistner © 1998

____________________________________

…see what offerings are this day at readwritepoem

NaPoWriMo #28 – part 2:

This is part 2 of my twenty-eighth post for National Poetry Month 2010
• one free verse poem
• one ecstatic poem


____________________________________

…this first poem was inspired by Julie Jordan Scott’s day 28 at readwritepoem
the second is an edited rewrite of a poem I wrote a couple of years ago that I wanted to share…

____________________________________


In following Julie’s suggestion that we let intuition guide us to a theme, a subject, essentially to the “prompt” for this poem for day 28 of NaPoWriMo 2010 — what presented itself to me several times was a question. Why do I write poetry? The answer that surfaced — for my personal solace, my peace of mind, for my sanity. Thus came forth the prompt for this day.

 

Sanity

•

in the sorrowing hours
at full depth of night

alone with my thoughts
my terrors
my dreams

sculpting words into wedges
that pry open my psyche

expose raw emotion

lay bare my soul

that I might glimpse who really I am
and be certain still that I feel

here is my sanity

• • •

 

____________________________________

 

∞

•

step gently through the dream-gate

take hold the strand continuum

ride the light that carries you

to the is, was, the will be

transcendence moment

when the all is one

in the perfection

of pure being

here now

alive

∞

•


• poem and ecstatic by: rob kistner © 2010

____________________________________

…see what else was intuited this day at readwritepoem

NaPoWriMo #27

This is my twenty-seventh post for National Poetry Month 2010
• one acrostic
• one tanka


____________________________________

• inspired by Carolee Sherwood ‘s day 27 prompt at read write poem to write an acrostic

____________________________________


 

Evolution

•

Even in chaos nature finds balance.

Violent floods beget fertile fields.

One thing ends, another begins.

Life is a cycle of birth and death.

Untamed wildfire creates forest ash.

The ashen remains nurture growth again.

In the caterpillar lives the butterfly.

One thing ends, another begins.

Now and forever, the mandella spins.

• • •

 

____________________________________


 

Stone Fox First

•

garage sound check great

groupies at the ludlow door

allmans soon to start

damned duane is still m-i-a

we stone fox boys are ready

• • •


• acrostic and tanka by: rob kistner © 2010

____________________________________

…check out who’s gettin’ acrostic at readwritepoem

NaPoWriMo #26 – Power / Alternatives

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


____________________________________

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

____________________________________


 

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

• • •

 

____________________________________


 

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

____________________________________

…check out the other offerings at readwritepoem

NaPoWriMo #25

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


____________________________________

• inspired by Joseph Harker’s day 25 prompt at read write poem

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Hotaslava

•

I will not forget you

memory still burns
tearful recollection of the first time
my eyes beheld your luscious curves

skin smooth as satin
golden as you lay before me
seductive in the summer sun

you fired my imagination
ignited my soul

I wanted you so badly
my lips trembled
you promised such sweetness

but I’d been warned by others
who had dared indulge your fiery charms
that it would end in tears

I did not heed their counsel

seduced
I fell upon you hungrily
taking you in passion’s flames
hot as lava
scorching as an august sun

swept away
I consumed your charms
an inferno of desire

tasting your forbidden fruit
in a wanton blaze I took my fill

but just as quick it ended

I should have listened
they knew you all too well

you burned me badly
and left me crying

but I never will forget you…

…habanero

• • •



____________________________________

 

Coldasice

•

drips pizzicato

crescendo of icicles

north wind’s cadenza

wintertime’s crisp symphony

played on nature’s outdoor stage

• • •


• poem and tanka by: rob kistner © 2010

____________________________________

…check out the other spontaneity at readwritepoem

NaPoWriMo #24 – part 2: His Cane

This is part 2 of my twenty fourth post for National Poetry Month 2010

…this piece that follows was inspired by the April 23rd prompt at Magpie Tales

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His Cane

•

he is a stern man
she knows it
she finds him irresistible

she loves his stern face
his stern smile
his stern voice

she knows him
like no other
she has seen through
the part in the curtain

she knows the taste of his kiss
the twinkle in his stern eyes
she adores the touch
of his strong stern hands

warm sure hands

so too
she loves his cane

• • •

rob kistner © 2010


____________________________________

Come on Carey get out your cane
I’ll put on some silver
Oh you’re a mean old Daddy
But I like you

•
…lyrics from “Carey”
by: Joni Mitchel 1971
____________________________________


NaPoWriMo #24 – In Vain / Daddy’s Girl

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


____________________________________

• This poem that follows is inspired by Marie Gauthier’s NaPoWriMo day 23 prompt at readwritepoem to find and use a colloquial phrase — and by the current frustration I am feeling trying to deliver on my promise of at least 1 poem a day for 30 days. This day I am blank – my muse is being quite difficult. So for inspiration I looked to a poem I’d written 3 years back about just such a situation of writer’s block. I wrote this new poem from those 3-year-old bones, sparked additionally by Robert Lee Brewer’s NaPoWriMo day 23 prompt at Poetic Asides: exhaustion.

____________________________________


 

In Vain

•

the virginal glare
of the backlit void
taunts me

the tiny pulsing cursor
throbs like a migraine
in the blank white field

untouched
ignored
impatient

no burden of remorse
no weight of mystery
does it bear

no sting of anger
no wink of mirth
to reflect

nothing sensual
or sensitive
to share

no coin of phrase to save

just empty screen
tormenting nothingness
30 in 30
pressing down

dissonance spills through my open window

the scatter of rain
stir of wind
rustle of wet leaves

muffled keens
bursts of barks
distant yelps

the edgy din
of dripping
prowling
april night
intrudes in damp insistence
to fill my head
and leave not one small space
for wit
or insight

all in vain

there is no spark

in this soggy midnight
left high and dry
no muse in sight
only exhaustion

nothing clever
or profound
in the air this night

chilled
slack

uninspired

• • •

 

____________________________________


 

Daddy’s Girl

•

shy knock at front door

lovely daughter descends stairs

who is this brash boy

shake his hand or run him off

daddy’s decision is tough

• • •


• poem and tanka by: rob kistner © 2010


____________________________________


…see what other coin of phrase you might find at readwritepoem

NaPoWriMo #23 – Skyward Suite / Midnight Gliding

This is my twenty-third post for National Poetry Month 2010
• one free verse poem
• one three-poem suite

• one tanka

____________________________________

• the first poem is inspired by Sage Cohen’s day 23 prompt at read write poem

____________________________________




Spread Offense

•

…making PB&J, as a wrestling match…


it appears everything is ready
for a great competition today

this has been the moment
we’ve anticipated
since the TV was paused
some 5 to 6 minutes ago

the first jar has made its appearance
I see the knife on the sideline
and the napkins indicate
they are ready
standing by
in case of accident

hands baxter signals
he’s ready

looks like tonight it will be wood
yes
it is
the wood cutting board for this one
and it seems to be
it is
recycled material
well done

hands is reaching across the table now
grabbing hold of the plastic flap
he’s got a solid grip on the bread
with a swift and practiced maneuver
he wrestles two pieces to their backs
firmly on the board

he now grabs the jar by the lid
raises it to his chest
and
and
he’s struggling
can’t seem to…
no wait
hands has done it
the lid is free of the jar

he now has the knife in his right hand
and with deep probing jabs
he’s bringing blade full
after blade full
with deft swirling motions
from the jar
and spreading it layer after layer
on the helpless bread
unable to budge from the board

we just got a report
that the bread is indeed
honey oat nut
these are all first string players in this one

well
it appears hands has won the first
of what will be three contests
he has successfully achieved P and B tonight
and with great flair

no drops
goops
no tears

masterfully done

there was that incident
with the tongue on the flat of the blade
but it was apparently a clean move
so no penalty assessed

we’re out of time for now
we will have to wait until next time
to see if grape
the big jar
makes it into the match
as hands baxter will be going for J
in the next round

if he can make it that far
then the big finale will be milk
so don’t miss that one

this is voice gruffly signing off
inviting you to stay with us
through this PB&J regional series
to see if baxter builds a big one

that’s all from here

• • •


____________________________________


Skyward Suite




I Am Balloon

•

I will see the earth today
as the heated air
fills my billows
I am aloft
in free floating flight
to abandon all control

I will resound to the earthbound
listen to their voices rise

tune to the animals
their symphony of sounds

I will drift as far and as long
as fuel and time permits
feel the wind take me

I will soar so high
leave the treetops
far below
until all I hear
is the voice of the breeze

see the world
bend away
over the horizons

see all it’s wonders
all of nature
the random
and the regimented
the wild
and geometric

I will see it all
from a different perspective

swept up in ever-climbing
silent ascent



• • •




I Am Bird

•

I will glide
in buoyed flight

I will soar skyward
in sweeping circles

lift high on mighty thermals
never again to be earthbound

not a prisoner of this stone and clay
no longer captive of gravity today

this day will be soaring
and swooping
and diving

giving thanks for feathers
and hollow bones



• • •




I Am Kite

•

the breeze of promise begins to freshen
waft and build
it gathers strength

belief awakens
I quicken
anticipation spirals anew

the building currents draw taut my line
with an urgent tug the moment arrives

I billow
stand and dance
my sail-skin fills

my leading edge
aerodynamic
sculpted tight against my frame

caught full by the mounting breeze
I lift with grace
rise with purpose

deft hands
and a most careful eye
guide me safely airborne

further faster I ascend
carried skyward on friendly drafts

empowered by winds of fortune
this day I have taken flight

• • •

 

____________________________________


 

Midnight Gliding

•

high meadow sparkles

crisp snow crunches under skis

midnight cross country

the landscape glows alien

like gliding across the moon

• • •


• poems and tanka by: rob kistner © 2010

____________________________________

…check out the other odd couples at readwritepoem

NaPoWriMo #21

This is my twenty-first post for National Poetry Month 2010
• one free verse poem
• one short prose

• one tanka

____________________________________

• inspired by Kristen McHenry’s prompt at read write poem

____________________________________




As I age, my imperfections begin to manifest themselves more and more. I once was young, and handsome, and strong – but that all is waning, and I sometimes feel despair. But the irony here is that, in seeing and feeling more and more acutely, my imperfections, it also eventually shines a light on how fortunate I have been in my life – and the despair often shifts to tearful gratitude… even joy! That is what this poem is about.

 

Chill Winds

•

chill winds of time
rise in dissonance
seasons of cold rain
hiss and tick
my weathered panes

life’s essence
slowly slips my being’s grip
it’s warmth
ever-fading

the pall and ache
wrap firm my bones
suppress my spirit
slowly steal my living core

I despair of rigid form
drained of vital sap
drawn and withered
robbed of flex and grace

my light of memory dims
my pool of knowledge clouds

dear and beloved go
one by one
beyond my call
beyond the joy and chaos
of this temporal plane

what remains is sorrowed pain
and sinking will

then you call my name
beckon me to your embrace
to sooth and comfort my discontent
to draw me into your love

I see again that life’s been good
that we are blessed to have known all this
and in that moment

joy

• • •

 

____________________________________


 

Above It All

•

I want to live in a treehouse
way up high in the branches
of a big redwood

several observation platforms
at different levels
as you hand-wench yourself
into the forest canopy

* optional motorized system

a three-story treehouse
huge wrap around porches
at each level

the top level
one big open room

a place I could write
work on my art

where my wife kathy
could have her fiberart studio
her big toika loom
several navajo hand looms
assembly tables
all her “found” stuff
so key to her abstract soft-sculptures

the roof
one big deck

being able to see
far as the eye could see
so very liberating
exhilarating

riding out big storms
like flying
but anchored
secure

our treehouse
would be made of
anodized aluminum
stone
leathers
and wood
many woods
teak, cedar, oak, maple, and walnut
lots of tempered crystal-clear acrylic

I’d hand feed the eagles
the hawks, the osprey
certainly in my mind

I’d run guywires
slide lines
between tree tops

we could soar
through the sun-dappled canopy

a place high up
where I could work, live, dance, laugh
in the nude
if I wanted

and make love to my wife
windows wide open
the sun and breeze
free to come and go

no comments from
or concerns of
neighbors

where I could crank up my jazz

I want to live in a treehouse
in our treehouse
and truly be
what I’m often accused of being

removed
above it all

• • •

 

____________________________________


 

Jumping

•

hunched down leaned forward

rising with knees soundly gripped

jumping big horses

clearing hurdles one by one

keep him reined but let him run

• • •


• poem and tanka by: rob kistner © 2010

____________________________________

…check out the other splendid imperfections at readwritepoem

NaPoWriMo #18 – Human Arrogance

This is my eighteenth post for National Poetry Month 2010
• one free verse poem
• one tanka


____________________________________

• inspired by Irene’s day 18 read write poem prompt / and #49 at carry on tuesday

____________________________________


…a thing of beauty is a joy forever, a captive wild soul — is a tragedy


 

Pacing

•

from rippled sinew black as midnight
bores a stare of molten gold

a furious but calm inferno
searing deep to burn your soul

I watch helpless this panther’s pace
held captive in this foolish zoo

cold eyes rivet snarled contempt
unfathomed pools of quiet rage

on this panther paces paces
turns and paces back he paces

graceful stride of brute resolve
presses on to test the limit

proud this captive soul just paces
frustration turns anger retraces

this brutal prison of false environ
does not fool this mighty beast

observe how he continues pacing
instinct certain this is not home

his piercing gaze fixed well beyond
his suffered fate of cruel confine

see the panther pacing pacing
his nature steeled his spirit strong

relentless sorrow wild longing
drive on and on his constant stride

this will not break his fierce resolve
he tracks freedom he stalks life

imprisoned he will forever pace
and he will pace

and he will die

• • •

 

____________________________________


 

Out Of Step

•

nature is a dance

transcendent syncopation

rhythmic side by side

but the chorus line falters

humankind is out of step

• • •



• poem and tanka by: rob kistner © 2010

…collage just above entitled “Nature’s Anger” by: rob kistner © 2006
…panther image digitally rendered & edited by: rob kistner 2010 — base image source anonymous…

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…check out what’s prowling over at readwritepoem

NaPoWriMo #10 – Woodpeckers / Hiking

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




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…this piece was written in the spirit of Pamela Sayers’ prompt “Celebrate!” at read write poem…

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Woodpeckers

•

the two red crests are busy
hammering away
peck peck peck
big chucks of the dead pulp
flying in all directions

the elusive couple has come
down into the yard
from the climbs
of the old-growth forest
that surrounds our home
to get their fill
of early-season insects

comfortable as two dancers
they circle each other
bobbing and weaving
on the old Douglas stump
peck peck peck

beautiful in black
bold scarlet topknots
vivid white to frame the faces
majestic in their size
and mystery

these life-mates
rule our woods
often heard
peck peck peck
seldom seen
save a passing glance
of red and wing

but here they are
resplendent in the Oregon sun
emboldened by mating season
and the spring bounty

they flit occasionally
in turn
to the nearby red cedar
centuries old
live and looming
but they return to the stump
peck peck peck
preferring the delicacies
in the decaying remains

the smaller starkly-striped Downy
with his crimson cap
and wings white on black
has joined them
in this supper hour


but he swings
and pecks quietly on the suet
dangling from the eaves
having been ushered indiscreetly
from the Pileated’s banquet


a gorgeous Northern Flicker
speckled and curious
observes at a distance
from the forest canopy
not partaking in this evening’s feast

my wife and I sit silent
and amazed
captivated by the glory of nature
being celebrated
just beyond our bedroom window


we join the celebration
grateful for the privilege
humbled by this spectacle
hopeful for our planet

• • •

 

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Hiking

•

each crest a new thrill

each fresh turn an adventure

hiking the forest

• • •

poem and haiku by: rob kistner © 2010

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

NaPoWriMo #6 – The Cast / The Rise

Rhiannon had suggested in the day 6 NaPoWriMo prompt at Read Write Poem that we sort through a collection of our pictures as inspiration for this day’s poem. Although I veered a bit from her precise suggestion, the process of sorting brought me to the pictures I have of my fishing adventures, and that inspired this — so thanks Rhiannon!



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

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The Cast

•

cliff-climbing conifers
stir in the brisk dawn
as breezes swoop the gorge
rustle my jacket
nip my cheeks

across the casual rapids
near the stony shore
rainbows surface in slack water
hungrily gulping morning hatch

my most recent offering undulates past
in the glinting chatter of spring flow
unacknowledged

chuckling
I turn

elbow steady
I begin to rotate my lengthy bamboo
behind to two PM.
silently stripping the slender thread
from current’s surface
leaving a razor crease
disappearing quick as it comes

the lacquered rod bends forward as I lift
then slowly flexes back
the line arcs behind in flight
trailing silvery spray

backward pressure builds
as line nears full unfurling
but just before
a smooth return
slowly brings the shaft
again to ten AM

now
I feel the forward pull of the soaring mass
as overhead the line recoils
midair

the glass-green fiber
rolls out ahead
over azure ripples

the singing strand painting an “S”
in the cloudless sky

quick
smooth
and quiet
the line is re-wed to stream

the feathered morsel at the tip
offered yet again
coaxing a ready trout
to rise
and strike

• • •





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The Rise

•

fly reel freshly oiled

new tippets cut and tied firm

spring trout on the rise

• • •

poem and haiku by: rob kistner © 2010

• photorendering at top of this post is entitled “The Cast” – by: rob kistner © 2010
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…for more NaPoWriMo 2010 poems: readwritepoem