Poetry – Page 60 – Image & Verse

Day Breaker

“stream-of-consciousness rant”

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”Drinkin’ Thinkin’” by: rob kistner © 1997

DayBreaker

(hard-drinkin’, jazz-lovin’, workin’ man’s lament)
~

day breaks
on
a new week’s
sun

putrid
as the stains
on my
flesh-soaked
mattress

damp
as my sour
mat
of fevered
greasy
tangle

hot
as my
whiskey-foul
breath

another
un-commuted
sentence

6A-6P
’til
merciful dusk
delivers me

jack-knifed
into
my
jack and coke

don’t obsess
in sorrow

drown
all
‘da-way
down

a bottom-dive
to comatose

no virtue
feigned
nor
implied

mad goes
the struggle
‘til
saved by
jazz
48 over
‘da
dub-ya
hump

2
debauched
24’s
then
the hissing
sting
of monday
and
the mindless
6-6 grind
120 n’out

cruel numbers
game
goes
round round
and ever round
’til
the tombstone’s
tender
solace

~ ~ ~

Click below to see what’s being imitated at dVerse:

Imitation Practice

I’ve Had It!

Modified Tennyson imitation — nine lines with a rhyme pattern AABBCCCCC, and using four trochees per line, with a touch of surrealistic humor.

I’ve Had It!

don’t just stand there looking lazy
while this bunny thumps like crazy
help me fry it golden brownish
stuffing it in uncle’s sandwich
never liked that purple rabbit
acted poorly — now I’ve had it
sang off key each time I’d pet it
stole my shoes and uncle let it
now it’s lunch — and uncle ‘et‘ it

~ ~ ~

Click below to see what’s being imitated at dVerse:

Imitation Practice

Drifting Dreaming

SURREALISM: Pure psychic automatism by which it is intended to express, either verbally or in writing, the true function of thought. Thought dictated in the absence of all control exerted by reason…

Drifting Dreaming

I read minds
but pieces of me
stick to whomever
I deep delve

you may have seen me
silhouetted against your sky
in coldest January
howling
with the frozen moon

a duet
to make coyotes
cower in their dens

then moon and I run
from room to imaginary room
your whole world
close enough to touch

we eat a midnight lunch
perfumed with foreign lands
and your thoughts
onion layered

your thoughts
are too heavy to hold
show mercy
peel back the layers

peel me away
thin by thin
skin by skin
to my quivering soul

my thoughts

bonewhite lies
of morality plays
open for you to see

hope they’re not hideous
in your sight

hope they do not
make you cry
as you peel back
all the layers

onioned thought layers
held firm
like a carapace
to which
I’m stitched
and welded
and can no more leave
than you can enter

they tie me down
sometimes
but sometimes
barely so
survivor that I am

the inescapable optimism
in my barebones grin
flashes
in the brittle moonlight
exposing forgotten creases
and clandestine gateways
to your mind

someone can learn
a thing or two tonight
if someone
will ignite the light

~ ~ ~

Click below to see what’s surreally at dVerse:

Poetics: Surrealism in Poetry

Reverie

Reverie

sun sits low on the horizon
dusk slowly advances
night’s chill begins to settle
all the dreams have gone to bed

I sit quietly
close by this fire
soothed by its crackling glow
warmed by memories
that huddle ’round me

soul settled
heart full

~ ~ ~

Click below to see what’s crackin’ at dVerse:

Quadrille #92: Take a crack at poeming.

Bewildered Boy

Bewildered Boy~

born in dead of winter
under a darkling moon
at the waning of hearts

a bewildered boy-child
conceived in chaos
lacking heritage

moment man
in freefall of frustration
searching for foothold

abandoned nomad
longing for clarity
for a sense of identity

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Moon on 2/18/47, my birth night.

~ ~ ~

NOTE: I was born in 1947 in a post WWll Catholic orphanage. Mother unidentified and likely unwed. Father unknown. Having been abandoned from birth was a matter of much confusion for me in my troubled childhood, and into my young adult life. With the birth of my children I stopped looking back, and started looking ahead, finally understanding of, and thankful for the support of my adoptive parents.

Click each for more birth related and other poetry at dVerse:

Poetics: Let Us Labor

Thankfulness . . .

December Passion

December Passion~

It’s quiet in our home. Darkness has fallen early, as it does in deepest December. We cozy into the comforter, warm across our lap, gazing out our window at the moonlit forest. The fire quiets to ember in the nearby hearth.

Midnight’s snowfall shimmers through the boughs of old growth, invitingly elegant. As if spread by star clusters, it blankets our high-mountain meadow in crystal down. This night lay quiet and crisp. A great white owl echoes through the frosted cedars.

Lover and beloved, we entwine ‘neath winter’s window, with our dreams, and one another. You enfold closer, in gentle snuggle, a peaceful smile upon your face.

I’m remembering another resplendent December night. You, warm in my arms, the night we first kissed, embraced in darkness. Softly I whisper, “if it’s darkness we’re having, let it be extravagant, as is our passion, my love.”

~ ~ ~
rob kistner © 2019

Click for more Jane Kenyon influenced poetry at dVerse:

Prosery: Meet Jane Kenyon

February Rain

“Original version of this poem posted here on October 25th as “Come February”. It was in the 1st person. Rewriting this one in 3rd person, from my perspective, shifts the essence from feeling personally sad to feeling empathy for another.”

February Rain~

here he is
wishing wishes
for those days
when life made sense
thinking thoughts
that tear at him
for the things
he failed to be

how he does desire
the damp dreary days
of february
when his forlorned
fallen face
is commonplace

when no one intrudes
to question
what’s the matter
when they see
the tears he cries
there come no why’s

because all around
are caught up in the blues

oh if only
she could find it
in her heart

to forgive
this sadly lost
and broken man

who much too late
understands
he was a fool

and in his sorrow
understands
love will not stir

but how he wishes
ill-tempered weather
would occur

to drive the joyful
all around him
to indoor spaces

so he’d be spared
the pain
of smiling faces

and the bitter
bitter memory
of losing her

~ ~ ~
rob kistner © 2019

Click for more dVerse poetry:

Meet the Bar by changing your perspective

Wild Heart

“Originally written about a proud wild beast, I changed the perspective to being the beast. That change made the poem empowering for me, rather than just powerful.”

No — I will not be confined
always in motion
restless is my spirit
perpetual like the seas

my wild heart
challenges constraint
defies boundary
to bolt at will

I will not be defined
my nature is fluid
my essence turbulent
deep — ever changing

reach not for me
I will not be held
do not name me
I will not be yours

*
rob kistner © 2022

Poetry at: Earthweal

Crows of Castle Keep

“Castle Keep is my metaphor for the mind.”

Crows of Castle Keep

my contemplation on dementia

my memories gather and squabble
like the crows of castle keep
they pick the bones
of my recall

bones against the cruel clay
of an arid
barren mind

littered with the harsh forgotten
like the bones of the dinosaur
I’m becoming

struggling
with what letters are made of
my words crack and crumble

my thoughts
parch and wither

lonely silhouettes
against an unforgiving skyline

fading visions of my past
of my life
my home
of yesterday

harder and harder to remember
the degrees of separation
growing ever greater
smoldering in the fog
of my reflected past

splashes of vivid color
on scraps of paper
blown in the mounting winds
of my confusion

dread rising
that I will soon not remember
what it all meant to me
a stirring fear I will forget
lost in tormented emptiness
that all will go black

this is not just a poem
it is much more

this is a light
searching in blackness
for familiar things
for persons beloved
that I do not recognize

this is a fractured tome
a cry of frustration
a tear of loss
a whispered prayer

an epitaph
to my fading map of then

of cherished memories
that now falter
and dim

slowly slipping
unintelligible
into the cacophony
of the crows of castle keep

~ ~ ~

Click below to heck out more poems of blackness on dVerse:

dVerse Poetics: On Shades of Black

The Secret

photo collage: “The Secret” — by: rob kistner © 1997

The Secret

from the dawn of awareness
through the dark times
beyond the ages of change
into these times

they have kept it
the keepers of the secret

and now
with great fortitude of will
to safequard frail truth
they must keep it still

~ ~ ~

Click for more dVerse poetry:

Quadrille #91 – Keep

Falling To Pieces

”I can’t see the end of me” by: Oladios

Falling To Pieces

oh dear
I fear
I have lost my heart

and along with it
a larger part

if I do not panic
but stay calm
instead
being careful
not to lose my head

if I can
look to the future
avoid the dread

it’s not hard to conceive
kitty I truly believe

though parts of me
have certainly
lost a bit
of fleshy tether

eventually
with what’s left
of me
I can finally

pull myself together

~ ~ ~

To check out more poems at Sunday Muse: CLICK HERE

In A Rut

“Troubled chatter among the reindeer.”

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”Autumn Breath” by: Jason Limberg

In A Rut

The past few Christmas seasons there’s been evidence of some unhappy reindeer. Jolly old St. Nick’s been hittin’ the rich creamy egg nog hard. This was overheard at reindeer preseason camp.

dude’s gettin’ fatter
tired’a draggin’ his lard ass
fool should get a truck
we could then spend Christmas Eve
ruttin’ with some smokin’ cows

~ ~ ~

Click to check out more reindeer poems at Toads

Savior

Savior

I remember when it happened
remember well
the blinding flash
that sent me scurrying
underground
into my private bunker

I suspected this possibility
thankfully
I was prepared for the moment

that moment
that horrific moment
forever dividing then
from now

then
comfortably alone
walking my property line
along the azure waters
of the clear mountain stream
that rolled towards me
crisp and pure

then
in an instant
the startling sound
the strange light
soaring above the douglas firs
that stand proudly
at the river’s edge

sentries for centuries
protecting this northern boundary
of my lands

steady
enduring
supple in the winds
that waft and quicken
breathing life
whispering their secrets

now
two years on
since that ominous moment
the bone chill
the penetrating feeling
of fear

now
I am alone again
but now
quite absolutely

no evidence of survivors
my beloved wife
did not make it

the global communication grid
totally destroyed

too long
since I have seen
another’s eyes
or heard another’s voice

now
I ramble this valley
wade this stream
in my hazmat suit
mumbling quietly
to no one

rations are running out
water
food

I am at the ragged edge
of coherence
of sanity

I cling to the hope
for a sign of life
someday
any life

but they are all gone
every — last — one
gone

can I last
have I that patience

how long can I hold center
how long
until my fragile psyche unravels

if I could just remove this helmet
breathe fresh air again
feel the breeze on my face

while the trees are fine
carcasses are everywhere
animals
fish
birds
insects

I fear the air is toxic
deadly

will it ever be safe
how can I know

wait
what’s this

“Hey, hi little fella!”

~ ~ ~

To check out more poems at Sunday Muse: CLICK HERE

Dishes

Dishes

it’s 1987
I’m 40-years-old
standing over a sink
steam rising
as it fills with hot water

I’m with a girl
someone I recently met

I offered to do the dishes
so out of character
but I wanted to impress
as she invited me over for dinner

great meal
great evening
great face
great smile

been several decades
since I’ve been a teenager in love
but I am smitten again
I recognize the giddy feeling

I plunge into the suds
searching the hot water
for another plate
we are deep in conversation

I love talking with her
love hearing her laugh
love her great green eyes
love her velvet skin
I love her

it’s true
I’m falling in love
like some school kid
and at my age
but the feeling is intoxicating

how nice it is again
to feel this fresh
this innocent
this energized
so taken by another

just then
her voice calls from the other room
lifts me from my daydream

I am still at the sink
my hands in hot water
but now
in our home of many years

I look through the archway
to where she sits on our sofa
I hear the tv
she’s watching “Blade Runner”

I hear Deckard’s voice
“I don’t know why he saved my life.
Maybe in those last moments
he loved life
more than he ever had before.”

I certainly love life
and I love her

her skin
not quite velvet any longer
but her smile
still captivating
I’m still soothed by her voice
still love spending time with her
even now

how much time
do we have left together
who knows

but certainly time enough
to finish these dishes
and then

who knows…

~ ~ ~

Click for more dVerse poetry:

Tears in rain – using our senses

Specters

Specters

In this moment, shrouded by evening in waning October, as autumn tumbles towards winter, one knows acutely the sorrow in the losing of the light. One feels the pressing weight of the ever growing darkness, the stir of grief occasioned by the advancing cold.

There settles an all-consuming quiet, an absolute stillness. From this deep silence rises an almost imperceptible murmur, like a breathless whisper, as a hushed wind scours ghost-like across the arid, fallow ground. It is the sound of loss and longing.

This is a somber time, a time of endings, when the land has fallen dormant, empty. This is the barrenness of harvest or pestilence. This is death’s due vigil, when the realm is a’dance with specters.

~ ~ ~

Click for more dVerse poetry:

Prosery 5 – All Hallows