Poetry – Page 61 – Image & Verse

Harvest Prayer

painting: “Winter Farmland” — by: Donald Shearer

Harvest Prayer

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.

This is the time of endings, when the land falls dormant, empty. This is the barrenness of harvest or pestilence. This is death’s due vigil, when the realm is a’dance with specters. A reflective time when hearts long, with guarded hope, for rebirth.

There settles an all-consuming quiet, an absolute stillness. From this deep silence rises an almost imperceptible murmur, like a breathless whisper. A hushed prayer of gratitude, to give thanks for the harvest’s bounty, and a prayer to humbly petition, with the eventual return of the light, the blessing of fruitful new life upon the now fallow land.

~ ~ ~

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Prosery 5 – All Hallows

Come February

“Songs of failed love serenade the rain.”

Come February~

here am I
wishing wishes
for those days
when life made sense

thinking thoughts
that tear at me
for the things
I failed to be

how I do desire
the damp dreary days
of february
when my forlorned
fallen face
is commonplace

when no one intrudes
to question
what’s the matter
when they see
the tears I cry
no one asks me why

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 © 2019

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Polyptoton

Lover’s Kiss

Lover’s Kiss

sing to me my sweet sweet lover
songs sung soft as silk and satin
sensual as a bare embrace

promise me the world is ours
that this perfect moment’s endless
lift me up on rapture’s cloud

make melody set soar our souls
fill our hearts with passion’s fire
smother me in scorched caresses

kiss me kisses like honeyed cream
that quench my quivering naked lips
as they softly smoulder golden

come to me and take me timeless
enfold me in your deepest dreams
carry me off to ecstasy

~ ~ ~

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Polyptoton

Red Roofs

“A tale of lust and longing.”

“On the red roofs of Paris,” by Grazyna Tarkowska,

Red Roofs

passion
let it flare fire red
red as the roofs of Paris
that conceal the carnal
intertwined
on a starburst night

in the throes
of sweating conquest
ripe with release
coursing with hunger
for the tender flesh
of reckless youth

white hot
as a deflowered bride
burning with the lust
of an august first-night
impaled on the horn
of promise and desire

there will be no truth
in these minglings
only raw bleeding need
and the quenchless thirst
for bittersweet
forbidden nectar

when you hear
the whispers whispered
know that it was so
and so it will remain
in the lithe loins
of the skin slaves
aflame under red roofs

”Harlot” by Andrew Atroshenko,

~ ~ ~

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Polyptoton

The Beast

The Beast

I am the beast
of your myth
of your nightmare

I am sustained
by this damp pall
that descends upon me
this season of growing darkness

that wraps ’round
my vile countenance
fevered with your fatigue
twisted with your despair

drawn forth yearly
at this feast of death
I stumble
damaged by your sin
unleashed now
upon a broken world
corrupted by illusion
spoiled by arrogance

a world in chaos
as darkness deepens

this nocturne
I return
with this ruin-riddled
bloody horde
of dying dreams
violated innocence
merciless destruction

of horrific death
of guilt
of shame

and so
I stumble on
bent by the weight of your evil
drowned in drenching sorrow

I slink angry
into this coming night
and
the next night
and
the night that follows
that always follows

captive
of your horrendous nightmare
of unbridled brutality

always your prisoner
in this forlorn world

seeking vengeance

~ ~ ~

Click to check out more myth inspired poems at Toads

Roots

“Why did the grove undress itself only to wait for the snow?”

Roots

this fall the maples will drop their leaves
and again stand nude in the winter freeze
what is it they keep thinking
there’s no tellin’ with them trees

do they forget about the snow
that the cold cold wind’ll blow
perhaps they keep imagining
a warmer place that they might go

maybe dreamin’ they will run
down to the land of surf and sun
but they just can’t escape their roots
a brutal challenge for everyone

~ ~ ~

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Tuesday Poetics: The Question as Poetry

My Perspective

Surreal image above and below by: Erik Johansson

My Perspective

it’s fine that logic’s lost on me
I’ve long ago set my mind free
and sanity’s so overrated
it distorts my reality

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 keeps 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 cat

yes I do lose track of time
days and weeks — is that a crime
life is all just one’s perspective
and I’m always changing mine

~ ~ ~

Click to check out more poems at Sunday Muse

Street Level

Street Level

I sit
with my mind’s eye
watch the flow of people

the shuffle of feet
with their different sounds
according to their shoes

the divergent realities
through which truth stumbles frayed
to move in the world
rough as rope
knotted as every quivered promise

~ ~ ~

Click for more dVerse poetry to send you all a-quiver:

Quadrille #90 – We’re all a-quiver.

Bed of Fire

Bed of Fire

aflame with passion
you gaze longingly
upon the tenderness
availed before you

aroused
you gently lay your desired
upon your bed of fire

heat consumes
senses stir
hunger mounts
juices flow

you quiver uncontrollably
eager for the ultimate pleasure
that is the perfect burger

~ ~ ~

Click for more dVerse poetry to send you all a-quiver:

Quadrille #90 – We’re all a-quiver.

Hold Tight

photo: “Alice in Wonderland” by Yuki Valentine

Hold Tight

to grow up
is to chase off
our innocence
our naive belief
in the world as a beautiful place

it is to harden against the magic
of our childhood dreams

but if by chance
we can hold tight to just one
of those wonderful foolishnesses

perhaps we can hold on
to our precious sense of wonder

~ ~ ~

Click to check out more wonder-ful poems at Toads

Renewal

Lillian at dVerse has asked that we write her some treats.

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Renewal

Autumn is ending soon. As we close this season, nature’s rest and replenishment here in the Pacific Northwest begins, the cycle of renewal. The summer’s dry period has long ended, and too, agricultural irrigation. Harvesting explodes in October and now will continue into November, including the grape harvest in our many vineyards.

The fruit and nut trees, the vines in the vineyards, and the crop fields, once harvested, will soon begin the slow period of winter revitalization, in anticipation of the growing seasons to come in the new year. Soon this will be a peaceful time of rest and restoration here in this breathtakingly beautiful region.

As this season turns, a regenerative calm lies upon this lush land, waiting for the time of sky-water to arrive, to quench nature’s thirst, and revivify her energies in this utopia. The Great Mandala of life turns steady.

stalks lie down in fields
arbors burst with ripened grape
fall is on the land

~ ~ ~

_____________

More waiting at dVerse:

Haibun Monday: Waiting

Write me some treats!

Mystic Realm

Mystic Realm
~

to this mystic realm I lost my heart
awestruck by these majestic mountains
and the serenade of crystal clear waters
tumbling over rocks in crisp wild rivers
and the exhilaration of a freshened breeze
wafting through timeless emerald forests

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I find peace wandering these mountains
my searching spirit slips along its rivers
spellbound by the vastness of its forests
its ancient secrets whisper on the breeze
echoing the treetops like songs of sages
to resonate forever my beating heart

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~ ~ ~

Click below to check out more majestic poetry at dVerse:

Poetics: Your Majesty

Majestic

Multnomah Falls, Oregon — 620’ tall

Majestic
Time is relentless. The river is patient.
~

in timeless determination
this relentless river
tumbles patiently
in crystal clarity
over boulders and stones

with time and current
it has cut deeply
this great rock of the earth
sculpting this magnificent falls

breathtaking
captivating
towering
powerful
inspiring
beautiful

majestic

~ ~ ~

“Waterfall, nothing can harm me at all, my worries seem so very small, with my waterfall. Waterfall, don’t ever change your ways, fall with me for a million days, oh my waterfall.” — jimi hendrix

Click below to check out more majestic poetry at dVerse:

Poetics: Your Majesty

Voice of the Ancestors

Sculpture above by: Rose “Bean” Simpson

Voice of the Ancestors

Here, where stood your earthen abodes, where you lived in hamony with nature, the voices of your elders rose with the night fires. It was a sacred chant, in rich knowing voice, as the flames roared, and you danced.

It was a hallowed blaze of enlightenment, warming you with the knowledge of your ancestors — the knowledge of the four directions. But the footsteps are but echos, while the sacred fire has died. Its embers now ashen, but still your hearts are aflame.

In a world out of balance, who will stir the fires of vision? Who will again ignite the flame of wisdom? Who will again dance the steps of knowledge? In this world so out of balance, we need your voices to rise again, blessing the land of your origins — the home of you, the original peoples.

we did not listen
we did not heed your warnings
now we pay the price

~ ~ ~

Click for more dVerse poetry inspired by indigenous peoples:

Haibun Monday 10/12/19: Indigenous

Highway Flyer

“Inspired by my year-long 1970 motorcycle trip from Ohio to the west, that later became a key part of the impetus for my wife and I moving to Oregon in 1990.”

Highway Flyer

the vast prairies
of my middle america
still in my mirrors
leaning comfortably into turns
breeze streaming my long hair
I begin to wind my way
into the mountains
into the golden evening
alive with two-wheeled freedom
master of the open road
not counting days
not keeping track
just feet up and flying

as I dash between shadow and light
the sun reveals itself
from time to time
from between the peaks
warming me
as it begins to settle
behind the western slope
of the mighty Rockies

I’ve shed structure
the heavy mantle of life
to venture into the random
into the unknown
to fully embrace life
the magnificent perfection
of simply living
in and for the moment
enjoying the thrill of the throttle
flying
without leaving the ground

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twisting along the asphalt
as it snakes its way
upcoming curves often hidden
disappearing behind a rise
then surprising as I crest
roller-coastering my way west

mountain peaks soar ahead
enfolded in clouds
that roll snd tumble
through the brilliant blue
of the big western sky

I charge onward
transfixed by the wonders
that surround and astound
filled with exhilaration
just a touch of danger
to season this excitement
enthralled by the discovery
of what it truly means
to be free

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~ ~ ~

Click to check out more prairie inspired poems at Toads

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