Category: wonder

Evening Grace


 
Evening Grace

~

as dusk descends
my stride holds steady
buoyed by the gentle embrace
of the downing golden sun

early shadows fall soft

vesper’s velvet blanket
drapes ’round my shoulders
envelops me in calm

there is still road to travel

eager to keep the journey
I’m drawn by the beauty
of the rising moon in sunset

coaxed by a soothing breeze
I venture on toward my love

rolling amber fires the lane
spreads warm ‘cross the horizon

mist begins to rise and waft

nestled in the valley
I see my hearth & home
guilded copper in this eventide

my heart quickens
stirred by this gorgeous vale
the ribbon of its brook
entwines my soul in wonder

my smile sweetens
my pace livens
I hum a quiet evensong
in the grace of this splendid day

~ ~ ~

rob kistner © 2010


…artwork entitled “Evening Glory” by: Steven Mitchell…

  • click below to enjoy more poems at dVerse:

    Open Link #277 – Live edition

    • Emerald Eyes

    This poem is offered in response to prompt #25 for 2010 at Writer’s Island,
    also offered “off-topic” to the October 15th prompt at Big Tent Poetry.

    Emerald Eyes

    •

    emerald eyes captivate
    fix me in their gaze
    lift me
    carry me
    to the realm of unfinished dreams

    they strip me of fear
    longing
    of inhibition
    to render me transparent

    I rise weightless
    unburdened of care
    an untethered being of pure moment
    soaring through universes within universes

    a traveler in time and space
    ever-expanding consciousness
    aware of all
    riding the strand continuum
    drawing it forward
    reeling it back
    slipping all temporal bounds

    a being of universal presence
    adrift in the infinite now
    lost in the mystery
    veiled in those emerald eyes

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    Baby Cakes

    This poem is offered in response to prompt #22 at We Write Poems.

    Baby Cakes

    •

    crave the taste
    of my baby cakes
    seven minutes
    is all it takes

    gotta whip ‘em up
    nice and creamy
    mouthwaterin’
    moist and steamy

    oh do not rush
    you better not
    gotta get that
    little oven hot

    spread ‘em thick
    but not too quick
    steady stirrin’
    will do the trick

    ease ’em in
    slide ’em out
    hot buttered lovin’
    fresh from the oven

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    To Soar

    This poem is offered in response to prompt #23 for 2010 at Writer’s Island,
    the Ginsberg ‘american sentence’ is offered in response to prompt #136 at One Single Impression.

    To Soar

    •

    to feel the warmth of early spring sun
    to wander through old growth
    to see the sunset into the pacific
    to breath in the fragrance of summer
    to see joy in another’s eyes
    to hear my child’s laughter
    to be breath-taken by art
    to be dazzled by autumn’s palette
    to taste the richness of chocolate
    to immerse in the rhythms of music
    to see the morning dew sparkle
    to hear the sweet lilt of a thrush
    to know the quiet of snowfall
    to raise my voice in song
    to drift on a clear mountain lake
    to get lost in poetry
    to feel your gentle touch

    …is to soar

    • • •

    to just try to fly is to fall short, one must expect to soar, then leap

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    Kisses Crimson-Gold

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    Kisses Crimson-Gold

    ~

    the stir of autumn
    enwraps my heart
    as summer slowly wanes
    riding the early fallen leaves
    on the current of october waters
    whirling and bobbing on crystal ripples
    round and past the river rocks
    over rip rap in the stream bed
    carried vividly away
    into the setting sun

    days shorten
    shadows lengthen
    a quiet melancholy
    settles upon the valley
    as nature prepares itself
    for the slumber of renewal

    but not before the crackling
    joyous dance of harvest
    and a crisp crimson-gold
    kiss goodnight

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2010

    __________________

    Brightly coloured fall leaves in a forest stream

    Deep Azure

    This poem is offered in response to prompt #21 at We Write Poems.

    Deep Azure

    •

    on the boulevard below
    last night’s rain puddles
    midst the chaos of metro-clutter

    as if abandoned by the waters of earth
    it shoulders its way through the culverts
    in search of mother sea

    this day begins golden and crisp

    bird songs echo empty sunrise streets

    lover and beloved
    we sit by the morning window
    with tea and curiosity

    we talk

    for this moment
    our souls spill one into the other
    until I am distracted

    your lips continue sculpting words
    but I’ve fallen into your deep azure eyes

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    Over The Edge

    This piece is offered in response to visual prompt Mag 33 at Magpie Tales seen at bottom of post,
    also prompt 22 at Writer’s Island,
    and prompt #135 at One Single Impression.

    Over The Edge

    •

    From down there, down there,
    it’s coming from down there.
    From where — down there?
    Yes Sis, I swear!

    That horrible smell
    that’s filling the air,
    the one that’s most certainly
    impossible to bear,
    is coming from that women
    with the massive blue hair
    sitting alone on the patio chair,
    on the deck of the house,
    that’s below us — right there!

    What a putrid aroma,
    you’d think that she’d care.
    There are simply some things
    that one never should share,
    like the stink that is rising
    from that patio chair,
    on the deck of the house
    that’s below us down there.

    And the hideous color
    of that mountain of hair —
    I can’t help it, can’t help it,
    I can’t help but stare.

    It’s a tangled and horrible monument to
    a disgusting and eye-blinding
    shade of bright blue —
    and it’s causing a feeling of nausea too!

    I must look away my heads starting to whirl,
    and I feel that my toes are beginning to curl,
    I fear over the edge here I’m going to hurl —
    and I don’t want to do that in front of a girl.

    Maybe I’m wrong
    but I would assume,
    if one’s going to bathe
    in a noxious perfume,
    they’d at least have the manners
    to exhibit some pride,
    and not foul the ozone,
    instead — stay inside.

    Not to be the forecaster
    of gloom and of doom,
    but keep the eco-disaster
    contained to one room.

    And if you’re chromatically challenged my friend,
    consider the others that you might offend.
    A monumentally grotesque rat’s nest of blue,
    is not something I care to look at on you!

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010


    Mag 33

    Ripples

    Tankas inspired by this wonderful painting offered as prompt #21 at Writer’s Island,
    and by prompt #134 at One Single Impression.



    Reflections

    •

    memories of you
    ripples on a mirrored lake
    rise and drift gently
    into the golden sunlight
    carrying me on their crest

    • • •

    Joie de Vivre

    •

    clear blue summer sky
    deep azure crystalline lake
    cool breeze on my face
    fresh scent of water lilies
    ripples gently lap the boat

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    • painting entitled “Fisherman” by: Vane Kosturanov

    Bit ‘O Whimsy

    This piece is offered in response to prompt #70 at Carry On Tuesday.



    Bit ‘O Whimsy

    •

    One misty moisty morning
    The mist was most prevailing
    And then it started storming
    On that misty moisty morning

    It came up without a warning
    hailstones began to hailing
    And I missed the morning mailing
    On that misty moisty morn

    Though I mostly miss the morning mail
    That morn I felt mostly forlorn
    I had to catch the mail that morn
    But by 10 minutes I was trailing

    So I began to flailing
    Down the lane my feet were sailing
    But the mailman was ailing
    And hadn’t made his morning mail

    So on that misty moisty morning
    In a storm that had no warning
    When I should have been emailing
    My mail and me got mostly soaked

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    • painting entitled “Rain Man” by: Vane Kosturanov

    You & Me

    …I offer this piece in response to prompt #69 at Carry On Tuesday,
    and prompt #18 at We Write Poems,
    also the September 6th prompt at Big Tent Poetry,
    and the September 8th prompt at Three Word Wednesday…

    You &Me

    (a poetic quadratych)

    •

    The Secret

    what I said was
    don’t touch
    go away
    leave me be

    while inside
    I cried out
    draw near
    stay with me

    you are light
    you are pure
    you are joy
    you are free

    I am not
    I am dark
    I am beast
    can’t you see

    without you
    there is much
    you don’t know
    about me

    The Revelation

    I lived at the light’s edge
    that pooled in the night
    on the bleak back streets
    of the sad brokenhearted

    I hid in the anguish
    of the loveless who cowered
    in the dark nightmare alleys
    of the lost and forgotten

    I fed on the grief
    of the mourners who wailed
    for their horrific loss
    in the ruins of death

    this was my heartscape
    black as mid-winter night
    a lightless horizon
    no glimmer of hope

    trusting was toxic
    no foothold for love
    relations were carnage
    scattered lifeless and cold

    The Change

    ’til a beautiful being
    eyes brilliant and true
    approached from afar
    bearing tinder of love

    the graceful arrangement
    was deftly ignited
    and patiently tended
    the fire gently stoked

    afraid to come forward
    I held outside the glow
    but your kindness drew me
    we stood by the blaze

    with passion it roared
    its light pierced my blackness
    its heat thawed my soul
    my cold heart was warmed

    The Miracle

    you wrapped yourself ‘round me
    gazed into my eyes
    your kiss soft and serene
    was the essence of healing

    with you in my life
    I am darkness removed
    soaring and weightless
    radiant and rising

    vital and caring
    my spirit’s renewed
    illuminated wholly
    by a new dawn of dreams

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    • photo above is of the GOASTT, digitally enhanced by: rob kistner 2010

    Breakthrough

    …this piece is in response to the 19th prompt of 2010 on Writer’s Island,
    and offered for prompt 132 at One Single Impression,
    and for prompt 231 at Sunday Scribblings….




    Breakthrough

    •

    rise up
    clad in colors of a joyful life
    rebuke the strife

    tilt against convention
    the prevailing norm
    is a toxic storm

    buck the winds of rebuff
    ignore the false contention

    stare down the face of ridicule
    if buffeted by cruel
    condemnation

    shun the foolish
    sadly blown off course
    by the brutish force
    of blind conformation

    be not inclined to fear
    nor falter

    choose instead
    to quell their mindless dread
    and so to alter
    the contradiction
    which grips their head

    stay one’s ground
    leaning hard on raw conviction
    wait the weight
    until one’s strength is found

    be anchored bold
    and deeply hold
    to the true and genuine
    until your patience spent
    revives again

    do not resent
    remain flexible
    to withstand the blows
    resisting those
    who would see you swayed
    and lowly bent

    who would see
    your spirit broken
    for so to savor

    instead
    raise high your head
    don’t ever waver

    be never rigid
    brittle
    prone to break

    do not forsake
    your heart song
    eschew the wayward
    noisy throng

    breakthrough

    wisdom is a supple soul
    struck through
    by true enlightenment

    pierced clean and strong
    by wonder

    bleeding tolerance
    and promise

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    • photo by: Kevin Day, digital photorendering by: rob kistner 2010

    Soulfruit

    version 1

    I taste you like a peach
    sweet juice trickles to my chin

    I bite you like an Apple
    your crisp laughter fills my ears

    I devour you like a strawberry
    tart and succulent on my tongue

    I drink you like thick nectar
    you flow rich into my soul

    I desire you completely
    longing to be fulfilled

    I consume you wholly
    flushed with wanton pleasure

    ____

    IMG_8651

    version 2

    my mouth on you
    soft
    like a peach

    you glisten
    trickle from my lips

    I bite you
    sweet
    like an apple

    your hushed breath
    staccato crisp

    you taste
    tart as a strawberry
    succulent
    as love’s nectar

    a delicious
    wanton pleasure

    ____

    rob kistner © 2010

    ______________

    For No One

    …this piece is in response to prompt #17 at We Write Poems,
    and prompt #69 at Carry On Tuesday,
    also the September 1st prompt at Three Word Wednesday…




    For No One

    •

    the cadence
    to which I tight step
    pulses
    in my heart
    alone

    it is my coursing vital
    stirs my spirit
    steels my resolve
    drives me on
    into the fray
    emboldened

    “to thine own self”
    resonates
    the chambers
    of my soul
    sweet
    as the song
    of angels

    if one is not
    author
    of the life
    one lives
    it is
    plagiarized
    and its essence
    forged

    it is my pen
    scribes my epitaph

    the spark
    must be authentic
    or the fire
    arson

    the flame
    that burns within
    is mine

    do not expect
    I will ignite
    for you
    or blaze
    to your vision

    you are not
    my flint

    do not attempt
    to chart
    my course
    I search
    my own
    horizon

    do not
    contain me
    I live
    outside

    do not
    seek me
    on the surface
    I break deep
    below
    the negative

    do not
    summon me
    to your queue

    yours is not
    my grid
    or file

    you are not
    my piper

    this
    I know

    I stand in line
    for no one

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    • artwork by Aynaku, embellished by: rob kistner 2010

    The Box

    This piece is offered in response to prompt Mag 29 at Magpie Tales,
    and the August 25th prompt at Three Word Wednesday,
    and prompt #18 at Writer’s Island.




    The Box

    …a short story of intrigue…

    •

    “What do you mean Taylor,” Gwen inquired, the strain obvious in her weary voice. “Who exactly is going to confront Dylan… and why?”

    Her voice trailed off to an exasperated whisper. The why was not so much a question, as an exhalation of confused frustration. She seemed to know the answer was much too complicated to address at this hour, and she was too spent, physically and emotionally, to want to hear it.

    Gwen turned away from Taylor, head lowered. Her arms fell limp at her side, fingers splayed. She was trying her best to process what Taylor was saying, to understand him – to understand the recent events that had brought her to this place in time… trying to make sense of anything. Her head was spinning, and she could feel the fatigue deep in her bones.

    She dropped back onto the sofa, half sitting, half lying down – an exhausted slouch. She felt paralyzed, thoughts racing through her mind – fragmented, disconnected thoughts. If only she could clear her head. She was in trouble.
    Continue reading The Box

    True Work

    I offer this piece in response to prompt #18 at Writer’s Island.

    ______________

    AUTHOR’S NOTE: I had this incomplete 3-year-old draft of my poem “True Work” (loosely inspired by Gary Snyder’s “Real Work”). I had wanted, for some time, to edit it into a piece, with which I would be more satisfied. The above listed prompt inspired me to create a suite of poetry, threaded together by the phrase: true work. My focus for this suite being humanity, which was the crux of the “True Work” draft I already had. The digital rendering I created of the hand holding the world helped me finish my vision of this poetry suite.

    ______________

    “empty your love into the world”
    “the true work is never done”

     

    True Work

    ____
    I bend my back and squat
    then straighten at the waist
    hunkered ‘neath the weight
    I lift clean the load
    the warehouseman’s refrain
    always on my mind
    “back straight
    lift with the legs”

    the first test – no result
    I try a second
    then a third
    on and on
    day after day
    long hours in the lab
    the formula must be perfect
    only perfect will save lives

    drywall must be flush
    and plumb
    also square and seamless
    meticulously
    I set each sheet
    with the level and the bob
    then pause
    to wipe my sweating brow

    I curse the clay
    do battle with fatigue
    I coax my muse
    to commit to form
    the first draft of my vision
    to then modify
    and remold
    until the ultimate creation

    these are elements of the work I do
    or did
    or may yet do
    and I am you
    and you are me
    and we are all together
    in this endeavor of our daily life

    but this is not our true work

    to bend to lift someone in need
    to help carry their burden
    until they again stand steady

    to seek the components of peace
    to formulate the dialog
    that fosters understanding

    to measure well tolerance
    to stand squarely flush
    with truth and level justice

    to visualize universal love
    to create the enduring model
    for a free and vital world

    this — is our true work

    so little done
    so much to do

    * * *

     

    If Only
    ____

    stressed beyond limits

    earth’s fragile balance falters

    but this can be changed

    her future is in our hands

    if only we do true work

    * * *

     

    Endeavor
    ____

    abstain from false pride

    prayer does not a halo make

    that requires true work

    ____

    rob kistner © 2010

     

    * photorendering above entitled “In Our Hands”
    by: rob kistner © 2010