S itting here
I play
off key
waiting
for the light
of inspiration
I watch the flow
of people
the shuffle of feet
with their different sounds
according to their shoes
I see shapes of faces
scabbed unsmiling lips
their void curve
denounce this evening
damp & dreary
they’re escaping yuck
the black hole sun
as fate is
dancin’ in the moonlight
yet unseen
black and charred
by this celestial anomaly
this heavenly abomination
this black hole sun
when the gossamer curtain
falls
defining these nameless
I sense
their soul’s duality
realizing
the divergent reality
through which
their truth
stumbles blind
to move in the world
rough as a rope
taut as every promise made
frayed as wisdom
leaned in
whispered from behind
I reach high
to grab at time
like dropped money
ever more precious
doing so
I notice the shoes
the belts
the bags
all made of leather
tanned hides
of the dead
innocent
I feel a shiver
a sad imbalance
a confliction
in my soul
so
I’ll practice non-attachment
because I can
M
knowing
I must
and observey
the lonely lady in red
whose trapped her words
on paper
locked in a wired cage
wholly removed
indifferent
but still
pieces of me
of my sorrow
stick
to her
to whomever
gets too close
you may have seen me
sobbing
silhouetted against the sky
the coldest night in January
playing
with the frozen moon
a duet
to make the coyotes
of this concrete
cower in their dens
then moon and I
sneak away
then we run
from room
to imaginary room
hiding from the devious
black hole sun
the whole world
close enough to touch
yet distant
distracted
much like the woman
in the black on white dress
deflecting
the rain of chaos
with her parasol
later
we will eat
a midnight lunch
white cheese sandwiches
dressed with dreams
and fragrances
of foreign lands
and onion’d thoughts
layered thick
and deep
oh
but please
peel back the layers
peel them away
to my clean
thin by thin
skin by skin
to my quivering soul
I hope
I am not hideousn
in your sight
I’m the 35mm man
show mercy
these thoughts
my thoughts
become too heavy to hold
or chew
or swallow
or lug
in this massive bag
of regret
my thoughts
my madness
bonewhite lies
of morality plays
open for you to peek
hope they are not
hideous in your sight
hope they do not
give you fright
make you cry
I will play
a sad song
as you peel back
all the layers
onion’d
thought
layers
held fast and firm
tonight
there is a schism
in the big apple
stitched red
a weight
in the force
like a carapace
to which
I’m stitched
and welded
and can no more leave
than you can truly enter
it ties me down
sometimes
but sometimes
barely so
survivor that I am
the inescapable optimism
in my barebones grin
my callused fingers
rebending strings
to make them sigh
my faux smile flashes
in the brittle moonlight
that rises
through the fog
this night
a night
of wounded dreams
as lovers
betrayed by love
wonder in their bed
what is this
all about…
alfie
really
and a patrolman
comes to where I sit
to look
see
and listen
his mag’s big beam
blinds the stars
from my eyes
brandishing his warm
weaponized smile
his radar eyes
scan the forgotten creases
and clandestine getaways
in my mind
searching my truth
standing over
he looks down
icy eye’d
he sees my scabbed lips
cracked and dry
“black sun got you”
“this is madness”
he says
but I know
one of us
can learn
a thing or two
tonight
if someone
pulls the bow
just right
presses the strings
down tight
plays
with insight
if someone
will just release the light
trapped by that black hole sun
*
rob kistner © 2021
Poetry at: The Sunday Muse
I am breathless …. another epic write!!!!!
Catch your breath Helen, we don’t want to lose you my friend… 😉
I like your first the best, I am prejudiced towards the Busker entertainers. If that is their living, then they are low budget. I envision them as the writers here, just wanting an audience and not writing for a living. Some do but they have other markets.
I came via your first comment, I left my URL in my comment there also.
I will say you did well using all the pictures, I have done that sometimes, it makes for a fine experience to get them all writing on the same theme.
..
Thank you jim. This was written free write SOC…:)
Goodness!!! you dubbed them all fantastic. Happy Sunday Rob
My post today is HERE
much????love
Thank you Gillena. Much love my friend.
These are all fantastic Rob my favourite is:
there is a schism
in the big apple
stitched red
<3
The entire piece was written SOC (stream of consciousness) as an examination of duality, and the light energy and awareness that can be created when two dissimilar entities meet in agreement. it was a search for, and a hope for that light, especially in these times.
Divine madness!
Thank you Samy… 🙂
Whew!
I know, well, maybe I don’t know Rosemary… 😐
An amazing tapestry of poems brought together with each image! This is wonderful Rob….simply wonderful!
Thsnk you Carrie… 🙂
Wonderful stream of consciousness. I enjoyed the trip. Especially the white cheese sandwiches! Smiles. And someone playing with insight and releasing the light. Great stuff.
Thank you Sherry. Drifting free down the stream of thoughts.