You’re still locked in the frikkin’ commode
When we really should be hitting the road
How much time can you take up
While putting on makeup
My damned head is about to explode
Foul words spewing forth
Most certainly he is pissed
Best to avoid him
rob kistner © 2008
•
warm
familiar
comfortable in my palm
my fingers wrap natural cork
index raised
gauging line tension
precision brings the willow’d shaft
high above my shoulder
flexing expectantly
a flick of my wrist
and the rod arcs forward
increasing the pressure
on my fingertip
as it bends ahead
urgently
seeking release
then
a careful pluck
like a string
on a guitar
it is launched
the ultralight lure
golden at line’s end
sails silent
into the squinting summer sun
with a subtle plick
the barbless hunter disappears
slipping ‘neath the sparkle
of the undulating steam
seductively
I retrieve the bait
with quickening pulse
eagerly visualizing
anticipating the strike
patience draws the offering
alluringly
dancing ever nearer
I long for the sharp
powerful tug
for the slender thread
unreeled before me
to rise
and dart away
in a sliver of silver spray
for my heart to jump
as a proud trout
breaks water
victim to my seduction
in this moment
mind focused
breath steady
senses heightened
awaiting sudden contact
I reflect
there is a simple truth in fishing
as in life
the thrill of possibility
can be as rich
as the reward
• • •
rob kistner © 2008
• photorendering entitled “The Strike” by: rob kistner © 2008
To hear “Reaper Groom” read by author click below
To hear the poem “Seeds” read by the author, Rob Kistner — click here
To hear poem read by author, click here
Here’s a light take on procrastination…
If summer heat is getting to you, here’s a respite.
nostrils singed
by scalded air
too hot and thick
to breathe
a heat to suffocate
haltingly
I fill my lunges
yet again
to bake them
in sustaining breath
this oven to endure
skin weeps
emblazened
salted droplets
baste my neck
trace my spine
to irritate
to saturate
to gather in the hollow
of my labored chest
hesitant in its struggle
brackish beads
bloom and seep
from beneath the smother
of matted soak
atop my head
to ooze their way
down fevered slope
into my eyes
and sting
bittering my lips
glaring sphere
in steaming sky
smirks
crackles
bears down
imposing
tasks at hand
plans to make
all will wait
energy expired
exhaustion’s odor
permeates
thoughts sticky
synapses coated
in humid midday
where are the rains
of quenching april
questions evaporate
desires are vaporized
even dreams are scorched
life roils slowly
simmering in august
rob kistner © 2007
Happy Anniversary!