Free Verse – Page 2 – Image & Verse

Hope

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Last Hope

I lift myself quietly
very quietly
from beneath the sheets
soiled with neglect
soaked with my nightmares

I am again awake
from another dark night
that began with fear
fear I might not survive
and ends in sorrow
realizing I did

I rise
make my way carefully
past the shallow-breathed crumple
that lay milky-eyed
in a heap on the floor
un-moving
save a twitch of the head

a head which now harbors demons
where nocturnal angels of sweet release
had lain down lush upon it
in fevered embrace
lustfully conjured
by last night’s spoon and lance
still skewered silver in the soured vein

this wreckage is my mother

I stop but for a glance
verifying life
then move on head down
angle to the bathroom
to the scum-brown bowl
to wash my face
lit sallow by the yellowed bulb
that hangs bare and lonely

strange eyes
hold me in the mirror
broken as my heart

eyes of knowing
eyes of sadness

grief courses through me
weighing upon my being
burning into my heart

I want to cry out
but there is no one here to hear me
no hero that can help me

driven by instinct to survive
by urgency to flee
I shudder away the paralyzing despair

in this dank food-less morning
in this ruined single room
in this coat-less chill of predawn
I gather up my books
step lightly through the door
down the damaged stairs
into the hostile streets
heavy with this childhood of strangled dreams

I duck and dodge
in and out of shadows
praying to once again avoid the evil
that lurks and slinks
among the garbage and graffiti
of these crumbled bricken’d canyons

that rolls slow and lethal
gripping cold blue steel
in predatory drive-by

evil
seductive as a smile
deadly as a snake

evil
which if diligence should fail
I fear will consume my soul

deliberately I continue
until at last I find my way
to the building
to the classroom
to my teacher
to my desk

to the only hope
to which I dare cling

~ ~ ~

___________________________

Click to learn more about toad’s social awareness

Steel Tear

Steel Tear

the dream broke
like a prodigal sun
on a startled winter evening
causing him to squint
blinking away happiness
like sand in the eyes of love

you were there
the disapproving guest
at the final edit party

you took his cues
took his keys
took his shoes
took his leave

you took him for a fool

it wasn’t you didn’t want him
you said
you simply saw yourself
in a different movie
with a different ending

no broken hearts
at least
not yours

and the stranded man
in the leather chair
had my face

had no expectations
made no demands
held you responsible
for nothing

and you left the table
cashed in your winnings
climbed the winding stairs
silk purse in hand
his heart in your pocket
to place it at midnight
on your balcony sill
to watch it wither in the moonlight

he had no need for it
nor most certainly
did you

and the night lark sang
and a silver tear
fell hard as steel
from his crystal’d cheek
which you collected in a sterling box
and tossed into the sea

~ ~ ~

Daredevil’s Dread

~
to be shot from a cannon
into the cool night air
is really no big deal

to face a barrage
of flying knives
isn’t really that unreal

to leap through the fire
of a flaming hoop
the warmth is kind’a nice

jumping giant chasms
on two-wheeled fury
sure – let’s do it twice

to be blown up
in a speeding car
sort’a turns me on

falling 20-story
from a skyscraper
I’m up over and gone

riding upside down
on an airplane wing
it’s the only way to fly

the high trapeze
without a net
I wouldn’t bat an eye

buried alive
in a padlocked tomb
count 10 and I’ll cheat death

chained in steel
tossed in the sea
no need to hold my breath

the sphere of fear
the dome of doom
the bungee-cord freefall

to walk blazing coals
swallow deadly swords
no sweat — I’ve done them all

almost nothing scares
this bold daredevil
I am very proud to say

save the single thing
of which I’m terrified

to give my heart away

~ ~ ~

____________________________________

top 2 photos: Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus

bottom photo: source unknown

Hedone’s Daughter

WARNING! For adult readers only!

Hedone’s Daughter

radiant vision silken skinned
translucent alabaster blaze
torrid as a teen’s temptation
leaned low
here before me
yearning

straplened ankles fragile turned
stiletto’d rise
on carpet soft
emblazened vixen
forward bent
availed so boldly
flush with craving

graceful face
brazen aglow
comely raised and tilted back
my fingers tangled in your hair
lifting firm
yet luscious slow

swept away in lustful swoon
forearms rest on velvet sheets
eyes aflame in sapphire need
blatant in your fetched seduction

Hedone’s daughter lush with Spring
smouldering
in golden light
that folds upon you soft as satin
‘cross nape of neck
arched silk desire

down glistening back
that tempting tapers
to the tender
warm and sultry
wonderland for fingertips
to touch
and tease
and tantalize

to explore
your quivering body
soul-addictive
luscious
grand
divinely-pleasing sculpted vessel
brought forth by Aphrodite’s hand

virgin fruit swells full and ripe
flesh silhouette to hypnotize
enticing in the candle’s flicker
fondled by my hungry eyes

they stroke and tweak
the blossomed berries
that burst
engorged with passion’s heat

that taunt my tongue to twirl ’round
my teeth to nip in playful tug
draw to my lips
now lewdly moist
to take
and taste in eager suckle

willful hands
of pleasured probing
wrap slender waist
then slowly slide
‘cross pleading hips
of sensuous rise
to fall into erotic folds
molded from the charms of Venus

’round dual swells of burning myth
that writhe
atop two lathen’d stems
long and lithe
as liquid love
turned by pleasure’s gloried angels
tempered in a sacred fire

stretched taut
raised high on tips of toes
proud
defined
and goddess buff

enough to make one
want to stuff
to thrust and thrust
in randy lust
’til passion’s seed
has turned to dust

and wanton
carnal
flames
are snuffed

spring’s sweet madness
full rebuffed

~ ~ ~

_____________________

candle photo entitled “Lovers” by: Bolshevixen

photographer of couple embracing unknown

Bohemian Tie-Dye

This poem was inspired by a suggestion from Andy Sewina, aka SweetTalking Guy. This is a very brief flash fiction written in three American Sentences, a poetic form conceived by Allen Ginsberg.

Bohemian Tie-Dye

jack and Neal on the road
were rape’n their angst
in carnal combustion

allen was howl’n
pal’n with corso
but still white-hot for peter

hunter was fearful
loathing it all
as bohemia went tie-dye

~ ~ ~

Touch of Love

Touch of Love

a quarter century ago
in the shadow of the tall ships
nestled inter-coastal
on the outer banks of Beaufort
our passion burst to flame

we bound that flashpoint moment
in a promise of forever
and a band of abalone
I found there in that sunset
on the Carolina sands

as ever-precious
as the diamond ring
that now encircles in its stead
that pearled bit of shell
immortalized our pledge

even to this day
it rests next to your heart
where it falls true and warm
on links of purest gold
my constant touch of love

~ ~ ~

Click below to read more poetry at dVerse:

Open Link Night #233

That Hollywood Sparkle

it’s not so much we resent the hungry
no more than do we despise the poor
rather we avoid and dismiss them
with the dull cough of apathy
we find them disturbing and dangerous
they disquiet our comfort
they disrupt our summer stroll downtown

we do not flow with the milk of kindness
our part is more the dark brandy of denial
afterall what is it we can really do
we do however praise our stars
for their sensitivity toward the downtrodden
it makes the less fortunate more glamorous
and we like the hollywood sparkle it imparts to tragedy

~ ~ ~

rob kistner © 6/26/18

Sanctuary

“Under Windsor Bridge” by Adolphe Valette, 1912

Sanctuary

dead calm envelops me

moist morning fog
adrift on the water
wraps ’round me
like a cool blanket

it muffles the sounds
of daybreak’s industry

alone with my thoughts
in peaceful privacy
safe anonymity

the regrets of last night
dim and fade

this brief sanctuary
a soothing balm
so welcome
at the start of this heavy day

~ ~ ~

No Respite

No Respite

relentless din of crawling prowling night
pours steaming through my window
midnight intrudes damp and searing
insistent

scalded air too hot and thick to breathe
a heat to suffocate
blades beat and drone overhead
promising relief
in vain

sweltered darkness lays heavy upon me
unbearable

I toss in labored half-sleep
gasping for cool relief
restless

I inhale deep to fill my lungs
seeking satisfying breath
only to bake them in cruel heat
no relief

salted droplets trace my spine
baste my neck
pool in the hollow of my fevered chest
bloom and seep
from beneath the smother
of matted soak atop my head
to weep their way ‘cross smoldering brow
into my eyes
and sting

in this nocturnal furnace
night clings and stifles
even dreams are scorched
simmering in August

~ ~ ~

Cloistered

This piece deals with the strange duality we all carry with us through life, the unique contradiction between the person we think we are, and the ‘many’ other persons others perceive us to be from their experience of us, as filtered through their differing individual perceptions. Fair or not, convenient or not, we are ‘judged’. Our lives are impacted to one degree or another, every day by how we measure up to each of these interpretations of the “I” we are thought to be. This includes the “I” we perceive ourselves to be. Which one is real, is valid, or is any one of them truly definitive? The phrase “I am” presents a fascinating philosophical quandary.

image by René Magritte

Cloistered

when another
tells you of yourself
you’re shown the dance they see
your outward choreography

but you hear not of the music
that rings true in your mind
that leads and drives the steps
to this inward dance they’re blind

you are shown the reflection
not the light that shines inside
that illuminates your soul
to guide your steps and stride

are we the I that we know
the self that we so treasure
or are we in fact the other
the one the others measure

for if the valid I
be the one that is most known
then we are in fact that I
the one to ourselves not shown

for surely when compared
the majority story shared
is of the outward other
the one seen by another

and so we live our life
cloistered in this other
and live this life alone
even when by many known
for the I that’s outward shown
is the I that’s not our own

~ ~ ~

Morphling

image by Francesca Woodman

Morphling

I will not be confined
always in motion
eternal ebb and flow
perpetual like the seas

my spirit an eternal liquid
in everlasting flux
expands unrestrained
seeking freedom

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

my heart in constant surge
challenges boundary
seeking balance that is mine
to change at will

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

~ ~ ~

Solitaire

“A Dinner Table at Night” — by: John Singer Sargent

Solitaire

immersed in pleasured chatter
bursts of heightened laughter

in the ringing clank of crystal
of silver on fine china

crisp bustle of starched service
lush rustle of satin’d lace

aglow in silken’d candlelight
caressed by gentle strains

wafts of sweet Bordeaux
heady fragrance of cut orchids

midst soft din and dance of mirth
I gaze upon your empty face
and see there in your hollow eyes
our game is solitaire

~ ~ ~

Perception’s Window

artwork by Jack Vettriano

Perception’s Window

we are infinite beings
awaking slowly
from some infinite place

our coming to be
unknown to us as any mystery
our essence an enigma

learned in stories
in waiting relationships
gradually we open to our identity

awareness dawns
like the rising of a newborn sun
breaking on our window of perception

we feel its warmth
and flow effortlessly into timelessness
as though immortal

we see not over the horizon
for we see no horizon
but limitless eternity

we comprehend no end
immersed only in the now
given of our origin

it is therein exists the miracle of life
we are infinite beings in this moment
dreaming to sustain the moment

~ ~ ~

The Startled Man

this “she” was birthed
in his fractured dreams
helpless as a forest fawn
frail as a snowflake
falling on a May predawn

a captive
to his fearful heart
caught in his twisted fantasy
conjured by his crippled soul
his power is his fallacy

he needs her weak
for at his core
he’s filled with sour doubt
knows his time of tyranny
is quickly running out

threatened
he seeks to dominate
silences her rising voice
to keep her mute and under thumb
tries to deny her right of choice

with strengthened will
she finds her voice
speaks direct to what she sees
startled by her forthright way
he wants her back upon her knees

once a hollow woman-husk
with sorrow dark as growing dusk
whose spirit withered
in the dimming light
as nightmares swelled
night after night
whose tears once seared the barren land

now rebukes
his fisted hand
and walks away
from the startled man

~ ~ ~

Yet

inspired by the first day I met my wife in 1987…

Yet

had she not appeared in that clearing
so lost

had she not crossed my threshold
on that september day

had not her voice
drifted like silk on a summer breeze
to wrap sheer and sweet
around my heart

had not I been drawn
like a bloom to the morning sun

had not I been captivated
as a hummingbird
by a drop of nectar
crystal on a velvet petal

had not my love come down
soft as a rolling mountain meadow

had not this dream been born

had not my life begun again

~ ~ ~

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