Tag: Image

No First Ink

Offered in response to prompt #136 at One Single Impression,
and in response to prompt #73 on Carry On Tuesday,
also in response to prompt #189 at Three Word Wednesday.




No First Ink

•

I lean upon my folded fist
cool against my temple
elbow solid on my cluttered desk

eyes droop and flicker
aflame with spoiled sleep

face slacked
head now dropped
held in my hands
heavy with confusion

skull upon the finger bones
in weighted indecision
procrastination presses down

where art thou muse
I seek weightless inspiration
to be lifted up by you

instead
the hum of cooling bytes
drones relentless in my ears
impossible to ignore
no matter how I try

thoughts like digits on a dollar slot
spin unsettled in my mind
they neither click nor lock in place
they tumble in a jumble
to roll and blur just out of focus
lost in mental fog

sunken in my writer’s chair
I remain immobile
paralyzed by perplexity
imprisoned by the chaos
awhirl in my mind

the freedom of decision
impossible to manage

I fear nothing will be writ
no first ink will be shed this day

• • •

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

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

S’wonderful

This piece is offered in response to prompt Mag 28 at Magpie Tales




S’wonderful

•

slow
satisfying
soak

serenely steamy

soft supple skin
salaciously slathered
shaved smooth
satin-silky

seductive scent
subtly spread

sensuous strokes
sliding
stimulating
stirring sighs
shivers

savoring

so
so
so slippery

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

Old Man’s Prayer

…this piece is in response to the 16th prompt of 2010 on Writer’s Island,
and visual prompt Mag 27 at Magpie Tales (see image at bottom),
also offered for prompt 129 at One Single Impression,
and for prompt 228 at Sunday Scribblings….




Old Man’s Prayer

•

successful as a younger man
the grind became my home
and I a conduit of worry
could I keep the crazy pace

years spun wild as a top
around faster ever faster
life layering its patina
etched deeply in my face

suddenly no longer young
now looking back from 63
I’ve known triumph I’ve known tragedy
they’ve marked me both the same

I’ve borrowed bought and sold
strayed through several shades of grey
but have I leveraged my soul
just to play the fleeting game

I pray I will not be an old man
gazing lonely out my window
trying to remember
exactly how long it has rained

not sitting silent by the fire
lost in contemplation
wondering if all I lost
was worth what it was I gained

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

• photo of top from the movie Inception

_________________



Mag 27

Machine Mind

This post is offered in response to prompt #14 at We Write Poems,
the August 9th prompt at Big Tent Poetry,
the August 11th prompt at Three Word Wednesday,
and prompt #65 at Carry On Tuesday.




“…scientists were so preoccupied with whether or not they could,
they didn’t stop to think if they should…”
Dr. Ian Malcolm


Machine Mind

•

you wink awake at morning’s light
beckoning me to focused task
prompting me of promise

you collaborate
in my keeping touch
in work dispatched
in thoughts transcribed
in matters pure creative

you are my portal into virtual space
to probe mysteries
the vast unknown

the tool I wield
to unearth facts
dig the dirt
to search for truth

tightly spun
within the web
you tend my life
make all cogs turn

my instrument of whim
device of my distraction
are you my submissive
or master of my will

when you’ve surpassed my vision
will you serve me still

have I the power to shut you down
turn my back
walk away

to truly let you keep

in the deep subconscious
does your machine mind
really sleep

• • •

TechReGret

(a lighthearted tanka)

•

my laptop’s frozen

and my cell phone’s out of range

it’s at these times when

I think how life used to be

hand-written letters have soul

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

_________________________

• photorendered collage entitled: “Machine Mind” – by: rob kistner © 2010

IN CLOSING: We live a in a world immersed, if not drowning, in technology. The idealistic and naive early vision was to create technology to serve us, make life easier, less complicated – but the joke is on us. We now serve the technology, and life is more complicated — traveling at a pace we struggle to keep up with. We’ve leveraged our peace of mind in the misguided pursuit of leisure. Is there a remedy? If we do not open a global dialog focused at finding ‘balance’, the situation will, I believe, resolve itself – and the world will not like, and may not survive, the ultimate solution.

As James Martin, one of our great modern thinkers and author of the “The Meaning of the 21st Century” points out in his most optimistic and uplifting book, man stands on the threshold of either the greatest era in human history, or the end of life as we know it – the outcome rests in our hands.

I wrote an essay back in 2007 which deals with humankind’s strange relationship with the technology we’ve created. You can click here if you would like to read it. …rob

Blood Moon

This piece is offered in response to prompt Mag 25 at Magpie Tales,
prompt #13 at We Write Poems,
and the August 2nd prompt at Big Tent Poetry.




Blood Moon

•

icy round
the wolf’n eye
soft and round
the riding breast
roundness
in the grande dame’s fear
a circle round
the blood moon’s crest

there are lies
within that circled moon
that surround
this cruel charade
they gather
and collect the tears
‘til midnight’s debt
is fully paid

‘til innocence
is found to want
and purity
so deep defiled
that cold and soulless
lupen eyes
will cleave the sweet
in red and wild

and all that once
was tender
will on this night
turn beastly raw
and guilted
hearts be locked away
to deny at dawn’s light
the truth they saw

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

Burn

…in response to the 13th prompt of 2010 on Writer’s Island, I offer a piece I wrote inspired by Joni Michell’s album entitled “Don Juan’s Reckless Daughter”. Embedded in this work is the title of every track that appears on that album / also for prompt #126 ‘Angel’ at One Single Impression…



Burn

•

come to me
talk to me otis
and
marlena
reveal your mystery

I am your brood
sired by your seed
bloodied
from your womb

whisper
in a scorching breath
tell me about
the tenth world

taunt me
in scalded apparition

tell me how
to get to dreamland
to cotton avenue
on a hot off night
back street in jericho

tell me of the fires
on paprika plains
that consumed your souls
in flames of hunger
to lust
for immortality

made you dance
at midnight
wrapped in
the silky veils of ardor
on prurient
smoldered embers

I want to go
I am ready

an inferno burns
inside me
desire rages strong
to ride the bliss of sin

son of concupiscence
I am
your son

your lifeblood
courses through me
hammers in my temples
sets my heart ablaze

impassioned
I wil prowl
the shadow’d haunts
of jericho

the dark places
of the tenth world
following your ghosts

seeking
don jaun’s reckless daughter
my scarlet jezebel
my nocturne angel
to take me
in a fever

to whirl me ‘round
to burn me down
to ash

to scatter me
by moonlight

forever
in the winds
of memory
on those plains
of ardor

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

• photorendered collage entitled “Dance of Ardor” by: rob kistner © 2010

Elton The Elf

…I wrote this in response to the spirit of the July 26th prompt at Big Tent Poetry…


Elton The Elf

•

an angel-eyed velvet-clad curious elf
was sitting alone on a leaf by himself
quite lost and he didn’t see anyone else
he was scared and he hid and he tried to be stealth

“I wish I was home like a good little elf
‘cause I left my big glasses on my bedroom shelf
and this is no a place for a song-writing elf
these damp woods are not very good for my health”

his mother warned “Elton, you’re a wee little elf,
don’t go wandering off in the woods by yourself
take Bernie along, and your cell phone as well,
dear son please consider your fame and your wealth!”

but wee little Elton was a quite stubborn elf
tired of playing piano in his room by himself
bored with being a world famous rock ‘n roll elf
with gold records – Don’t Go Breaking My Heart was his 12th

you know it really is hard being a curious elf
curiosity is why he’d snuck off by himself
now he’s lost and can’t find his way home without help
sometimes its dangerous being sneaky and stealth

could this be the end for sweet Elton the elf

• • •

rob kistner © 2010