Tag: longing

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

The Taste

This type of poem is known as a haibun, and combines prose with haiku. It is offered in response to the September 20th prompt at Big Tent Poetry.

The Taste

•

It was an embrace I’d wished had been endless, at our tearful farewell – your body supple and warm, pulsing with life.

lips lush as cognac
open softly to kisses
urgently linger

I passed through security, turned and fixed on your gaze – prayed it was not the last time I’d look into your eyes. I wandered dazed down the ramp, to the jet that would take me to the fury of hell. I locked your face of love deep in my heart.

That cherished image proved my grasp on sanity through two years of horror – through the sting of separation, the bitter taste of war, the foul stench of death.

I return this day, facing reality at 30,000 feet, the salt of sadness on my lips. I am ashamed, frightened to see and touch you again, but I burn to do so.

so different now
my hands angry with bloodshed
innocence is lost

I fear a kiss from my killer’s mouth, will forever defile your precious lips – lush as sweet cognac, that day we parted.

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

NOTE: this piece is by no means a condemnation of the men and women who are sent into the teeth of hell to fight, suffer, and sometimes die. Rather, it is an expression of my deep respect for what they endure, and a quiet tear for what is so often sadly lost in so doing.

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

Believe

This piece is offered in response to prompt #19 at We Write Poems
and in response to the visual prompt Mag 23 at Magpie Tales seen at bottom of post.



• image entitled “Weary” – colorized, digitally rendered by: rob kistner 2010


Believe

•

I’d like to make myself believe
the dream I dreamt as a young man
that we can change the world’s heart
to embrace love for one another

I’d like to make myself believe
people are by nature good
that we can live in peace
and make the world a better place

I’d like to make myself believe
universal understanding
is a common goal
of the peoples of this planet

I’d like to make myself believe
we haven’t lost our faith
in these sacrosanct ideals
of an elevated life

I’d like to make myself believe
there still exists somewhere
a shared and nurtured vision
of a paradise on earth

I’d like to make myself believe
but empty runs the hourglass
again I’ve heard the daily news
and I’m so weary, and brokenhearted

yes, I’d like to make myself believe
I’d like to, really like to
but sometimes now I even wonder
if anyone ever truly did

• • •

• poem above borrowed key line from the song “Fireflies” by Owl City

_________________

Time Running Out

•

once demure discourse

now rhetoric to offend

volatile neighbors

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

• haiku above also offered for the visual prompt Mag 23 at Magpie Tales,
and the September 15th prompt at Three Word Wednesday.


Mag 23

Mother-less

This piece is offered in response to prompt Mag 31 at Magpie Tales



Mother-less

(bastard’s lament)

•

undesired
discarded
thrown away

though whole
sound
and useful

no matter

labeled mistake
misbegotten
unfortunate

shown the back

outside
looking in

left behind

alone
by the side
of life’s road
to endure
the harsh weather
of abandonment

tried
convicted
sentenced for life
to suffer confusion
shame
the sorrow
of the unwanted

condemned

guilty only
of the crime
of inconvenience

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

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

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

Wilt

This piece is offered in response to the August 16th prompt at Big Tent Poetry.




Wilt

•

curtains hang limp
at the front room windows
through which no breeze
has blown for days

only the sound of tires
crackling like slow-torn velcro
as cars roll sluggish
past our porch
tugging the molten tar patches
of our sizzled street

watering the roses
I see the gerbera daisies droop
panting in their porcelain pineapple pots
toasting on the withered wooden stoop
paint cracked and dry
scorched from neglect

even the silk plant on the kitchen sill
is wilted from the triple-digit heat
the glowing zeroes stare red
from the temperature display
like a pair of burning eyes
vacant as my baked brain

I bring the cool stream
from our garden hose
to quench my thirst
and moisten my parched lips

they do not smile
simmering deep in summer

• • •

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

Too Still

This piece is offered in response to prompt Mag 26 at Magpie Tales




Still

•

it sits
still
atop the corner
of our garden wall
just where she left it

how many lilies
did it nourish
how many fuscia
lilac
rose
and morning glory
did it quench

it dispensed its
life giving waters
so gracefully
in her hand

such a delicate hand
gentle in its task
of planting new growth
but rugged on the weeds
that threatened her beloved garden

she was the giver of life
and the guardian
of her realm

but she could not
stop all that threatened
and I had not
her gift of life giving

and so it rests
atop the wall
no longer is it lifted
by her tender
hand of nurture

that hand now
is still

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

Time Window

This piece is offered in response to visual prompt Mag 24 at Magpie Tales.




Time Window

•

In the solitude
of my assisted exile
the window above me
frames a grey
and barren sky

but with eyes closed
I see home
of long ago
alive with morning

the scurry of creatures
warmed by summer

I hear nature
in splendid voice

the chuff
of tree’d red squirrel

the song
chirp
and trill of birds

chickadee
goldfinch
western bluebird
and others

fly
flutter
and flit

cracking black-oil sunflower seeds
that spill from feeders

a red-tailed hawk
calls
from atop a Sitka spruce
swaying
in the crisp blue sky

the muffled belling of a deer
wandering the safety of old-growth
whispers
through the foothills

the distant bark
of a neighbor’s dog
echoing the basin
up along our stream
reminds me
we have friends nearby

my wife’s
gentle laughter
validates the friendship

her tender smile
validates our love

the rustle of leaves
stirred by the breeze
wafts through the valley

smartly punctuated
by the staccato
of conifer cones
that fall
from time to time
wrested free by chickaree
and chipmunk
chattering high in Douglas fir
busy with their forage

wap wap wap

they bounce off our roof
striking the ground

closely followed
by the scamper
of their liberators
crunching their way
to the heart-meat of the cone
the delicacy
that elicits this furious industry

drifting in the window
intoxicating fragrances

cedar
pine
fir

lily
rose
lilac

grasses
loam
and more

a rich
earthy bouquet

caught in my reverie
I breathe in
deeply
to suddenly remember

I am alone
carefully banished
to this forgotten cloister

sobered
I exhale
and do not open my eyes

a solitary tear
escapes

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

The Quiet • The Strike

…I’ve written two pieces in response to Three Word Wednesday July 21st prompt • the first is entitled “The Quiet” • the second is entitled “The Strike”…

The Quiet

•

left like spent bait
in the disapproving sun
to rot from apathy

the carcasses of constituents
foolishly quiet
curl brittle and crack

victims of their trust
they did not jump
their chance for change

and so they wither
hollowed by ignorance
and purposeful neglect

while the dark beast
slouches off with eden
marrow dripping from a smile

• • •

The Strike

•

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
rod flexing expectantly

a flick of my wrist
and the line arcs forward
increasing the pressure
on my fingertip
as it rolls ahead
accelerating

then
a careful pluck
like a string
on a guitar

it is released

the golden lure
at line’s end
sails silent
into the squinting summer sun

with a subtle plick
the barbed hunter disappears
slipping ‘neath the sparkle
of the undulating steam

seductively
with quickening pulse
eagerly visualizing
I retrieve the bait
anticipating the strike

patience draws the lure
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
in life

the thrill of possibility
can be as rich
as the reward

• • •

rob kistner © 2010


Ardor

This piece is offered in response to visual prompt Mag 23 at Magpie Tales (shown below the poem).




Ardor

•

eyes dark and deep as nile nocturne
scorching as nubian sundance
this blackthorn rose
is the secreted passion

the sultry jungle goddess
inscribed in the book of ardor

fired in molten scarlet
woman forged of earthen bronze

ablaze in the sensual dreams
of writhing midnight

she is smoke and flame
the mysterious traveler

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

• The beautiful woman in the photo above is Jourdan Dunn

________________________________



• Magpie Tales prompt Mag 23 •

Gravity

…in response to the 12th prompt of 2010 on Writer’s Island, I offer a perspective on regret…




Gravity

•

if I could
but glide
like a bird in flight

I would soar skyward
in sweeping circles
lifted on mighty thermals
I would not be earthbound
not a captive of gravity

if I could
but break the gravity
of time
I would not be a prisoner
of regret

I would return to you

this day would be soaring
and swooping
and giving thanks
for feathers and hollow bones

and forgiveness

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

You Are Here


It was 15 years ago today
you were taken from this earth

I could not sleep last night
the tears come at times today

tears because I miss you
tears because I love you
tears because the memories
bitter and sweet
bring forth these true emotions

you abide within my heart these days
in a place of warmth and peace
I am so thankful you are here
and will always be

______________________________

in loving memory of my son
Aaron Robert Kistner
November 4, 1976 – July 3, 1995