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

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2012

  • Rāgarāja’s Daughter

     

    Rāgarāja’s Daughter

    •

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

    on plush cloud so sensuous
    sweet comely goddess forward bent
    graceful face aglow with craving
    you conjure ardor’s obsession

    a’bloom in beckoned fiery swoon
    forearms rest on pillow soft
    thoughts aflame in primal need
    lips burning smile a fetched seduction

    Rāgarāja’s daughter lush with Spring
    smoldering in golden light
    that folds upon you satin supple
    to bathe in warmth your arched desire

    divinely-pleasing luscious morsel
    served up by a master’s hand
    passion bound to tantalize
    to hypnotize my hungry eyes

    lost in carnal fantasy
    fired by this goddess buff
    arises now my animal
    in a beastly urgent lust

    to wrap ‘round
    this maiden magic
    flesh to flesh
    to full consume
    to thrust
    and thrust
    my randy lust
    ’til passion’s seed
    has turned to dust
    and wanton
    carnal flames
    are snuffed

    Spring’s sweet madness
    at last
    enough

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2012

    • linked at Magpie Tales

    Golden Lady

     

    Golden Lady

    •

    golden lady in sensuous silk
    a beauty sure to mesmerize
    sculpted by a master’s hand
    so seductive as to scandalize

    a stare of comely crystal blue
    floats above a ruby pout
    spellbound by her magic eyes
    she holds your soul with no way out

    her tongue tip teases her top lip’s edge
    like a supple paintbrush flowing
    her smile will fire and hypnotize
    then wrap around you knowing

    you are now her helpless captive
    quite hopelessly addicted
    in the velvet grip of this smoldering waif
    is she an angel — or is she wicked

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011

    • linked at Magpie Tales

    ____________

    image by Bert Stern

    The Journey

     

    The Journey

    •

    beckoned to the final tide
    called forth by the ferryman
    spirit stirs to the distant voice
    that draws you to the journey

    caught still in this mortal realm
    soul resigned to embarkation
    time folding in upon
    as slow you approach the vessel

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011

    • linked at Magpie Tales

    ____________

    image by Mostafa Habibi

    The Dimming

     

    The Dimming

    •

    here is the change

    the forgetting

    the slipping away
    into the haze of memory

    the frustration
    of no longer being able
    and still
    the burning longing to…
    remember

    and you
    dimming in this fog
    midst the times we have cherished
    the places we have loved
    fading beyond reach

    an ever-mounting loneliness
    like so many vacant seats

    empty

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011

    • linked at Magpie Tales

    Wonder

     

    Wonder

    •

    to grow up
    is to chase off
    our innocence
    our naïve belief
    in the world as a beautiful place
    to harden against the magic
    of our childhood dreams

    but if by chance
    we can cling to just one
    perhaps we can hold on
    to our precious sense of wonder

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011

    • photo: “Alice in Wonderland” by Yuki Valentine

    Ballo diVita

     

    Ballo diVita

    •

    he
    a master of time and space
    she
    so young and trusting

    he
    a wizard of colors and words
    dazzled her with danger and dreams
    she
    a nubile daughter of nature
    anointed him with exotic pleasures

    he
    replaced the sun in her sky
    with a fire he conjured and kept
    she
    warmed herself in its heat
    came to his bed at its setting

    they
    the left foot and the right foot poised
    to step forth in creativity’s dance
    to whirl and glide persistent and true
    in the measure and balance of love

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011

    King of Sunrise

     

    King of Sunrise

    •

    on the boulevard below
    last night’s rain puddles
    midst the chaos of metro-clutter
    held hostage by tire and curb
    as if abandoned by the waters of earth

    it shoulders its way through the gutters
    in search of mother sea

    this day begins golden and crisp
    bird songs echo empty sunrise streets

    me and the first edition
    we sit by this morning window
    with coffee and curiosity
    quietly serenaded by the 5:00 AM news

    I read
    occasionally glimpse the screen
    grow troubled by our human plight
    amazed how we never learn
    when the answers seem so obvious

    in this moment
    the tv drones
    my frustration rises
    my spirit slips
    my mind drifts
    lifting on the vapor ribbons
    wafting from my steaming cup
    until I stare distracted

    the announcer’s mouth continues sculpting words
    but I’ve fallen deep into my thoughts
    imagining how different it would be
    if I ruled this world

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011

    • linked at Magpie Tales

    Why Raven?

     

    Why Raven?

    •

    there stands a raven in the rain
    liquid-black as molten coal
    beside a woman
    besot and broken
    thoughts so black and molten
    outstretched in her anguish
    ravin’ in the rain

    raven in the rain
    why is it that you stand here
    so very soaked and sullen
    beside this woman so besot
    so broken and bereft
    heart so black and shattered
    ravin’ in the rain

    has her ravin’ called you forth
    do you feel kinship in her blackness
    does it bind you common thread
    is there a faint scent of death
    carried on her plaintive breath
    she outcast and shunned
    so like your thankless plight

    picking ‘mongst the carnage
    rooting in the road-kill
    the writhing crawling carcass rot
    left the spoiled — not the spoils
    this is your lot is it not
    to consume the left-for-dead
    the world’s lost decay

    raven in the rain
    are you here to feast today

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011

    • linked at Magpie Tales

    Slithered


    The Snake Charmer, Henri Rousseau, 1907

     

    Slithered

    •

    ever hissing ever hissing
    the smooth slithered snake
    stealthily winds its slender self
    to slowly settle in the shadows

    to set its searching sights
    on its unsuspecting prey
    an ever patient sentry
    coiled to seize its precious prize

    with surety of purpose
    this silent sleek assassin
    will strike swift and certain
    never missing never missing

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011

    • linked at Magpie Tales

    Clown

     

    Clown

    •

    I’m the sad little clown with the frowning face
    the round red nose and the great big tear
    this meek facade and silly sham
    belie the horror that I engineer

    life’s dealt me cold my hand is slack
    not one queen no king nor ace
    so violence now dwells in me
    masked behind my woeful face

    no one suspects the evil soul
    that festers deep in this funny fool
    they know not the monster here
    my gentle sheen conceals the cruel

    they don’t realize a broken heart
    a ruined life makes one quite mad
    they simply see the pitiful
    the painted face that looks so sad

    the shaggy coat the baggy pants
    the red suspenders the big white glove
    they do not know it hides the hand
    that choked the life from the one they love

    town after town state after state
    bodies mount in the circus’ wake
    in the dead of night at the dark of moon
    in frenzied fever each life I take

    each beautiful each innocent
    each unaware that they would die
    there will be more on the road ahead
    one for every tear you made me cry

    when the circus comes and the tents go up
    the people cheer in each sleepy town
    because the poor fools just don’t know
    who’s really come is the killer clown

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011

    _____________________

    for two more tales of murder written in dark rhyme click “more”

    Bogged

     

    Bogged

    •

    that’s the thing about ruts
    the longer we remain bogged
    the harder it is to escape

    •

    stopping is no option

    to lose the way
    is to keep going
    keep moving forward

    lest one be rutted in uncertainty
    rigid with the rigor of fear
    bogged down in despair
    paralyzed

    stalled in hopelessness
    the giving in
    the giving up

    caught in anguish
    the rot that sets
    with the loss of wonder
    when grip lets go of dreams

    arthritic loss of faith
    debilitates the soul

    cripples the manifest light
    that shines forth
    at the leap into dark unknown
    into the sacred mystery

    frozen is the doubting man
    withered in a worried cage
    terrified of the wrong step
    of the journey all in
    of daring the way unmarked

    thus
    he bleeds out the color of life
    to become cold and grey

    a petrified husk
    of brittle remorse

    mired in regret
    for never having shone so brightly
    as to blind the eyes of death

    stopping is no option

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011

    • linked at Magpie Tales

    Safe Harbor

     

    Safe Harbor

    (scene from a mystery)

    •

    “What do you mean Eric,” Grace inquired, the strain obvious in her weary voice. “Who exactly is going to take on Sebastian … and why?”

    Her voice trailed off to an exasperated whisper. The why was not so much a question, as it was 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.

    Grace turned away from Eric, head lowered. Her arms fell limp at her sides, fingers splayed. She was trying her best to process what Eric was saying, to understand him – to understand the recent events that had brought her to this place in time … 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.

    She looked at her hands, palms down in her lap, her eyes glazing over. Her vision drifted to her wrists, her left wrist in particular — to her watch. Slowly it came into focus, and she realized she was staring at the broken crystal face of her Audemars Piguet Promesse.

    Ever since Sebastian had given her this watch for their anniversary, her life had turned upside down – but it had also turned a corner. Fate had pushed her round that corner, and she would never turn back again. Her life as Mrs. Kensington was over.

    She knew this, knew it as surely as she knew she missed her children. Something must be done to get them out of that house – his house. It could no longer be her home, but they would always be her children – and she feared for them. They had to be part of whatever direction fate was leading her.

    It was fate that had broken the crystal – fate, and her quick reflexes, blocking Sebastian with her forearm as he lashed out at her in anger, following their anniversary dinner.

    He had apologized, explaining it away as the result of stress. “It will never happen again,” he’d said in his most gentle and sincere voice – but she was far too familiar with this empty promise. This was not the first time, and the incidents of abuse were escalating.

    She’d only come into his office that evening to thank him again for the gorgeous timepiece. She thought this was where he’d retired after leaving the dining table. But she could see, in the subdued light, that he was not there. The mahogany paneled room was empty.

    She loved the aroma of his Classic Port pipe tobacco that permeated the walls. Her father had also smoked that blend in his Barling Meerschaum, and the heady fragrance was comforting to her – so she lingered. That’s when she noticed it, on the small file cabinet next to his desk, in the shadow of the light from the Tiffany lamp. It was her red leather handbag.

    Wondering, she walked over and picked it up, only to realize it was not her bag. What she held was a red leather courier bag. Inside she noticed an odd looking carved box. Her curiosity got the better of her, so she lifted it out, that’s when Sebastian entered. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Put that god damned box down,” he’d shouted — then flew into a rage.

    Why had her discovery of the strangely etched box sent Sebastian over the edge? What were those letters that spilled out when she dropped the box upon being viciously slapped?

    They’d looked terribly official, with their seals and embossing – and written in a language that she did not recognize. Sebastian certainly scrambled frantically to collect them from the antique Persian rug, and return them to the box. But she managed to conceal one, sliding it under her hips as she lay where she’d fallen after being struck.

    Sebastian’s bizarre reaction to the correspondence scattered on the floor, and the foreign language they contained, had piqued Grace’s interest. Instinct drove her to hide the envelope until she was able to carefully fold and secret it into her pocket, as her husband hurried from the room, with the curious box in tow.

    Grace felt it was important that she take this letter, so she spirited it out of the room, found her actual red leather shoulder bag, and buried the puzzling document deep inside for safekeeping. She’d planned to somehow learn more about its origin and content.

    It was again fortune that lead her the next morning to the jewelers, seeking a new watch crystal. It was while standing at the counter, waiting to be served, that she’d spied Sebastian coming out of an alley across the street, scurrying through the rain. He carried a red umbrella and in his left hand, and in his right, there was the red courier bag again.

    Her husband was quickly approaching a woman standing at the curb — a stranger to Grace. They’d exchanged a few words, and had climbed into a waiting limousine. Grace had broken from the counter in a hurry, and bolted through the door to get a better look.

    Unfortunately, as she’d reached the sidewalk and acquired a reasonable view of the vehicle, it had sped away. She had noticed markings on the door, and a license plate, a type she had not immediately recognized – but she could read neither.

    Providence had orchestrated this chance encounter, and unfolded this convoluted chain of events for her — but what was she to do. Where could she begin to unravel this mystery? All this was flooding through her mind when she was startled back to the present by Eric, returning to the room with pillows and a blanket.

    “I will take the sofa tonight,” he said, “You’re completely burned out. I’m putting you in my room,” he continued in a kind and caring tone. “My bed is amazingly comfortable, and you need sleep – lots of good, deep sleep.”

    He reached down and took Grace’s hand, helping her to her feet. Gently wrapping his arm around her waist, he escorted her down the hall and into his room. Stopping just inside the door, he said, “You will be safe in here. We’ll talk about everything in the morning,” and he gave her a warm hug, stepped back into the hall, and closed the door.

    Grace realized there were too many questions to answer, too many unknowns — just too damned much to even think about right now.

    “Yes, in the morning,” she mumbled to the door. Then, hugging her red shoulder bag with the mysterious envelope tucked securely inside, Grace shuffled across the room and collapsed onto the bed.

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011

    _________________________

    THREE POEMS FOR YOUR CONSIDERATION:


    “Golden”


    “Spared”


    “Vanished”

    The Mask

     

    The Mask

    •

    when donned the mask
    the transformation
    smoulders forth the other

    the fantasy
    on wings of dreams

    she is she
    and too
    the other

    unleashed at light of passion’s moon
    manifest at your request
    sustained this night
    at her delight

    she is your isis
    she is your venus
    she is your every longing loosed

    she brings everything in life you miss
    bestowed with aphrodite’s kiss
    but as you burn you should know this
    beneath the mask waits a dark abyss

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011

    • linked at Magpie Tales

    Boldy Go

     

    Boldly Go

    •

    the great wheel of time
    turns ever slow and steadily
    its ponderous mass unstoppable
    it presses onward mightily

    climbs the mortal mountain
    bearing the weight of history
    of ages and civilizations
    borne then razed by its immensity

    our lifetimes ride this wheel
    how far is but a mystery
    locked in fate ’round we go
    rolling bold toward hidden destiny

    frail temporal beings
    of a most amazing bravery
    we dream of a tomorrow
    for which there is no guarantee

    adrift toward a future
    of veiled and vague contingency
    still — we dare to love
    despite this vast uncertainty

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011

    • this poem linked at Writer’s Island and One Single Impression