This is my twenty-first post for National Poetry Month 2010
• one free verse poem
• one short prose
• one tanka
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• inspired by Kristen McHenry’s prompt at read write poem
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As I age, my imperfections begin to manifest themselves more and more. I once was young, and handsome, and strong – but that all is waning, and I sometimes feel despair. But the irony here is that, in seeing and feeling more and more acutely, my imperfections, it also eventually shines a light on how fortunate I have been in my life – and the despair often shifts to tearful gratitude… even joy! That is what this poem is about.
Chill Winds
•
chill winds of time
rise in dissonance
seasons of cold rain
hiss and tick
my weathered panes
life’s essence
slowly slips my being’s grip
it’s warmth
ever-fading
the pall and ache
wrap firm my bones
suppress my spirit
slowly steal my living core
I despair of rigid form
drained of vital sap
drawn and withered
robbed of flex and grace
my light of memory dims
my pool of knowledge clouds
dear and beloved go
one by one
beyond my call
beyond the joy and chaos
of this temporal plane
what remains is sorrowed pain
and sinking will
then you call my name
beckon me to your embrace
to sooth and comfort my discontent
to draw me into your love
I see again that life’s been good
that we are blessed to have known all this
and in that moment
joy
• • •
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Above It All
•
I want to live in a treehouse
way up high in the branches
of a big redwood
several observation platforms
at different levels
as you hand-wench yourself
into the forest canopy
* optional motorized system
a three-story treehouse
huge wrap around porches
at each level
the top level
one big open room
a place I could write
work on my art
where my wife kathy
could have her fiberart studio
her big toika loom
several navajo hand looms
assembly tables
all her “found†stuff
so key to her abstract soft-sculptures
the roof
one big deck
being able to see
far as the eye could see
so very liberating
exhilarating
riding out big storms
like flying
but anchored
secure
our treehouse
would be made of
anodized aluminum
stone
leathers
and wood
many woods
teak, cedar, oak, maple, and walnut
lots of tempered crystal-clear acrylic
I’d hand feed the eagles
the hawks, the osprey
certainly in my mind
I’d run guywires
slide lines
between tree tops
we could soar
through the sun-dappled canopy
a place high up
where I could work, live, dance, laugh
in the nude
if I wanted
and make love to my wife
windows wide open
the sun and breeze
free to come and go
no comments from
or concerns of
neighbors
where I could crank up my jazz
I want to live in a treehouse
in our treehouse
and truly be
what I’m often accused of being
removed
above it all
• • •
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Jumping
•
hunched down leaned forward
rising with knees soundly gripped
jumping big horses
clearing hurdles one by one
keep him reined but let him run
• • •
• poem and tanka by: rob kistner © 2010
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…check out the other splendid imperfections at readwritepoem…
