Young Flower
•
velvet soft
passion’d purple
newly bloomed flower
full and succulent
tender plumped folds
glisten with dewy nectar
heady fragrance
pleasures the senses
luscious form
ripened blush
delights the eye
a gentle touch parts silken petals
reveals the inner bud
swollen with the urgency of life
intoxicating
such vital beauty
consumed
one savors slowly
exquisitely delicious
this young flower
full bloomed
• • •
rob kistner © 3/14/11
…written for Magpie Tales
Masquerade
•
when donned the mask
the transformation
smoulders forth
the other
the fantasy
of your desire
carnal fire
on wings of dreams
she is she
and too
the other
unleashed at light
of passion’s moon
a masquerade
to ignite your soul
manifest at your request
sustained this night
at her delight
she is isis
she is venus
she is your every longing
loosed
to bring you every pleasure
she is everything
and all of this
bestowed
with aphrodite’s kiss
as you burn
remember this
beneath the mask
your real bliss
• • •
•
go down in trial
endure the tribulation
emerge rapt in grace
steeled by the tempering fire
molten molded pure and strong
• • •
This poem is offered in response to prompt #22 at We Write Poems.
•
crave the taste
of my baby cakes
seven minutes
is all it takes
gotta whip ‘em up
nice and creamy
mouthwaterin’
moist and steamy
oh do not rush
you better not
gotta get that
little oven hot
spread ‘em thick
but not too quick
steady stirrin’
will do the trick
ease ’em in
slide ’em out
hot buttered lovin’
fresh from the oven
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
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
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.
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.
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.
(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
version 1
I taste you like a peach
sweet juice trickles to my chin
I bite you like an Apple
your crisp laughter fills my ears
I devour you like a strawberry
tart and succulent on my tongue
I drink you like thick nectar
you flow rich into my soul
I desire you completely
longing to be fulfilled
I consume you wholly
flushed with wanton pleasure
____
version 2
my mouth on you
soft
like a peach
you glisten
trickle from my lips
I bite you
sweet
like an apple
your hushed breath
staccato crisp
you taste
tart as a strawberry
succulent
as love’s nectar
a delicious
wanton pleasure
____
rob kistner © 2010
it is my coursing vital
stirs my spirit
steels my resolve
drives me on
into the fray
emboldened
“to thine own selfâ€
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
…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?â€
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
______________
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.
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
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
•
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
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
•
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
•
you cannot abuse my trust
you will not cramp my love
with hatred
never shall you
defile my dream
I am your mirror
the light
that fills your dark void
the found for your lost
the hope for your despair
the grace for your sin
I am your neutral
blanking your negative
expelling it
from the realm of joy
it cannot sustain
I watch
as it withers
and fades
away
• • •
rob kistner © 2010