Swept Away

  • A bluesman’s life and soul: “Music gives me goose-bumps, especially when created from the heart, by a genuine human spirit…”
  • swept-away.jpg

     
    Swept Away

    (- REDUX 2019 -)

    ~

    memphis red
    no longer is

    gray now shines
    from a balding head
    filled with scarlet embers

    memories still burn
    a fired spirit

    too deep for coddled mortals
    to fully fathom

    red is real
    red is legend

    his tales of pain
    of injustice
    the lore of the big muddy

    his eyes
    earthy brown
    turbulent as that river

    his stare
    a deep current
    impossible to escape
    you’re swept away

    his voice
    a tempered edge
    honed by blues

    broadleaf husky
    thick as sorghum
    smooth as beale street bourbon

    the cf martin
    swings from a leathered neck
    on a tattered strap
    stretched and shaped
    by the heft of sorrow
    poured into the soundhole

    marked and scarred
    by years of burden
    of witness

    its character and patina
    bear testament
    to a genuine soul

    cracked and seasoned hands
    reach with suffered care
    to wrap the fingerboard
    in love

    callused digits
    yellowed by habit
    depress taut strands
    no longer catgut

    blood and bone
    grip
    connect
    sculpting emotions

    true life
    ensnared in sitka spruce
    and spiraled steel

    knowing strains rise
    chords of loss

    rhythmic stomp
    stinging verse
    of broken promise
    failed love

    of dirt field
    cruel street
    back alley
    of harsh wisdom

    resonate to fill this space
    to break my heart
    to steal my soul

    swept away

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2007

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    photo rendering above entitled: “Knowing”
    rendered by: rob kistner © 2007

    Click here to read about more blues on TOAD

    Reaper Groom

    A MURDER MYSTERY

    I’ve always been fascinated by who-done-it’s and classic horror stories, so I was inspired to write this piece with a ‘retro’ gothic feel.

    Lyle, the socially awkward, seemingly milquetoast villain of this tale has a ‘killer’ obsession. A shy, mild-mannered church organist; he is ‘changed’ into a murdering menace — by loneliness and rejection.

    BE WARNED: This poem, and the collage I created to accompany it, are both a bit graphic — in a noir-tongue-in-cheek sort of way.

    I invite you to enjoy, “Reaper Groom”.

    reaper-groom500d.jpg

    collage above entitled: “Thief of Hearts” — by: rob kistner © 2008

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    Reaper Groom

    ~

    backlit by a lightening flash
    a figure scurried ‘cross the yard
    between the gravestones he did dash
    head down low, and running hard

    dressed in cape of velvet black
    he seemed to vanish from our sight
    but then we saw him double back
    he would not escape tonight

    elusive as a demon’s shadow
    ghost-like — he could disappear
    but no more, this scourge of sorrow
    finally, we were drawing near

    surround and capture, was the plan
    the hounds had tracked him to this place
    this had to be our wanted man
    though none had seen his evil face

    we were sworn to bring him down
    bloodthirsty was this man — and cruel
    he’d caused such horror in our town
    if he escaped, we’d look the fool

    the target of our townsfolk’s hate
    he must be caught this beast of doom
    he’d killed so many brides to date
    we knew him as the “Reaper Groom”

    he took the lives of countless bride
    murdered them by dark of night
    once betrothed they couldn’t hide
    death was sure to be their plight

    marriage took an awful blow
    as one by one our maidens fled
    our bachelors’ ire began to grow
    there were no wives to share their bed

    this had to stop — no maids for men
    it wasn’t natural, wasn’t right
    this curse would never be again
    it would end, right here, tonight

    we had him cornered in our net
    he’d not escape our clutch this time
    he owed this town an awful debt
    he’d pay quite dearly for his crime

    we closed in slowly, with great care
    we’d make sure he couldn’t run
    we deftly caught him in our snare
    and gathered round him, every one

    we took him roughly in this place
    and chained him to a stony block
    and brought a torch to light his face
    then gasped, and staggered back in shock

    this couldn’t be, not this poor fool
    this shy man of timid smile
    we sought a monstrous evil ghoul
    this was bashful lonely Lyle

    Lyle played organ every Sunday
    and lead the hymns, as we would sing
    our fiend escaped, we’d get him one day
    and when we did, for sure he’d swing

    it wasn’t Lyle, it was another
    Lyle was not the type, you see
    Lyle lived with his aging mother
    so we’d set lonely Lyle free

    but Lyle spoke up in quiet voice
    don’t turn me lose, please, I forbid it
    you see you really have no choice
    cause I’m your man, that’s right, I did it

    I killed these maidens everyone
    I’ve charged this town a heavy toll
    but my spree is over, I won’t run
    this weigh’s too heavy on my soul

    sentenced to hanging at his trial
    Lyle was shortly going to die
    looking sadly stern at Lyle
    the judge inquired of him why

    had he slain all this beauty
    made so many families cry
    he felt an answer was his duty
    so this was Lyle’s cold reply

    for many years I’d been denied
    until my soul was heavy laden
    god knows how often I had tried
    to win the love of a fair young maiden

    I was so consumed with bitter grief
    that, though I’ve caused much pain and strife
    this was my only true relief
    to take from them their tender life

    as mama’s words rang in my head
    I’d cut out their precious part
    there’s more than one way, mama said
    to steal a lovely lady’s heart

    ~ ~ ~
    rob kistner © 2008

    Seasons

  • Suite of four haiku reflecting the seasons…

  • collage entitled “Four Seasons” by: rob kistner © 2007

  •  
    Seasons

    ~

     

    Spring

    (haiku)

    ~

    wings flutter gently

    spring breeze bends full flowered stems

    meadow dance begins

    ~ ~ ~

     

    Summer

    (haiku)

    ~

    green leaf on blue pond

    turns in golden summer sun

    red bird softly sings

    ~ ~ ~

     

    Fall

    (haiku)

    ~

    stalks lie down in fields

    arbors burst with ripened grape

    fall is on the land

    ~ ~ ~

     

    Winter

    (haiku)

    ~

    coarse lands cloaked in white

    lakes bejeweled in crystal

    winter’s dressing hand

    ~ ~ ~

     

    rob kistner © 2007

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  • Click here to read more poetry at dVerse

  • Limitless

    …limitless talent, unfathomable spirit…

    Limitless

    •

    • written for Writer’s Island

    NaPoWriMo #27

    This is my twenty-seventh post for National Poetry Month 2010
    • one acrostic
    • one tanka


    ____________________________________

    • inspired by Carolee Sherwood ‘s day 27 prompt at read write poem to write an acrostic

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    Evolution

    •

    Even in chaos nature finds balance.

    Violent floods beget fertile fields.

    One thing ends, another begins.

    Life is a cycle of birth and death.

    Untamed wildfire creates forest ash.

    The ashen remains nurture growth again.

    In the caterpillar lives the butterfly.

    One thing ends, another begins.

    Now and forever, the mandella spins.

    • • •

     

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    Stone Fox First

    •

    garage sound check great

    groupies at the ludlow door

    allmans soon to start

    damned duane is still m-i-a

    we stone fox boys are ready

    • • •


    • acrostic and tanka by: rob kistner © 2010

    ____________________________________

    …check out who’s gettin’ acrostic at readwritepoem

    NaPoWriMo #25 – part 3: The Circle Game

    This is part 3 of my twenty fifth post for National Poetry Month 2010

    …this poem was inspired by the April 25th prompt at Poetic Asides — write a poem inspired by a song…

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    In considering today’s Day 25 prompt by Robert Lee Brewer at Poetic Aides, I was drawn to the taxing journey that is NaPoWriMo every year — which caused me to reflect on the larger journey that is life itself. The journey we all take, different though they may be.

    Such a long way I’ve come on this road of life. The distant horizon intersects the vanishing point of my past. Yet still, my life stretches far back over that horizon, into the fog of memory — past vanishing point upon vanishing point. So great is the distance, that recollection staggers me.

    The miles I’ve traveled, the experiences I’ve gathered, the people I’ve known — these are a part of me. Likewise, the joy, laughter, pain, tears — the fear, courage, the battles won and lost, the scars… these are all fibers of my being. As is the love, hate, compassion, exhilaration, desperation, wonder, the discovery — through the days, weeks, months, though the seasons, the years.

    So many lifetimes I’ve consumed, so many different people I have been. Each unique and precious, even the most painful — for they are my collective self. All has knitted together, folding and building upon itself, to create this journey that is me. I am defined by my journey, and by my journey, I am known to others — this man of 63, still seeking enlightenment and actualization.

    Robert has inspired me to share a poem by Joni Mitchell, to which I have added a poem in the form of three verses. I made a draft attempt to do this 3 years ago but abandoned the project. Now I am motivated to complete the endeavor.

    My poem will appear italicized and in a different font color, blended into the body of Joni’s poem. Joni put her poem to music. Entitled the “The Circle Game”, it first appeared in April of 1970, on her “Ladies of the Canyon” album. I have always been drawn to the magic of these words. I find it a brilliant reflection on the journey of life.

    Joni is one of the finest female poets of our time, a fact sadly often overlooked, because of her great success in music. She is also an exceptional artist. Click here if you would like to go to her site and “discover” this brilliant, and still active, creative soul.

    I’ve done my best not to spoil the power of what was originally written. Here is Joni Mitchell’s beautiful “The Circle Game”, begging your indulgence of my humble additions.


     

    The Circle Game

    •

    yesterday a child came out to wonder
    caught a dragonfly inside a jar
    fearful when the sky was full of thunder
    and tearful at the falling of a star

    then the child moved ten times round the seasons
    skated over ten clear frozen streams
    words like, when you’re older, must appease him
    and promises of someday make his dreams

    sixteen springs and sixteen summers gone now
    cartwheels turn to car wheels thru the town
    they tell him, take your time, it wont be long now
    till you drag your feet to slow the circles down

    so the years spin by and now the boy is twenty
    though his dreams have lost some grandeur coming true
    there’ll be new dreams, maybe better dreams and plenty
    before the last revolving year is through

    and the seasons they go round and round
    and the painted ponies go up and down
    we’re captive on the carousel of time
    we can’t return, we can only look behind
    from where we came
    and go round and round and round
    in the circle game

    the hands of time swing round faster and faster
    life begins to carve his journey in this man’s face
    a successful man with riches, but he wonders
    how long past 40 can he keep this pace

    suddenly he’s looking back at 60
    he’s known tragedy and triumph both the same
    he’s borrowed bought and sold his way to power
    he’s leveraged his soul to play the game

    now an old man gazing out his window
    trying to remember how long it’s rained
    he sits alone here by the fire in contemplation
    was all he lost worth what it was he gained

    and the seasons they go round and round
    and the tides of fate they go up and down
    we’re captive in the ebb and flow of time
    we can’t return, we can only look behind
    from where we came
    as we take our final turn
    in the circle game

    • • •



    copyright © Siquomb Publishing Company
    additional verses by: rob kistner © 2010


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    …photo of Joni Mitchell from her website, Joni Mitchell.com