Why I Write

In response to prompt #87 at Poetic Asides




Why I Write

•

I write as proof that I exist
so as not to lose my mind

to prevent my sorrow
from choking the life
from my soul

to know what I really think
to ride the currents of my joy
and laughter

to track my growth
share what I have experienced
shed light on my ignorance
to leave my trace

expose my vulnerability
in hopes others won’t rebuke
banish
or hurt me
but rather see me worthy of mercy
of love
to see me not so unlike themselves
and have pity

because there is an urge
to break the mental silence
to make a din
create a literate clatter
to be certain I am not ignored
forgotten
or misunderstood

because I am sad
I am crazy
I am odd
I am insecure
I am lonely
frightened
cursed
clever

because I am thrilled
full of life
nearing death
desperate to know
confident in my knowledge

because I am entangled
and strangled
by the why of it all

because I can
and so that I might

for all of this
I write

and to survive
I have no choice

• • •

rob kistner © 2010


Boxes – Contemplation in 3 Parts

In response to the Ist prompt on the newly opened We Write Poems, I contemplate boxes




Boxes

Contemplation #1

•

my memories gather and squabble
like crows in fallow fields
they pick clean
the bones of my recall

bones against the cruel clay
of an arid barren mind

bones spilled from soul boxes
in which I’d desperately collected
the scarred and damaged pieces
of my broken dreams

dreams now parched and withered
dried brittle in the coarse winds
of my dire confusion

their promises scratched and raspy
slowly slipping unintelligible
into the chaos and cacophony
of the crows in fallow fields

• • •



Contemplation #2

•

tanka

wonder’s trapped within
a box within more boxes
so deeply buried
by the years of failed dreams
you must not lose your wonder

• • •



Contemplation #3

•

tanka

love is sealed within
a box locked inside your heart
lost in the rubble
of years of broken promise
you can find it if you look

• • •



rob kistner © 2010

On the Occasion of Our 21st Anniversary

 

On the Occasion of Our 21st Anniversary

(dedicated to my wife Kathy)

•

L ight snow fell
midst the balloons’ ascent
as our new life began
21 years ago

how beautiful you were

as we stood
surrounded by family and friends
we did not know what lay ahead
on our journey of life

we knew only of our love
and our desire
to make the journey together

now here we stand
more that two decades down that road
so many memories
so much that was exciting
so much unexpected
some we wish had never happened

but my journey with you
long may it continue

behind us
laughter and tears
rough road and smooth
so much to discover still ahead

together
we can make our future even better
we but need to know that’s true
as we knew it then

that day I stood with you
21 years ago
and shared my love for you
with those we loved
promising to stand by you
through all that was ahead

and here am I today
still by your side
still captivated by you
still in love with you

here I will remain
through all of our today’s
and all of our tomorrow’s

I was then
am now
and will forever be
your soulmate

awkward as I can be at times to show it
from my heart – I want you to know it

I do love you

• • •


rob kistner © 2010

Message in a Bottle

In the spirit of the 1st prompt on the newly re-opened Writer’s Island, I retrieved this message from my imaginary bottle, unrolled, then read it — this is what it said:

___________________________

Seamen brave and strong as we

There’s a truth that we all learn

When brave and strong men go to sea

Tis not certain they’ll return
___________________________

October 23rd, 1997

This may be the last few hours of my life. I feel compelled to take this paper and pen and chronicle my end – to feel I did not die in vain… in faith that someone may find this.

I penned the brief sea chant you see at the top, because it continues to turn over and over in my head.

I have no radio or communications devices. They were all destroyed. I have no way of getting a message out — save this crude method.

How I hope that someone will find this. The address of my family and their phone number is on the back. Please, whoever may discover this – see that it gets to my family. Thank you so very much!

I’m the only one left. Carey was killed in the crash, and Gill succumbed to his mortal wounds last night. I rolled his body into the ocean to satisfy the sharks, and keep them at bay for a bit longer.

They’ve circled through the night — it’s the third night they returned. They get bolder each time – the largest has lost all fear. He’s bumped me several times in the last couple of hours. He’s taunting, he knows I’m nearing my end.

When the attack comes, and come it will very soon — it will be vicious and final. I’m certain I will not survive it, but I’m reasonably confident it will be over quickly. At least three of the most aggressive circling are great whites – large enough to finish a man in a few quick rips.

I’m so very weary; I almost wish it would just happen. The uncertainty of waiting is getting to be too much… I’m exhausted… I’m ready.

This was to be our last run up from Cuba. So many uneventful trips… I think we grew careless. We’d broken out a couple bottles of the contraband Varadero and lit up a couple of the Cohibas to celebrate this last trip. I never ceased to be amazed how much money we were making smuggling in illegal Cuban Rum and Cigars… just unbelievable.

We were literally flying over the wave tops in our custom 32′ Donzi race-hull speeder. We weren’t full open, but we were doing 70 knots on the calm seas — the 1,000 horses purrin’ like a kitten.

We were too caught up in the booze and stogies to notice the sleeper cross-wave until it caught us sideways at mid-hull and snapped this cigarette boat like a twig – it just exploded out from under us.

One minute I am in a speeding boat with my two best friends skimmin’ the waves – the next minute we’re in the water, with just a piece of the aft hull in tact. The rest was splintered flotsam and jetsam. Our cargo, what wasn’t destroyed, or on the bottom of the deep blue — floated and bobbed in their wooden cases like square corks.

Carey was dead, Gill critically wounded, and I – just dazed. I dragged Gill and I up onto the small fragment of the Donzi that was still afloat, where Gill eventually died. Carey had floated away. The sharks found him in less than an hour. They finished him in a turbulent frenzy.

Before the end comes I want to say my farewells to my family. Ironically, I’m going to seal this message in one of the Varadero Rum bottles. It was smuggling this shit that got Carey and Gill killed – and soon I as well.

Kathy, my sweet wife, you’ve been the love of my life – patient, understanding… you make me so happy, though I don’t show it all the time. I get caught up in the fog of life’s distractions — buried in my pride and insecurity.

But alone out here, under the warm Atlantic sun, a calm has settled over me. I’m filled with peace, and a joy that is my love for you! I see with great clarity how much you mean to me as my wife. My emotions are overwhelming me. I see how remarkable our relationship is.

So, my love, when I’m gone, please see these words as a place you can visit and be nurtured. A private, wonderful place you can go, to know these treasures that have always been in my heart. I will be there – close your eyes and you will feel me there, and my love.

And my darling daughter Jennifer — after all these years, you have never lost your magic. Like a brilliant sorceress, with one word, you can cast your spell, and put me in a wonderful dream. Your magic word is, “Daddy!” You say this as you smile deeply into my eyes — “Daddy!” I melt.

I will always be your daddy and you will forever be my little girl, my firstborn, my beautiful daughter! Thinking of you here, now, tears fill my eyes.

You make certain you don’t settle in life for anyone who doesn’t love, respect, and appreciate you as much as I do, as your family does.

You make sure you introduce any guy you may fall for to mom, and to your brother. If they don’t approve, you listen closely to their reasons why. Do not compromise your integrity — ever!

Your father loves you Jen… I love you dearly.

And Justin, my son — my baby… ours is a tough relationship, tough love, no room for timid. It is so easy for me to see your faults, and poke at them — for there in you go I. We are so very much alike it scares me.

Your imperfections glare at me because I possess them all, every one of them within me — and more. Photos of me from my past, uncanny, they might as well be you.

But it’s where we are not alike that your miracle begins.

You are smarter than I ever was. You care for people, honestly. You face life with strength and courage. I just marvel at you – I really do! You have accomplished so much already in your life – and you’ve just begun.

We argue at times, but my love for you is deep son… my pride is lasting. It’s impossible with these words, to tell you what you mean to me. But every word for love and pride – I feel in my heart for you!

I know you will miss me, and probably feel lost and angry at first – but you will recover quickly, I know you will. I know how intelligent and strong willed you are.

Please take care of your mother, and Jenny. They will need your strength, just as you will need their nurturing.

I love you Jus, and I know you love me — I always have known. We are father and son. inseparable forever — remember that!

And Aaron, I find myself thinking so much about you. I’m looking at your picture in my wallet. It’s my favorite picture of you, son — the one I cherish most since your passing.

It is the simple snapshot, taken at the airport, upon your return from having run the New York City Marathon.

You have a gentle, triumphant smile. Your eyes are beaming behind the “cool” shades you have on. Your jacket sleeves rolled in casual hip-ness, bag thrown carefree over your shoulder, and your medal hangs proudly around your strong neck.

You are fiercely handsome!

How profound this captured moment proved to be, taken just before the finish line of your 18 years — it said it all. Your race was run, your bag was packed, and your reward was in your hand. You now fly my sweet angel – fly!

Dad will be there soon. I can’t wait to throw my arms around you. I have missed you so very much, my gentle giant – but I’m coming.

Kathy, Jenny, Justin – I don’t want you to cry for this old man too long. I am not afraid out here right now. I feel Aaron with me, so very close – and soon he and I will see each other again.

We will both wait for each of you guys to finish your business down here on earth – then we will all be together. But take your time and enjoy all there is in life.

Don’t be too upset with wayward old me. I might have been a smuggler, but I never hurt anyone – and I loved you all from the bottom of my heart.

I only have two pieces of paper, so this message must come quickly to an end. I really am not frightened. With my last breaths and energy I will be hugging you all, squeezing you tightly – and kissing you all good-bye.

I love you; please know that – I love you all so much!

Kathy, go see Warren. He has a key for you. Then go see Grace, she has an address for you. Finally see Barry, he has a box number for you. They don’t know about each other.

Use these things together and you will be comfortable for the rest of your life.

When you trim the Christmas tree each year, think of me as you hang the Father Christmas ornament. You know it is my favorite.

Good-bye… until we are all together again!

poem & flash fiction by: rob kistner © 2010

NaPoWriMo #28

This is my twenty-eighth post for National Poetry Month 2010
• one free verse poem
• one tanka


____________________________________

• inspired by day 28 of National Poetry Month

____________________________________


 

Not Spring

•

the moment of not-spring
has no bold herald
save a passing notation
on one’s calendar

easily missed

there is not a disruption
in the earth’s crust

there is no disturbance
in the air

the planets
do not misalign

the moment of not-spring
is a non-moment
as can be the moment of not-love

it can pass by unnoticed
no disruption
no disturbance

but the realization
of not-love
is a storm
more fierce
than even the worst
of spring’s fury

it can break the earth
wide open

leave one gasping
for the next breath

as all the stars
fall from heaven

• • •

 

____________________________________

 

Sweet Recall

•

fresh-placed flower scent

feel of soft grass under knee

memories still grip

more and more are sweet recall

hard tears turning to soft smiles

• • •


• poem and tanka by: rob kistner © 2010

____________________________________

…check out the offerings at readwritepoem

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

____________________________________


 

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.

• • •

 

____________________________________


 

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…

____________________________________

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


____________________________________


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

NaPoWriMo #25

This is my twenty-fifth post for National Poetry Month 2010
• one free verse poem
• one tanka


____________________________________

• inspired by Joseph Harker’s day 25 prompt at read write poem

____________________________________

 

Hotaslava

•

I will not forget you

memory still burns
tearful recollection of the first time
my eyes beheld your luscious curves

skin smooth as satin
golden as you lay before me
seductive in the summer sun

you fired my imagination
ignited my soul

I wanted you so badly
my lips trembled
you promised such sweetness

but I’d been warned by others
who had dared indulge your fiery charms
that it would end in tears

I did not heed their counsel

seduced
I fell upon you hungrily
taking you in passion’s flames
hot as lava
scorching as an august sun

swept away
I consumed your charms
an inferno of desire

tasting your forbidden fruit
in a wanton blaze I took my fill

but just as quick it ended

I should have listened
they knew you all too well

you burned me badly
and left me crying

but I never will forget you…

…habanero

• • •



____________________________________

 

Coldasice

•

drips pizzicato

crescendo of icicles

north wind’s cadenza

wintertime’s crisp symphony

played on nature’s outdoor stage

• • •


• poem and tanka by: rob kistner © 2010

____________________________________

…check out the other spontaneity at readwritepoem

NaPoWriMo #24 – part 3: Evensong

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

…this poem was inspired by the April 24th prompt at Poetic Asides — write an evening poem…

____________________________________


 

Evensong

•

as dusk descends upon this place
my stride holds smooth and steady
with grace and heady expectation
the downing sun a gentle gold embrace

early shadows fall soft across my face
as vesper’s velvet blanket
drapes its comfort ’round my shoulders
splendid calm envelops me

there is still some road to travel
I am eager to keep the journey
drawn by the beauty
that is the rising moon in sunset

facing into the evening breeze
I venture onward toward my love
rolling amber fires the lane
spreads warm ‘cross the horizon

a fog begins to rise and waft
I see nestled in the valley
my blessed hearth & home
veiled copper in eventide

my heart rises in the moment
caught up in this gorgeous vale
the ribbon of its brook entwines
wraps my soul in evensong

my smile sweetens
my pace livens
I hum a quiet melody
the wonder of another day

• • •

rob kistner © 2010


…artwork entitled “Evening Glory” by: Steven Mitchell

NaPoWriMo #24 – part 2: His Cane

This is part 2 of my twenty fourth post for National Poetry Month 2010

…this piece that follows was inspired by the April 23rd prompt at Magpie Tales

____________________________________


 

His Cane

•

he is a stern man
she knows it
she finds him irresistible

she loves his stern face
his stern smile
his stern voice

she knows him
like no other
she has seen through
the part in the curtain

she knows the taste of his kiss
the twinkle in his stern eyes
she adores the touch
of his strong stern hands

warm sure hands

so too
she loves his cane

• • •

rob kistner © 2010


____________________________________

Come on Carey get out your cane
I’ll put on some silver
Oh you’re a mean old Daddy
But I like you

•
…lyrics from “Carey”
by: Joni Mitchel 1971
____________________________________


NaPoWriMo #23 – Skyward Suite / Midnight Gliding

This is my twenty-third post for National Poetry Month 2010
• one free verse poem
• one three-poem suite

• one tanka

____________________________________

• the first poem is inspired by Sage Cohen’s day 23 prompt at read write poem

____________________________________




Spread Offense

•

…making PB&J, as a wrestling match…


it appears everything is ready
for a great competition today

this has been the moment
we’ve anticipated
since the TV was paused
some 5 to 6 minutes ago

the first jar has made its appearance
I see the knife on the sideline
and the napkins indicate
they are ready
standing by
in case of accident

hands baxter signals
he’s ready

looks like tonight it will be wood
yes
it is
the wood cutting board for this one
and it seems to be
it is
recycled material
well done

hands is reaching across the table now
grabbing hold of the plastic flap
he’s got a solid grip on the bread
with a swift and practiced maneuver
he wrestles two pieces to their backs
firmly on the board

he now grabs the jar by the lid
raises it to his chest
and
and
he’s struggling
can’t seem to…
no wait
hands has done it
the lid is free of the jar

he now has the knife in his right hand
and with deep probing jabs
he’s bringing blade full
after blade full
with deft swirling motions
from the jar
and spreading it layer after layer
on the helpless bread
unable to budge from the board

we just got a report
that the bread is indeed
honey oat nut
these are all first string players in this one

well
it appears hands has won the first
of what will be three contests
he has successfully achieved P and B tonight
and with great flair

no drops
goops
no tears

masterfully done

there was that incident
with the tongue on the flat of the blade
but it was apparently a clean move
so no penalty assessed

we’re out of time for now
we will have to wait until next time
to see if grape
the big jar
makes it into the match
as hands baxter will be going for J
in the next round

if he can make it that far
then the big finale will be milk
so don’t miss that one

this is voice gruffly signing off
inviting you to stay with us
through this PB&J regional series
to see if baxter builds a big one

that’s all from here

• • •


____________________________________


Skyward Suite




I Am Balloon

•

I will see the earth today
as the heated air
fills my billows
I am aloft
in free floating flight
to abandon all control

I will resound to the earthbound
listen to their voices rise

tune to the animals
their symphony of sounds

I will drift as far and as long
as fuel and time permits
feel the wind take me

I will soar so high
leave the treetops
far below
until all I hear
is the voice of the breeze

see the world
bend away
over the horizons

see all it’s wonders
all of nature
the random
and the regimented
the wild
and geometric

I will see it all
from a different perspective

swept up in ever-climbing
silent ascent



• • •




I Am Bird

•

I will glide
in buoyed flight

I will soar skyward
in sweeping circles

lift high on mighty thermals
never again to be earthbound

not a prisoner of this stone and clay
no longer captive of gravity today

this day will be soaring
and swooping
and diving

giving thanks for feathers
and hollow bones



• • •




I Am Kite

•

the breeze of promise begins to freshen
waft and build
it gathers strength

belief awakens
I quicken
anticipation spirals anew

the building currents draw taut my line
with an urgent tug the moment arrives

I billow
stand and dance
my sail-skin fills

my leading edge
aerodynamic
sculpted tight against my frame

caught full by the mounting breeze
I lift with grace
rise with purpose

deft hands
and a most careful eye
guide me safely airborne

further faster I ascend
carried skyward on friendly drafts

empowered by winds of fortune
this day I have taken flight

• • •

 

____________________________________


 

Midnight Gliding

•

high meadow sparkles

crisp snow crunches under skis

midnight cross country

the landscape glows alien

like gliding across the moon

• • •


• poems and tanka by: rob kistner © 2010

____________________________________

…check out the other odd couples at readwritepoem

NaPoWriMo #21

This is my twenty-first post for National Poetry Month 2010
• one free verse poem
• one short prose

• one tanka

____________________________________

• inspired by Kristen McHenry’s prompt at read write poem

____________________________________




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

• • •

 

____________________________________


 

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

• • •

 

____________________________________


 

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

NaPoWriMo #20 – Heroes

This is my twentieth post for National Poetry Month 2010
• two free verse poem
• one tanka


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• inspired by Jessica GC’s prompt at read write poem

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Reality At 30,000

•

(a hero returns)

distant
slurred
reverberant

like a voice in a canyon
I hear her calling in my mind
my name
rolling sweet as nectar
from lips soft as orchid petals
full as a bursting peach
glistening deep coral
as they wrapped softly
‘round each pouted syllable
when she bid me tender farewell
so long ago

our fingertips had strained to grasp
until the final sensation of warmth
of touch
had faded
and they had drifted apart

I had struggled to tear my eyes
from her tears
that glistened on her lashes
and around her swollen crystal blue eyes
to slip softly over the crests
of her velvet cheeks
then down the contour of her face
flushed as sunset
to lightly salt her quivering lips

and as I passed
numb and dazed
through the tunnel of the loading gate
toward the jet
that took me to hell
I had at that moment
locked the image
of that sorrowed face of love
deep in my heart

It had proved my salvation
my only grasp on sanity
in those horrific years
over there

my lips too had quivered on that day
with the sting of separation
and the chilling knowledge
I would soon taste the bitter blood of war
foul with the stench of death

having not yet departed
I had already longed to gaze again
into her brilliant blue eyes
and taste her sweetness

yet

as I return this day
trying to face reality
from 30,000 feet
I taste the salt of sadness

for I fear
a kiss from me
with my killer’s mouth
will forever defile the fragile innocence
of those luscious lips
soft as orchid petals
full as a bursting peach
that glistened
and quivered
when last we parted

• • •

 

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Eternal

•

tears on flushed pale cheeks

warm held hand grows cool and still

she has left this earth

my love is now eternal

how do I face tomorrow

• • •

 

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…here is a bonus “whimsical” poem written in response to the day 19 prompt at poetic aside


 

Phineas & Phlo

•

phineas morton is not a happy guy
that’s not to say he’s sad
he just decided long ago
not to live life on the extremes
so he would describe himself as
well
as centered
yes
phineas morton is a centered guy

he lives in the abandoned hull
of a short
yellow
school bus
left there by his parents
when he was 12
as they went off to find
well
to find happiness

this situation may also account
for his less than enthusiastic embrace
of the whole concept of
well
of happiness

phineas dreams of
someday
doing something
something
well
something interesting
shunning the extreme nature
of
of great
he is not really interested
in doing something
great
interesting will do just fine

he has a girlfriend
well
sort of a girlfriend
more like a
well
like a girl acquaintance
that sounds less “on the edge”
which suits his centeredness
just fine

her name is flo
though she has come to spell it
phlo
as an expression
of her affinity for phineas
you know
phineas and phlo
the whole ph
sounds like f
thing
you know f
fuh f fuh

well
anyway
phineas wants everyone to know
that while he waits for his
interesting life to begin
he can be found
out by ole’ doc patterson’s pond
in his shell of a bus

you’re more than welcome to come by
just
if you do
don’t be too happy
if you know what I mean
doesn’t sit well with the lad

so if you come by
bring some jelly beans
red jelly beans
because
well
just because

and a tip from me
if you do drop in on phineas
don’t be clever
you know
don’t make any wisecracks about
well
no “short bus” remarks
ok

ok

• • •



• poems and tanka by: rob kistner © 2010

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…check out the other heroes at readwritepoem

NaPoWriMo #18 • part 2 – Mask

This is part 2 of my eighteenth post for National Poetry Month 2010

• VARIATIONS ON THE MASK •

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…these two free verse poems are inspired by prompt #112 at One Single Impression…

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Unmask

•

outside
evening breezes freshen
a wind chime hangs in the eave
rings time to time

inside
we sit with dinner
complacency
little resonance

we care for one another
our love
goes without saying

meal finished
we clear the table
converse very little
no need
we know each other
know without saying

task done
we part quietly
me to my keyboard
you to read

outside
sunset paints the deck soft amber
tubular bells welcome twilight

inside
a silent shadow lurks
indifference

I reflect
times we’ve hurt each other
caused thoughtless pain

that carelessness forgiven
we are bound
goes without saying

outside
brisk wind greets day’s end
chimes pleasantly keep pace

inside
turbulence stirs as I type

I wonder of our happiness
surely we are
goes without saying

but
why is it we do not say
so much we never say

we wear masks of silence
to hide the vulnerable face of love

how dangerously foolish

my heart wants to cry out
shatter the stillness
rouse you from your pulp & plot

talk with me
it shouts
I lift my mask
see me now
see me new

talk with me
I can still surprise

let us speak what is not spoken
unmask what’s in our hearts
before love is gone

without ever saying

• • •



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The Mask

•

the other smoulders
when donned the mask
the fantasy that you desire
heart of passion
on wings of dreams
when she is the other

unleashed at light of moon
brought forth at your request
sustained 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

beneath the mask
the real bliss
your precious wife
your treasure

• • •

rob kistner © 2010



• 1st art piece entitled “Gamayn”
• 2nd art piece entitled “Peacock”
both fabulous works by: Marilena Mexi



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…to read NaPoWriMo #18 • part 1, CLICK HERE

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…like masks like I do, click here

Pre-Dawn Window



 

Pre-Dawn Window

•

in this moonlit forest
midnight shimmers
through the misty boughs of old growth
as if star clusters dance the branches
above our high-mountain meadow
lake aglow like sterling satin

like a crystalline wonderland
this night holds deep and quiet
save a great white owl
echoing through the sparkling cedars

lover and beloved
we entwine
wrapped in a pre-dawn half-wake
a semi-lucid trance
be-dazzled by the spectacle
just outside our window

I hear myself whisper
how long have I been awake
is it morning
yet I do not want to know
I do not want to break this spell

but rather
to lie here in your arms
and fall again
into gentle slumber
to traverse with you
the time and space of dreams

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

• photorendering entitled “Moonlit Waters” – by: Daniel Pierce
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…catch the other differences at Carry On Tuesday