•
slow
satisfying
soak
serenely steamy
soft supple skin
salaciously slathered
shaved smooth
satin-silky
seductive scent
subtly spread
sensuous strokes
sliding
stimulating
stirring sighs
shivers
savoring
so
so
so slippery
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
…in response to the 13th prompt of 2010 on Writer’s Island, I offer a piece I wrote inspired by Joni Michell’s album entitled “Don Juan’s Reckless Daughter”. Embedded in this work is the title of every track that appears on that album / also for prompt #126 ‘Angel’ at One Single Impression…
I am your brood
sired by your seed
bloodied
from your womb
whisper
in a scorching breath
tell me about
the tenth world
taunt me
in scalded apparition
tell me how
to get to dreamland
to cotton avenue
on a hot off night
back street in jericho
tell me of the fires
on paprika plains
that consumed your souls
in flames of hunger
to lust
for immortality
made you dance
at midnight
wrapped in
the silky veils of ardor
on prurient
smoldered embers
I want to go
I am ready
an inferno burns
inside me
desire rages strong
to ride the bliss of sin
son of concupiscence
I am
your son
your lifeblood
courses through me
hammers in my temples
sets my heart ablaze
impassioned
I wil prowl
the shadow’d haunts
of jericho
the dark places
of the tenth world
following your ghosts
seeking
don jaun’s reckless daughter
my scarlet jezebel
my nocturne angel
to take me
in a fever
to whirl me ‘round
to burn me down
to ash
to scatter me
by moonlight
forever
in the winds
of memory
on those plains
of ardor
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
•
eyes dark and deep as nile nocturne
scorching as nubian sundance
this blackthorn rose
is the secreted passion
the sultry jungle goddess
inscribed in the book of ardor
fired in molten scarlet
woman forged of earthen bronze
ablaze in the sensual dreams
of writhing midnight
she is smoke and flame
the mysterious traveler
• • •
________________________________
I can no longer imagine
the power of the blue pacific
thumping the huge stack rocks
on the coast at sunset
I can no longer imagine
the sweet face of my first-born son
held in loving embrace
passed on now 15 years
I can no longer imagine
the soft spring rain
misting the morning light
bringing life to winter earth
I can no longer imagine
the stir of a summer breeze
shimmering across the surface
of a high mountain lake
I can no longer imagine
the filtered autumn sun
falling gentle golden
through a red wood canopy
for I have experienced
these wonders
known these treasures
they enrich me
I need no longer imagine
the fire in a woman’s eyes
the magic of a woman’s smile
the tenderness of a woman’s touch
the passion of a woman’s kiss
nor what it is to love you
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
• In response to prompt #6 of the newly opened We Write Poems, I find arrogant, manipulative divas to be difficult to tolerate, or to understand…
•
auburn mane with sable streaks
frosted ermine — lush with pride
a bounce and whip, and tiply snap
with each stiletto’d wanton stride
taught hips roll on slender stems
that part in ripples then enmesh
a brushing sigh of stirring heat
toned thighs gliding flesh on flesh
a stare of comely crystal blue
floats above a ruby pout
that takes you in devouring
has its way, then casts you out
tongue tip teases top lip’s edge
like supple paintbrush flowing
a smile to burn and hypnotize
that wraps around you knowing
luscious wench — worldly wise
sleek as steel — tall and strong
swift and cunning, motor running
she might acquiesce, but not for long
poor fool who tastes this lusciousness
is hopelessly addicted
there’s only one word for this life-force
that word, my friend, is — wicked!
• • •
•
the velvet nape
of your slender neck
swept with wisps
of your silken hair
the tender swells
of your pouted lips
blossomed full
and glistening
your quiet sighs
of throaty passion
breathy hushed
in twilight deep
autumn sunrise
crisp and fresh
blushed coral
on your waking smile
sterling moonlight
that fondles you
in naked slumber
‘neath midnight’s window
sunlight’s gold
that falls dreamlike
filtered soft
in old growth forest
unspoiled nature
to far horizons
from where I watch
on mountain’s crest
a 6 series beamer
cool and cruisin’
down 101
on a perfect day
splendid jazz
inspired verse
christmas eve
a soul-felt tear
my child’s joy
a quiet snow
an evening breeze
spiced with cedar
pristine beaches
pacific sunsets
a waterfall
laughing with you
what fires my heart
what stirs my soul
what turns me on
these are a few
• • •
…from my archives, here is a bit more of what turns me on…
• In response to the 2nd prompt on the newly opened We Write Poems, this piece was inspired by my listening to the 1974 vinyl record album entitled “Mysterious Traveler”, by Weather Report.
Book of Ardor
•
eyes dark and deep as nile nocturne
scorching as nubian sundance
this blackthorn rose
is the secreted passion
the sultry jungle goddess
inscribed in the book of ardor
fired in molten scarlet
woman forged of earthen bronze
ablaze in the sensual dreams
of writhing midnight
she is smoke and flame
the mysterious traveler
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
________________________________
• The beautiful woman in the photo above is Jourdan Dunn
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
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
• • •
• • •
• • •
•
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.
• • •
•
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
• • •
•
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
• • •
•
drips pizzicato
crescendo of icicles
north wind’s cadenza
wintertime’s crisp symphony
played on nature’s outdoor stage
• • •
•
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
• • •
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
____________________________________
•
poet
do not weave
your fabric of myth
or speak to us in grand verse
telling of the song
of the spheres
or the days
before this dark time
help us see
the real place of light
hear the clear voice of truth
know the pure heart of justice
look poet
look at the terrible suffering
tell us where that is birthed
tell us how to see
with our own eyes
so that we might reach in
and tear out the pain
uproot the sorrow
crush the evil
you see many things poet
but you talk in riddles
you avoid the cold
and the hard way
for the soft path
of platitudes
and metaphors
of meter and rhyme
but this is not the time
look poet
look into the fire
feel it burn your eyes
char your soul
tell us how that feels
let us hear you scream
rally us
set us ablaze
lift your pen
like a sword
and strike down
the imbalance
show us the grip
and we will join the battle
but you must tell us
poet
tell us what is real
in the power
that is plain language
we will listen
• • •
•
fragrance of baked dough
aroma of warm butter
croissants tasty hot
• • •
poem and haiku by: rob kistner © 2010
•
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
•
he has kept it locked for so long
none can pass
his grief makes certain none will try
this is a dark forbidden place
high-walled
cold and barren
unyielding
lifeless
brutal night has fallen
no sun can penetrate
the darkness soothes him
he retreats into its depths
hiding
shielded from any further pain
but see
a shadow falls across the threshold
someone approaches
a comely being
warm and alive
lays gentle siege
threatening to breach his hardened fortress
but this lovely creature
fair and fragile
can not possibly gain entrance
must not
he will resist
this is wrong
this is trespass
this is cruel betrayal of his lost beloved
he has no right to leave this place of sorrow
no right
but his stronghold is succumbing
falling to this delicate advance
he is vulnerable
terrified
but it is useless to resist
searching with a patient heart
she has found the key
grasped in her loving hand
fingers tenderly enfold it
gently
she slides it into the lock
turning with great care
he is defenseless
he feels his heart slowly open
the long forgotten stir of love
begins to warm his soul
• • •
•
sweet pink blossoms fall
red spring buds will take their place
soon will be cherries
• • •
poem and haiku by: rob kistner © 2010