Image – Page 60 – Image & Verse

Wild Heart

“Originally written about a proud wild beast, I changed the perspective to being the beast. That change made the poem empowering for me, rather than just powerful.”

No — I will not be confined
always in motion
restless is my spirit
perpetual like the seas

my wild heart
challenges constraint
defies boundary
to bolt at will

I will not be defined
my nature is fluid
my essence turbulent
deep — ever changing

reach not for me
I will not be held
do not name me
I will not be yours

*
rob kistner © 2022

Poetry at: Earthweal

Crows of Castle Keep

“Castle Keep is my metaphor for the mind.”

Crows of Castle Keep

my contemplation on dementia

my memories gather and squabble
like the crows of castle keep
they pick the bones
of my recall

bones against the cruel clay
of an arid
barren mind

littered with the harsh forgotten
like the bones of the dinosaur
I’m becoming

struggling
with what letters are made of
my words crack and crumble

my thoughts
parch and wither

lonely silhouettes
against an unforgiving skyline

fading visions of my past
of my life
my home
of yesterday

harder and harder to remember
the degrees of separation
growing ever greater
smoldering in the fog
of my reflected past

splashes of vivid color
on scraps of paper
blown in the mounting winds
of my confusion

dread rising
that I will soon not remember
what it all meant to me
a stirring fear I will forget
lost in tormented emptiness
that all will go black

this is not just a poem
it is much more

this is a light
searching in blackness
for familiar things
for persons beloved
that I do not recognize

this is a fractured tome
a cry of frustration
a tear of loss
a whispered prayer

an epitaph
to my fading map of then

of cherished memories
that now falter
and dim

slowly slipping
unintelligible
into the cacophony
of the crows of castle keep

~ ~ ~

Click below to heck out more poems of blackness on dVerse:

dVerse Poetics: On Shades of Black

The Secret

photo collage: “The Secret” — by: rob kistner © 1997

The Secret

from the dawn of awareness
through the dark times
beyond the ages of change
into these times

they have kept it
the keepers of the secret

and now
with great fortitude of will
to safequard frail truth
they must keep it still

~ ~ ~

Click for more dVerse poetry:

Quadrille #91 – Keep

Falling To Pieces

”I can’t see the end of me” by: Oladios

Falling To Pieces

oh dear
I fear
I have lost my heart

and along with it
a larger part

if I do not panic
but stay calm
instead
being careful
not to lose my head

if I can
look to the future
avoid the dread

it’s not hard to conceive
kitty I truly believe

though parts of me
have certainly
lost a bit
of fleshy tether

eventually
with what’s left
of me
I can finally

pull myself together

~ ~ ~

To check out more poems at Sunday Muse: CLICK HERE

In A Rut

“Troubled chatter among the reindeer.”

081C11B5-960E-4EE9-BCBD-AA452B876E23
”Autumn Breath” by: Jason Limberg

In A Rut

The past few Christmas seasons there’s been evidence of some unhappy reindeer. Jolly old St. Nick’s been hittin’ the rich creamy egg nog hard. This was overheard at reindeer preseason camp.

dude’s gettin’ fatter
tired’a draggin’ his lard ass
fool should get a truck
we could then spend Christmas Eve
ruttin’ with some smokin’ cows

~ ~ ~

Click to check out more reindeer poems at Toads

Savior

Savior

I remember when it happened
remember well
the blinding flash
that sent me scurrying
underground
into my private bunker

I suspected this possibility
thankfully
I was prepared for the moment

that moment
that horrific moment
forever dividing then
from now

then
comfortably alone
walking my property line
along the azure waters
of the clear mountain stream
that rolled towards me
crisp and pure

then
in an instant
the startling sound
the strange light
soaring above the douglas firs
that stand proudly
at the river’s edge

sentries for centuries
protecting this northern boundary
of my lands

steady
enduring
supple in the winds
that waft and quicken
breathing life
whispering their secrets

now
two years on
since that ominous moment
the bone chill
the penetrating feeling
of fear

now
I am alone again
but now
quite absolutely

no evidence of survivors
my beloved wife
did not make it

the global communication grid
totally destroyed

too long
since I have seen
another’s eyes
or heard another’s voice

now
I ramble this valley
wade this stream
in my hazmat suit
mumbling quietly
to no one

rations are running out
water
food

I am at the ragged edge
of coherence
of sanity

I cling to the hope
for a sign of life
someday
any life

but they are all gone
every — last — one
gone

can I last
have I that patience

how long can I hold center
how long
until my fragile psyche unravels

if I could just remove this helmet
breathe fresh air again
feel the breeze on my face

while the trees are fine
carcasses are everywhere
animals
fish
birds
insects

I fear the air is toxic
deadly

will it ever be safe
how can I know

wait
what’s this

“Hey, hi little fella!”

~ ~ ~

To check out more poems at Sunday Muse: CLICK HERE

Dishes

Dishes

it’s 1987
I’m 40-years-old
standing over a sink
steam rising
as it fills with hot water

I’m with a girl
someone I recently met

I offered to do the dishes
so out of character
but I wanted to impress
as she invited me over for dinner

great meal
great evening
great face
great smile

been several decades
since I’ve been a teenager in love
but I am smitten again
I recognize the giddy feeling

I plunge into the suds
searching the hot water
for another plate
we are deep in conversation

I love talking with her
love hearing her laugh
love her great green eyes
love her velvet skin
I love her

it’s true
I’m falling in love
like some school kid
and at my age
but the feeling is intoxicating

how nice it is again
to feel this fresh
this innocent
this energized
so taken by another

just then
her voice calls from the other room
lifts me from my daydream

I am still at the sink
my hands in hot water
but now
in our home of many years

I look through the archway
to where she sits on our sofa
I hear the tv
she’s watching “Blade Runner”

I hear Deckard’s voice
“I don’t know why he saved my life.
Maybe in those last moments
he loved life
more than he ever had before.”

I certainly love life
and I love her

her skin
not quite velvet any longer
but her smile
still captivating
I’m still soothed by her voice
still love spending time with her
even now

how much time
do we have left together
who knows

but certainly time enough
to finish these dishes
and then

who knows…

~ ~ ~

Click for more dVerse poetry:

Tears in rain – using our senses

In this moment, shrouded by evening in waning October, as autumn tumbles towards winter, one knows acutely the sorrow in the losing of the light. One feels the pressing weight of the ever growing darkness, the stir of grief occasioned by the advancing cold.

There settles an all-consuming quiet, an absolute stillness. From this deep silence rises an almost imperceptible murmur, like a breathless whisper, as a hushed wind scours ghost-like across the arid, fallow ground. It is the sound of loss and longing.

This is a somber time, a time of endings, when the land has fallen dormant, empty. This is the barrenness of harvest or pestilence. This is death’s due vigil, when the realm is a’dance with specters.

~ ~ ~

Click for more dVerse poetry:

Prosery 5 – All Hallows

Harvest Prayer

painting: “Winter Farmland” — by: Donald Shearer

Harvest Prayer

This is the time of endings, when the land falls dormant, empty. This is the barrenness of harvest or pestilence. This is death’s due vigil, when the realm is a’dance with specters. A reflective time when hearts long, with guarded hope, for rebirth.

There settles an all-consuming quiet, an absolute stillness. From this deep silence rises an almost imperceptible murmur, like a breathless whisper. A hushed prayer of gratitude, to give thanks for the harvest’s bounty, and a prayer to humbly petition, with the eventual return of the light, the blessing of fruitful new life upon the now fallow land.

~ ~ ~

Click for more dVerse poetry:

Prosery 5 – All Hallows

Come February

“Songs of failed love serenade the rain.”

Come February~

here am I
wishing wishes
for those days
when life made sense

thinking thoughts
that tear at me
for the things
I failed to be

how I do desire
the damp dreary days
of february
when my forlorned
fallen face
is commonplace

when no one intrudes
to question
what’s the matter
when they see
the tears I cry
no one asks me why

because all around
are caught up in the blues

oh if only
you could find it
in your heart

to forgive
this sadly lost
and broken man

who much too late
understands
he was a fool

and in his sorrow
understands
why you refuse

but how I wish
ill-tempered weather
would ensue

to drive the joyful
all around me
to indoor spaces

so I’d be spared
the pain
of smiling faces

and the bitter
bitter memory
of losing you

Click for more dVerse poetry:

Polyptoton

Lover’s Kiss

Lover’s Kiss

sing to me my sweet sweet lover
songs sung soft as silk and satin
sensual as a bare embrace

promise me the world is ours
that this perfect moment’s endless
lift me up on rapture’s cloud

make melody set soar our souls
fill our hearts with passion’s fire
smother me in scorched caresses

kiss me kisses like honeyed cream
that quench my quivering naked lips
as they softly smoulder golden

come to me and take me timeless
enfold me in your deepest dreams
carry me off to ecstasy

~ ~ ~

Click for more dVerse poetry:

Polyptoton

Red Roofs

“A tale of lust and longing.”

“On the red roofs of Paris,” by Grazyna Tarkowska,

Red Roofs

passion
let it flare fire red
red as the roofs of Paris
that conceal the carnal
intertwined
on a starburst night

in the throes
of sweating conquest
ripe with release
coursing with hunger
for the tender flesh
of reckless youth

white hot
as a deflowered bride
burning with the lust
of an august first-night
impaled on the horn
of promise and desire

there will be no truth
in these minglings
only raw bleeding need
and the quenchless thirst
for bittersweet
forbidden nectar

when you hear
the whispers whispered
know that it was so
and so it will remain
in the lithe loins
of the skin slaves
aflame under red roofs

”Harlot” by Andrew Atroshenko,

~ ~ ~

Click for more dVerse poetry:

Polyptoton

The Beast

The Beast

I am the beast
of your myth
of your nightmare

I am sustained
by this damp pall
that descends upon me
this season of growing darkness

that wraps ’round
my vile countenance
fevered with your fatigue
twisted with your despair

drawn forth yearly
at this feast of death
I stumble
damaged by your sin
unleashed now
upon a broken world
corrupted by illusion
spoiled by arrogance

a world in chaos
as darkness deepens

this nocturne
I return
with this ruin-riddled
bloody horde
of dying dreams
violated innocence
merciless destruction

of horrific death
of guilt
of shame

and so
I stumble on
bent by the weight of your evil
drowned in drenching sorrow

I slink angry
into this coming night
and
the next night
and
the night that follows
that always follows

captive
of your horrendous nightmare
of unbridled brutality

always your prisoner
in this forlorn world

seeking vengeance

~ ~ ~

Click to check out more myth inspired poems at Toads

Roots

“Why did the grove undress itself only to wait for the snow?”

Roots

this fall the maples will drop their leaves
and again stand nude in the winter freeze
what is it they keep thinking
there’s no tellin’ with them trees

do they forget about the snow
that the cold cold wind’ll blow
perhaps they keep imagining
a warmer place that they might go

maybe dreamin’ they will run
down to the land of surf and sun
but they just can’t escape their roots
a brutal challenge for everyone

~ ~ ~

Click for more dVerse poetry:

Tuesday Poetics: The Question as Poetry

My Perspective

Surreal image above and below by: Erik Johansson

My Perspective

it’s fine that logic’s lost on me
I’ve long ago set my mind free
and sanity’s so overrated
it distorts my reality

so who’s to say that I can’t fly
and whose right is it to question why
I wear my trousers inside out
it keeps the pockets dry

I see you smirking at my hat
it’s aluminum foil — imagine that
it helps with my cell phone reception
and fascinates my cat

yes I do lose track of time
days and weeks — is that a crime
life is all just one’s perspective
and I’m always changing mine

~ ~ ~

Click to check out more poems at Sunday Muse

M	T	W	T	F	S	S
		1	2	3	4	5
6	7	8	9	10	11	12
13	14	15	16	17	18	19
20	21	22	23	24	25	26
27	28	29	30	31

Images

Wild Heart

Crows of Castle Keep

The Secret

Falling To Pieces

In A Rut

Savior

Dishes

Specters

Harvest Prayer

Come February

Lover’s Kiss

Red Roofs

The Beast

Roots

My Perspective