Sweet Anticipation

  • My father taught me, I taught my son, now my grandson…

  •  
    5172D17C-B471-4D1A-A8DF-C628218DBA7F

     
    Sweet Anticipation

    ~

    warm
    familiar
    comfortable in my palm
    my fingers wrap natural cork
    index raised
    gauging line tension

    precision brings the willow’d shaft
    high above my shoulder
    rod flexing expectantly

    a flick of my wrist
    and the line arcs forward
    increasing the pressure
    on my fingertip
    as it rolls ahead
    accelerating

    then
    a careful pluck
    like a string
    on a guitar

    it is released

    the golden lure
    at line’s end
    sails silently
    into the squinting summer sun

    with a subtle plick
    the barbed hunter disappears
    slipping ‘neath the sparkle
    of the undulating steam

    seductively
    with quickening pulse
    eagerly visualizing
    I retrieve the bait
    craving the strike

    patience draws the lure
    dancing ever nearer

    I long for the sharp
    powerful tug

    for the slender thread
    unreeled before me
    to rise
    and dart away
    in a sliver of silver spray

    for my heart to jump
    as a proud trout
    breaks water
    victim to my seduction

    in this moment
    mind focused
    breath steady
    senses heightened
    awaiting sudden contact

    I reflect

    there is a simple truth in fishing
    as in life

    the sweet anticipation
    can be as rich
    as the reward

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2018

    ______________________

  • Written for “Imaginary Garden With Real Toads”…
    More toad’s childhood memories

  • Staying Posted

    IMG_9268

     
    Staying Posted

    ~

    I wrote poetry
    wrote it for years
    wrote it by hand
    on randm paper
    kept it all

    in a box

    wrote it
    because I loved it
    because I had to
    to stay sane
    but just put it

    in that box

    I still write it
    I still love it
    but now I post it
    just for the

    comments

    not because
    I need approval
    or care much
    what others

    think

    but at my age
    seeing comments
    helps me know
    I’m still

    alive

     

    rob kistner © 2019

     

    Promise Kept

    “This is a prayer for peace at this end of year”

    truework2


     
    Promise Kept

    ~

    would that the world pause with me this night

    with open heart and thoughts of possibility

    remembering when dreams were young

    the breath of life so warm and fresh

    beauty was in all we touched

    love filled us overflowing

    trust real as sunlight

    truth was bedrock

    tomorrow was

    a promise

    kept

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2018

    Artwork entitled: “Gentle World” by: rob kistner © 2005

    __________________________

  • Click below for more wonderful poems at dVerse…

    OLN #234 & Holiday Break

  • Voyage of Dreams

  • inspired by a small toy boat in my grandson’s bath…
  • A769E80D-4692-48FD-98D6-6A78295FCC6F

     
    Voyage of Dreams

    ~

    fantastic is this spell I’m under
    magic of a splendorous kind
    a world of cornucopic wonder
    treasure troves of dreams to plunder
    in this voyage of my mind

    here time and place are of my making
    these winds of fate in my control
    every pleasure for my taking
    every rule just for my breaking
    embracing secrets of my soul

    here I live a life enchanted
    here no fear of any threat
    sorrow is by joy supplanted
    no limit to desires granted
    what I want is what I get

    by fantasy’s elaboration
    up through stars of wonder I ascend
    soar in sweet hallucination
    in ships of my imagination
    oh, would this voyage but never end

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2018

    ________________

    This poem is written in the rhyme scheme of Robert Frost’s “The Road Not Taken”, namely: A,B,A,A,B. It also, like Frost’s poem, is four stanzas. I have always liked that particular piece by Frost, but ironically, the matching rhyme schemes and stanza lengths, are purely coincidental.

    ________________

    More magic at dVerse…

    Poetics – magic of ordinary things

    This Cannot Be

    This Cannot Be

    ~

    this cannot be the way his story ends
    his youth snuffed out by someone’s mindless deed
    this cannot be the horror fate intends
    if life be want mine now I do concede

    his youth snuffed out by someone’s mindless deed
    if debt is owed please I will make amends
    if life be want mine now I do concede
    consuming grief upon my life descends

    if debt is owed please I will make amends
    anger fills me like a poison seed
    consuming grief upon my life descends
    my soul is crushed my heart begins to bleed

    this anger fills me like a poison seed
    god tell me, did I somehow offend
    my soul is crushed, my heart begins to bleed
    a blackness here within me does distend

    god tell me please, did I somehow offend
    this cannot be the horror you intend
    this blackness here within me does distend
    god this can’t be the way his story ends!

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 1995
    (revision © 2018)

  • see more at dVerse

    Repetitive Forms – Meeting the Bar

  • Steel Tear

    IMG_9214

     
    Steel Tear

    ~

    the dream broke
    like a prodigal sun
    on a startled winter evening
    causing him to squint
    blinking away happiness
    like sand in the eyes of love

    you were there
    the disapproving guest
    at the final edit party

    you took his cues
    took his keys
    took his shoes
    took his leave

    you took him for a fool

    it wasn’t you didn’t want him
    you said
    you simply saw yourself
    in a different movie
    with a different ending

    no broken hearts
    at least
    not yours

    and the stranded man
    in the leather chair
    had my face

    had no expectations
    made no demands
    held you responsible
    for nothing

    and you left the table
    cashed in your winnings
    climbed the winding stairs
    silk purse in hand
    his heart in your pocket
    to place it at midnight
    on your balcony sill
    to watch it wither in the moonlight

    he had no need for it
    nor most certainly
    did you

    and the night lark sang
    and a silver tear
    fell hard as steel
    from his crystal’d cheek
    which you collected in a sterling box
    and tossed into the sea

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2011
    (revision © 2018)

    Daredevil’s Dread

     

    Daredevil’s Dread

    ~

    to be shot from a cannon
    into the cool night air
    is really no big deal

    to face a barrage
    of flying knives
    isn’t really that unreal

    to leap through the fire
    of a flaming hoop
    the warmth is kind’a nice

    jumping giant chasms
    on two-wheeled fury
    sure – let’s do it twice

    to be blown up
    in a speeding car
    sort’a turns me on

    falling 20-story
    from a skyscraper
    I’m up over and gone

    riding upside down
    on an airplane wing
    it’s the only way to fly

    the high trapeze
    without a net
    I wouldn’t bat an eye

    buried alive
    in a padlocked tomb
    count 10 and I’ll cheat death

    chained in steel
    tossed in the sea
    no need to hold my breath



    the sphere of fear
    the dome of doom
    the bungee-cord freefall

    to walk blazing coals
    swallow deadly swords
    no sweat — I’ve done them all

    almost nothing scares
    this bold daredevil
    I am very proud to say

    save the single thing
    of which I’m terrified

    to give my heart away



    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2010
    (revised © 2018)

    ____________________________________

  • top 2 photos: Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus
  • bottom photo: source unknown
  • Touch of Love

  • My wife and I have enjoyed 31 years together. This is a poem I wrote to commemorate the moment we committed.

    IMG_8667

     

    Touch of Love

    ~

    three decades ago
    in the shadow of the tall ships
    nestled inter-coastal
    on the outer banks of Beaufort
    our passion burst to flame

    we bound that flashpoint moment
    in a promise of forever
    and a band of abalone
    I found there in that sunset
    on the Carolina sands

    as ever-precious
    as the diamond ring
    that now encircles in its stead
    that pearled bit of shell
    immortalized our pledge

    even to this day
    it rests next to your heart
    where it falls true and warm
    on links of purest gold
    my constant touch of love

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2018



    Click below to read more poetry at dVerse:

    Open Link Night #233

  • The Nature of Fire

    China Fire

     
    The Nature of Fire

    ~

    here
    on the farthest point of the peninsula
    an office building is burning
    ignited by a single match
    careless or criminal
    not yet known

    inconceivable
    that such a structure
    can be so wholly engulfed
    but the fire was too fierce
    and the distance too great
    for rescue

    but what of the fury
    in that single first flame
    to have leapt so viciously to consume
    to ravage
    to devastate so absolutely

    like the rage of a repressed
    and violated being
    too long held down
    unjustly deprived
    confined

    all potential denied
    where there is great potential

    spirit squelched
    where there is great spirit

    sometimes a whole civilization can be dying
    until finally a single incident
    the spark
    unleashes a righteous inferno
    that has no bounds

    all around the good people gather
    stare in disbelief
    how is this possible
    out here
    out here on the peninsula
    not realizing that such power to combust
    to blaze so brilliantly
    can only be suppressed for so long

    it’s always there
    ready to explode
    like the fury in the head of that match
    and when the smoulder becomes full flame
    all will burn
    out here on the peninsula
    and in here
    at the still and protected center

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2010
    revised © 2018

    ____________

    Get fired up at dVerse…

    Fire Up that Creativity–dVerse Poetics

    Bloody Sue

    bloodysue-web.jpg

     

    Bloody Sue

    ~

    Gather close so you might hear
    A tale of terror, a tale of fear
    Of a vigilante from beyond the grave
    Only justice did this spirit crave
    You may choose to doubt my word
    But know damned well this all occurred

    A vengeful maiden dressed in red
    7 men lured, 7 men dead
    7 men drawn to this comely miss
    7 souls lost to her lethal kiss

    A modern legend is Bloody Sue
    Her deeds of terror are bold and true
    Was she from hell or heaven’s gate
    It’s certain her victims earned their fate

    The first, the banker, a crooked man
    Stole dreams of others with his evil plan
    To own the world, to possess the lot
    Now all that’s his is a dead man’s plot
    Found with coins choked down his throat
    Clutched in his hand a bloody note
    “You greedy bastards, this could be you
    Remember well!”, signed Bloody Sue

    The second, the lawyer, a prideful sort
    Lied and cheated to win in court
    And bragged of his dishonest way
    Until violence marked his final day
    Found one morning with bashed-in head
    A bloody gavel lay on his bed
    “Bludgeoned here for his lies and scandal!”
    Read Sue’s note, wrapped ’round the handle

    The third, the bishop, a man of lust
    Molested innocent’s, betrayed their trust
    Kept a journal of his lurid deeds
    A trophy to all his prurient needs
    Found on his pulpit with a bloody lap
    His private parts in his bishop’s cap
    “Beware vile predators throughout this land!”
    Sue had carved in the bishop’s hand

    Fourth was the baker, a gluttoness fool
    Treated his workers horribly cruel
    Paid wages that left an empty plate
    While he gorged himself – he ate and ate
    One day at the bakery’s opening hour
    He was found dead in a vat of flour
    Across the vat, bold and big,
    In chocolate icing, Sue wrote “pig!”

    Then the lazy chief of the town’s police
    Unsolved cases filled his valise
    Crime and violence everywhere
    While he snoozed in his office chair
    One day shots rang loud and clear
    Sue riddled the chief from ear to ear
    “Get another chief, get this damned work done!”
    Said the note from Sue, found by the gun

    The office gossip, and his jealous way
    Spread lies and rumors on the phone all day
    His envy the ruin of many good names
    Destroying lives with his vicious games
    Sue used his phone to strangle him
    And left a voice mail dire and grim
    “To all who ruin a reputation
    You too will die from strangulation!”

    Last… the radio talk-show host
    Spreading propaganda, coast to coast
    Pawn of a racist politician
    Thought he was above suspicion
    Electrocuted on his live broadcast
    Sue dealt justice hard and fast
    She was heard to say as hot sparks flew
    “Beware you haters, I’ll fry you too!”

    So that’s the story of Bloody Sue
    Believe it or not, that’s up to you
    A brutal beauty in scarlet cape
    From her vengeful hands there’s no escape
    She will draw from you your final breath
    If she marks you with her kiss of death

    Some say a ghost who haunts this earth
    Others claim an angel, of heavenly birth
    But all agree there’s one thing true

    If you’re a son-of-a-bitch,
    She’ll come for you

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2008

    __________

    collage at top: “Scarlett Lady”by: rob kistner © 2008

    Crimson Witch

    6CD88E0B-F0C6-4302-A0A1-2017FA31A5A7

     

    Crimson Witch

    ~

    fog rolled ‘cross the lowlands
    smothering damp and languid
    chilled and dense with dread
    ominous and threatening

    twilight having receeded
    moonlight labored hard
    shouldering its way
    through the thickening shroud

    the gnarled shape of leaf-dead trees
    with their spindly spiken’d branches
    thrust knobbed and twisted skyward
    disappearing into the hovering murk

    muffled deep within the gloom
    the throbbing drone of gathered voices
    locked in dark entangled chant
    foreboding  as a funeral dirge

    the moonlit fog glowed smokey silver
    stirred and tumbled by the night wind
    the trunken’d trees bent snd swayed uneven
    slumping like the huddled coven beneath them

    the blood-thick sterling fog breathed
    wafting between thick and thin
    there could be seen in veiled glances
    a menacing black-hooded presence

    and laid upon a grey rock slab
    resplendent in a crimson cloak of satin
    a comely beauty hair of brilliant red
    still and quiet as a corpse

    but a fire burned within her eyes
    deep and green as precious emerald
    lips synced with the hooded presence
    forming in a demon’s prayer

    the crimson goddess slowly rising
    floating off above the rock
    as the figure clad in the hood of darkness
    raised his arms high above his head

    came the goddess standing upright
    feet now lowering upon the altar
    her cloak gently flowed and billowed
    then fell open to reveal her naked

    looking down at the hooded figure
    whose hands crackled amber lightening
    and reaching forward sure and slow
    laid those blazing hands upon her

    in a burst of golden fire
    the goddess’s lips began to wildly twitch
    when in a voice to freeze one’s marrow
    she cried out, “I have life again!”

    all those ’round her bowed in worship
    then circled in a crazen coven’s dance
    to exclaim in voices full and resonant
    “your reign of darkness begins now priestess,
    rejoice! tis the season of the crimson witch!”

    15E79A6D-131C-4A8F-83C5-31E41C4A8E9F

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2018

     

    32AD0E85-B0A5-4D6D-B19A-E51CD04E0C53DAY 13

    Love’s Dance

    image
     
    Love’s Dance

    ~

    he feels the weight of her thigh
    pressing against his

    the flesh of her hip
    urgent against his groin

    the warmth
    as he responds involuntarily

    a heat spreads through him
    a quickening of pulse

    he swells and swoons
    growing rigid and eager

    a deep need overtakes him

    he reaches ’round her
    firmly encircling her waist
    with his strong arm
    bending her forward
    with the power of his body

    his other hand frees himself
    he enters her fully
    consumed by her passion

    begins a dance of dizzying desire

    his urges hot and husky
    on her ear and cheek
    they churn in slow pleasure

    building in lustful pace and tension
    they dance and dance
    spinning into a carnal fury

    a great release
    sweeps over them

    they melt together
    in fevered bliss
    matching breath for slowing breath

    his lips
    soft on the nape of her neck
    they drift to earth
    entwined in the joy
    the afterglow
    of love’s lingered embrace

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2015

    Our True Work

    Something life’s experiences have taught me: seeing the world for what it is makes you smart, envisioning the world for what it can be – makes you wise…

     

    Our True Work

    •

    there are countless contradictions
    in the elements of the work we do
    and conflictions as we strive
    but bring these not to table

    for I am you
    and you are me
    and we are all together
    in this constant labor
    for our daily bread

    and this toil to sustain the body
    this does not feed the spirit
    this is not our true work

    to lift someone in need
    to measure well in tolerance
    to seek the components of peace
    to create enduring possibility

    this is the true work
    in the final sweep
    ‘round the face of time

    this is what the soul eats

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011

    • linked at Magpie Tales and OSI

    Silent

     

    Silent

    ~

    do you hear the autumn wind
    stirring in the branches

    do you hear the leaves rustle

    do you hear my breath
    whispering your name

    do you hear my heart beat

    do you hear my tears fall

    or is it silent

    silent as the light-less realm
    that hauntingly engulfs my soul

    silent as that night
    when apples spilled
    on the broken stair
    where rail eluded
    your grasping hand

    silent as your futile cry
    when no voice came
    to grace your lips

    tender lips
    that parted gently
    to hold my kiss

    lips

    that will not know again
    sweet fruit

    nor love

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2011

     

    poem & image above inspired by visual prompt below

    * linked 2011 at Magpie Tales

    * linked 2020 at Poets & Storytellers