Images

Crimson Witch

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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!”

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~ ~ ~

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

Spared


 
Spared

~

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

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

~ ~ ~

rob kistner © 2011

  • Image above entitled “Red Umbrella” by: Christopher Shay
  • This was originally linked to Tess Kincaid’s “Magpie Tales”

    ______________________

    How Poetry Comes to Me

    by: Gary Snyder

    It comes blundering over the
    Boulders at night, it stays
    Frightened outside the
    Range of my campfire
    I go to meet it at the
    Edge of the light

    • Already Vanished

     

    Vanished

    •

    and he saw them leaving
    and he opened his mouth in farewell
    but only dust escaped

    and broken dreams

    and a spoiled promise
    from long ago
    left too long on the shelf

    so he raised his hand
    to gesture a wave
    but he was rigid
    and could not

    and they did not hear him
    and they did not see him

    for he had already vanished

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011

    • linked at Magpie Tales

    Sneakin’ Up On Breakfast

    “One of my former band members, who was with me in the band in the 1960’s, that inspired this poem from 2011, came to visit me a couple months ago. I had written a haibun at the time in his honor, which I shared here on dVerse. That haibun was inspired by this original poem. I just learned that he died Monday in Geneva, Switzerland. In his memory I am sharing this original poem today, August 22, 2019.”

    …originally written for Day #19, NaPoWriMo 2011…



     
    Sneakin’ Up On Breakfast

    ~

    our final set was 3:00 am
    the gear’s broke down and stowed
    now here we sit
    with smuggled single malt
    and the crusty sunrise special

    me and my bles-sed band
    bliss’d out from giggin’
    bleary-eyed and blasted
    mixin’ with fellow players
    who’ve now
    laid down their last licks
    for this night

    among willing groupies
    the loud hangers on
    and my sad friend Joey
    just back from Viet Nam

    we’re sittin’ and chattin’
    with the steel-heart working girls
    and sweet soul-bruised painted strippers
    they love us ‘cause we’re brothers
    in this family of the night

    all in the flesh parade
    of burnt drink slingers
    and tired cocktail mules

    hipsters grifters drifters
    and slick gamblers
    from behind the sealed doors
    of those private upstairs rooms

    swell perfumed boys
    and sisters of the leather
    queens and trannies
    pimps pushers and the cops

    huddled stark as morgue mates
    hidin’ from those cruel first rays
    like a pack of squandered vampires

    ready to scurry off
    to well-curtained rooms
    or other dark holes of despair

    it’s time to make that final score
    whatever gets you through
    ‘till sundown strikes up the band again

    I’ll tell ya
    ain’t this show biz grand
    it’s cirque du morning madness
    all sneakin’ up on breakfast

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 4/19/11

    ____________________________

    This photo below put me in mind of the 60’s when my band played the all-night R&B clubs in Newport Ky — the ‘wild’ night-world just across the Ohio River from Cincinnati. It sparked this poem.

    …originally linked at Magpie Tales…

     

  • Click below to read other poems at dVerse:

    Open Link Night #249

    • Poet In Arms

     

    Poet

    abandon vague image
    do not weave a fabric of myth
    or speak to us in grand verse
    telling of the song of the spheres
    or the days before this dark time

    you see many things poet
    but you talk in riddles
    you avoid the cold hard way
    for the soft path of platitudes
    of metaphors
    of meter and rhyme
    but this is not the time

    look poet
    look into the flames
    the fire of human suffering

    feel it burn your eyes
    char your soul
    tell us how that feels

    tell us how to see
    with our own eyes
    help us see the real place of light

    you must tell us poet
    in the power of plain language
    in the clear voice of truth
    tell us what is real

    we will listen

    with a pure heart of justice
    raise your shield of words
    lift your pen poet
    like a sword

    show us the grip

    we will save the beauty
    celebrate the wonder
    protect the unique splendor

    or we will join the battle
    to strike down imbalance
    to drive away sorrow

    lead us poet
    we will follow

    *
    rob kistner © 2011

    Written for: Magpie Tales

    Poetry at: dVerse

    Poetry at: Poets & Storytellers

    Poetry at: earthweal

    Evening Grace


     
    Evening Grace

    ~

    as dusk descends
    my stride holds steady
    buoyed by the gentle embrace
    of the downing golden sun

    early shadows fall soft

    vesper’s velvet blanket
    drapes ’round my shoulders
    envelops me in calm

    there is still road to travel

    eager to keep the journey
    I’m drawn by the beauty
    of the rising moon in sunset

    coaxed by a soothing breeze
    I venture on toward my love

    rolling amber fires the lane
    spreads warm ‘cross the horizon

    mist begins to rise and waft

    nestled in the valley
    I see my hearth & home
    guilded copper in this eventide

    my heart quickens
    stirred by this gorgeous vale
    the ribbon of its brook
    entwines my soul in wonder

    my smile sweetens
    my pace livens
    I hum a quiet evensong
    in the grace of this splendid day

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2010


    …artwork entitled “Evening Glory” by: Steven Mitchell…

  • click below to enjoy more poems at dVerse:

    Open Link #277 – Live edition

    • Kisses Crimson-Gold

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    Kisses Crimson-Gold

    ~

    the stir of autumn
    enwraps my heart
    as summer slowly wanes
    riding the early fallen leaves
    on the current of october waters
    whirling and bobbing on crystal ripples
    round and past the river rocks
    over rip rap in the stream bed
    carried vividly away
    into the setting sun

    days shorten
    shadows lengthen
    a quiet melancholy
    settles upon the valley
    as nature prepares itself
    for the slumber of renewal

    but not before the crackling
    joyous dance of harvest
    and a crisp crimson-gold
    kiss goodnight

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2010

    __________________

    Brightly coloured fall leaves in a forest stream

    Final Sentinel

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    Final Sentinel

    ~

    I watched
    as generations
    moved forward
    as civilization
    painstakingly
    progressed
    set foothold
    knowledge
    unfolded
    slowly

    I observed
    the millenniums
    of human endeavor
    as they awakened
    to self-reliance
    less dependent
    on hive mentality
    mastering machines
    eliminating conflict
    striving for truth
    ever evolving

    I saw
    nature
    the world
    reshaped
    tempered
    resilient

    proud
    I stand tall
    thrust skyward
    closer to heaven
    than any living thing
    a perpetual presence
    the constant sentinel
    a witness to triumph

    would
    that all that
    were true

    I watched helplessly
    as generations receded
    as empires crumbled
    greed ran rampant
    wisdom ebbed
    civilization
    imploded

    I observed
    millenniums
    of human folly
    misguided logic
    flawed reasoning
    as they flailed
    stumbling
    to a cold
    isolated
    world

    disconnected

    from one another
    from the environment
    serving their machines
    serving their avarice
    perfecting violence
    racing to ruination
    becoming aliens
    in a mad eden
    disillusioned
    depraved
    diseased

    until
    they were
    no more

    I watched through tears
    as the natural world
    slowly declined
    diminished
    withered
    scarred
    died

    putrid
    toxic air
    permeates
    burnt terrain
    to far horizons
    and now I stand
    thrusting skyward
    in this decaying hell
    praying for a heaven
    the only living thing
    the pitiful survivor
    the final sentinel
    time’s witness
    to tragedy
    watching
    the end

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2010
    (revision © 2018)

  • Author’s Note: let’s strive to see part two never happens…

    _____________

    • What Do You See

    Too Still

    This piece is offered in response to prompt Mag 26 at Magpie Tales




    Still

    •

    it sits
    still
    atop the corner
    of our garden wall
    just where she left it

    how many lilies
    did it nourish
    how many fuscia
    lilac
    rose
    and morning glory
    did it quench

    it dispensed its
    life giving waters
    so gracefully
    in her hand

    such a delicate hand
    gentle in its task
    of planting new growth
    but rugged on the weeds
    that threatened her beloved garden

    she was the giver of life
    and the guardian
    of her realm

    but she could not
    stop all that threatened
    and I had not
    her gift of life giving

    and so it rests
    atop the wall
    no longer is it lifted
    by her tender
    hand of nurture

    that hand now
    is still

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    Alchemy

    “Went digging through some of my older poetry to find this piece I wrote 9 years ago, March 2010. I remember being inspired to write it watching Hermione’s love potion scene in ‘Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Price.’ I had just purchased the DVD at the time. My grandson was watching the DVD last night, which put me in mind of this poem. Wanted to share it here for dVerse OLN #252. It contains very minimal revision and a slight upgrade in graphic embellishment”

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    Alchemy

    ~

    you cannot change
    a heart of iron
    into a heart of gold

    no precious warmth
    will manifest
    from something hard and cold

    a love that’s locked
    and set in cast
    can never be set free

    there is no hope
    nor magic spell
    not even alchemy

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    you cannot stop
    the hands of time
    from spinning ever on

    when the sand
    is through the hourglass
    those days are ever gone

    you cannot bring summer back
    when the leaves
    are off the tree

    there is no hope
    nor magic spell
    not even alchemy

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    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2010
    revision © 2019

     

  • Click below to check out some fine poetry at dVerse:

    OpenLinkNight #252

    • Inner Moonlight

     

     

    Inner Moonlight

    •

    you let lose the madness
    of your inner moonlight

    you and Jack

    suckling life’s sweet underbelly
    quaking
    in the nocturnal neon zoo

    both of you
    and Neal
    groin deep in human wallow

    swilling full the brain-drug flesh festival

    spewing forth
    to fill all fertile ears
    with the siren song of sacred dissatisfaction

    your fingers burned
    from dancing with the fire-whores
    of truth
    angst
    and indignation

    you put your queer shoulder to the wheel
    and rolled out the new truth
    crushing apathy
    to run down ignorance

    you torched the darkness
    with a blinding light

    igniting bohemia
    in a rolling demon’s fire
    illuminating the night

    while you danced
    with every devil you could find

    howling mad
    and mind expanded
    you ranted
    raved

    you flamed

    a combusting carnal fireball
    roaring
    hormoned-hungry
    for all of life’s deliciousness

    ferocious appetite

    lusting
    longing to consume
    every forbidden morsel and crumb

    to gorge upon
    life’s smorgasborgadelic mindfeast

    in gluttonness conspiracy
    with Neal
    Jack
    Tim
    and Ken

    gut full of insight
    kindled by the new freedom
    it was flashpoint

    each blaze burned so brightly

    madder men the world will not soon see

    but one by one
    each burned out

    now a flicker
    in the eyes of angles

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2008

    photo above is Allen Ginsberg (1926 – 1997)