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zen Sep 10
Coupling wind and fire
an terrific, tumultuous, take
Time waits for no man but of him
his fate,
the fellow frets and is frightened by fame,
Son of Father Time,
cannot merely hide inside its vase,
Blooming, what a fellow
hath he grown noble and sublime
soon to love and learn
the great burden of his time.
Sara Mares Aug 29
There is a fire inside that no one knows
It stands vehemently amidst destruction and
Screams "I will create"
PoserPersona Aug 28
The concrete drum
beats two steps;
their sound signals
dear freedom

The cricket hum
drowns the day
and instills a
tranquil numb

The bare breeze
strums leaves and all
and breaks the heat
in welcome

The tonic sum
a blessed song;
allowing one
to triumph
rob kistner Jun 20
_

memphis red
no longer is

gray now shines
from a balding head
filled with scarlet embers

memories still burn

a fired spirit
too deep
for coddled mortals
to fully fathom

red is real

red is legend

his tales of pain
of injustice
the lore of the big muddy

his eyes
earthy brown
turbulent as that river

his stare
a deep current
impossible to escape

swept away

his voice
a tempered edge
honed by blues

broadleaf husky
thick as sorghum
smooth
as beale street bourbon

the cf martin
swings from a leathered neck

on a tattered strap
stretched and shaped
by the heft of sorrow
poured into the soundhole

marked and scarred
by years of burden
of witness

its character and patina
bear testament
to a genuine soul

cracked and seasoned hands
reach with suffered care
to wrap the fingerboard
in love

callused digits
yellowed by habit
depress taut strands
no longer catgut

sculpting emotions

blood and bone
grip
connect

true life
ensnared in sitka spruce
and spiraled steel

knowing strains rise

chords of loss
rhythmic stomp
stinging verse
tinged in triumph

of broken promise
failed love

of dirt field
cruel street
back alley

of harsh wisdom
enduring hope

resonate
to fill this space

to break my heart
to steal my soul

swept away

_


rob kistner © 2007
(revised 2018)
This is a tribute to celebrate every genuine bluesman, whose life of hardship, spirit, suffering, joy, and sorrow, were honed and carved into their soul,
to craft masterworks of musical storytelling that will forever capture
a people, a time, and a way of life that are deep roots of America.
Who are you in the morning
The one who lifts the feet off your child
And vise grips the broken, bludgeons the weak
You no longer make me shiver in fright
I see through your cowardice with shame
That a young boy would fall to his knees
At the noise of a dog with no bone to chew
Cradled by the nape and dug into the heels of
A story not ever cared of being mentioned
I’m the one to lose and sulk my days away
But you, whose words are lackluster and feeble
Carry the weight of two
That know so little to their own good
Dry as the scab from which you inflicted
I am born to be the delight of all good
The Atlas that carries the weight of your mistakes
And when all is said and done
The night will weave into my body
Making the brain addled boy
Dream a good little dream
PoserPersona Apr 27
Loquacious hypocrite,
to your own misery.
Criticize internally

Obsequious narcissist,
to your own false idol.
No love to be found there

You can’t beguile us
For the swirling voices,
no longer bask in our glow
Daisy Rae Feb 17
We want to succeed
So we triump when others fail
Meera Feb 15
An angel of light
With dark wings
Wanderings in catacombs
Flying through springs
Tied to hell
With golden strings
A siren she is
Her beauty stings
Luring emperors
Temptings kings
Like a triumphant song
The Satan sings
Her lyrics echo
Her music rings
Soulace Jan 31
"I'm afraid to lose you"

                                     But isn't that what love is?

Isn't love standing on the edge of a canyon, overlooking the beauty that is below?

Running the length of a battlefield, amidst the bullets whirling, and the cannon fire, knowing you could at any moment lose everything?

Isn't love ultimately driving the edge of loss to the edge?
Playing with fire? Juggling knives? Self operated open heart surgery?


                            Isn't that what makes love so special?
I've gotten so sick of hearing these words by people I want to start something special with.
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