T he chest of the wave
slams the massive boulders
the steadfast rocks resist
yet they will be sand
*
rob kistner © 2022
More Zen poetry at: dVerse
Patience
Category: action
Distant Farewell
Far-Worlds Corp research space schooner “Thadius”
golden fire clouds,
hanging in pale green skies,
over the azure seas of Toluras
I’ve seen the copper leaves
of the parmus fronds
flashing from indigo mountains
in the crystal mists of Gemin.
I have beheld exquisite beauty
in my rich, full life
but none so beautiful
as your eyes tonight”
this Artheo whispers
his breath warms
the tender lobe
of my eager ear
he presses his lips
softly to mine
with gentle passion
bids me farewell
now three hours past
I linger in the bittersweetness
I can still taste him
here I am
hurtling through space
standing on the aft deck
gazing
reliving the kiss
a sudden chill
shocks me sober
been here, done this
precisely this
in every detail
impossible
it’s my first time aboard
a foreboding grips me
I shiver as I watch
the jade-sapphire orb
grow smaller
less relevant
it now recedes
less visible
through the carbon-Lucite
zero-g frost
forms and obscures
this breathtaking view
of the lush planet
our home planet
Gaia
a place
some now on board
will not again see
for fifteen years
if they are
counted among
the fortunate
who do return
we race
exceeding light-speed
toward a distant
call for help
unknown destiny
in uncharted space
with no idea
what we will encounter
the call made it certain
no good lay ahead
I am Sephias
going to Topiarus
to return
in a year’s time
I am distraught
the anxiety
of separation
intense pressure
permeates the crew
who go the distance
to the edge of space
to answer
the cry for help
it is contagious
I feel this too
I feel ungrounded
each time I choose
to leave my man
to go on mission
my soul mate
Artheo
our love is deep
it has withstood
these essential
separations
we understood
when I joined Far-Worlds
that separation
came with the program
but knowing this
makes it no easier
my anxiety
is heightened further
given this mission’s
uncertainty
at Far-Worlds Corp
we are involved
in new-resources
exploration
we’re scientists
not trained spacetroopers
our expertise
not military
this ship
the Thadius
is a space schooner
solar-wind powered
a research vessel
not a fast and agile
battle cruiser
not suited
for space combat
the security force
we have on board
trained to defend
not to attack
they protect us
from known threats
on our journeys
through known space
this mission’s different
the unknown
makes this dangerous
the Dextorium
was an advance ship
sent to reconnoiter
9 months ahead
the Dextorium
did in fact carry
a battle-trained
spacetrooper force
but it has now
fallen silent
for many months
the green glow
of the interstellar
contact indicator orb
means they’re out there
but silence
not a word
to take my mind
off things disturbing
I drift to Artheo
to our last kiss
he presented
a calm brave face
at our goodbye
but I knew better
now together
two centuries
rest assured
I know my man
as decorated Primests
of the Science-Sect Elite
we are privileged
with three birthing cycles
to improve the human strain
a 40-year
no-birthing period
our second
now nears its end
soon
we will enter
our third
free-birthing cycle
we both welcome
the sabbatical
of twenty years
that it affords
we’ve begotten
families
in prior cycles
and love them both
we now dream
of this newest family
our near future
holds in store
this coming family
is most important
in our lives
Artheo’s and mine
state edicts dictate
3rd cycle families
caretake their fosters
as health declines
as we move closer
to our stand down
and cryogenic
hibernation
this new family
will be our comfort
as our current life-phase
draws to a close
as I reflect
I am disrupted
a sudden chaos
panicked commotion
on the foredeck
there is great alarm
I rush forward
in time to see
a startling scene
begin to unfold
there
directly in front
of our speeding ship
menacing fields of energy
they begin to spread
linking together
with apparent logic
forming a grid
blocking our path
acting intelligently
as though a sentient
living thing
they are immense
and they are many
as they assemble
into a spherical net
continually expanding
as far as one can see
it is there
spread far too vast
to travel around
their advancing speed
we cannot outrun
as we approach
the pulsing web
their acceleration
becomes exponential
no doubt we’re on
a collision course
suddenly
my senses jolt
I stagger back
in shock and awe
it is now quite clear
what fate befell
our advance party
and it appears others
they’ve been, well
they’ve been absorbed
by this horrific
electronic death-mesh
we are defenseless
we on the Thadius
can only stare
frightened
but spellbound
the crew’s emotions
now run the gamut
tears fill most eyes
as hell approaches
then I see more clearly
in the eerie violet
sphere of energy
closing upon us
tiny multi-color specks
captured life-energies
of the Dextorium crew
and countless others
that have come before
their vital essence
has been consumed
by this entangled nightmare
that now besets us
their images flicker
in and out of focus
trapped in the grid
held fast and hopeless
empty faces
of complete surrender
translucent
dead eyes
living ghosts
this thing is coming
this host of evil
terrified
I feel helpless
so confused
and so alone
its then I rush
to my solarcomm
to send a message
to Artheo
holding a Droon orb of light
bravely I begin
first sharing poetry
as is our custom
“we have walked quietly hand in hand
in the emerald meadows of Telma
sharing its golden angelfruit
sweet as our stolen kisses
we’ve heard the haunting call
of the coral winged Lellurt
in Droon’s violet skies
over teal Darpin Bay
now fate deems we part
see this Orb of Light
it is my true heart
when I am gone
it will shine on
sweet Artheo
it is my love
eternally”
“right now,
I want to hear
your soothing voice
my precious love.”
“I would give the world
to hear your voice.”
I am speaking
in a tone controlled
yet laced with longing
and melancholy
“I love you my dearest
but something bad
is happening now
here where I am”
“there’s a chance”
then I must pause
collect myself
to start again
“there is a chance,
I may not return
to you again,
to our sweet life”
here my voice quavers
and then it cracks
as I try to add,
“or — to our children.”
grasping for courage
I go on
“if this is
to be my end
it falls to you
to raise them now”
“please let them see
they’re loved forever
protect them well
and keep them safe”
it’s now a struggle
to form the words
but filled with love
I press on
“remember my eggs.
they are safely stored
at the Off-World Corp’s
Reproductive Center.”
“my surrogate
has been selected
she is tested
and bonded pure”
“you must see
our new family born
Zenus and Rennar — born
please promise me!”
choking back
so many emotions
I now fight
to conclude the message
this is the last
I will ever send
to my beloved
Artheo
these are the last words
he’ll hear me speak
“these children,
Zenus and Rennar,
will be the final connection
between you and I”
“remember forever
they are a part
of each of us
my darling one”
“he and she
will care for you
and see you through
your dimming years.”
“they will love you
as you’ll love them
give them my love
tell them about me.”
voice faltering badly
I rise to finish
and share with Artheo
my final words
“god, oh god,
how I want you
here in my arms
my one true love!”
with that,
my heart breaks
as I stare silently
into the screen
teardrops streaming
down my cheeks
12 hours later
the message arrives
on Artheo’s
commstation screen
he is gripped
by disbelief
at what he sees
at what he hears
consumed by horror
unable to move
he stands trembling
frozen by grief
as he sees
my message end
my image flickers
and then it fades
Artheo
falls to his knees
without sound
silent for some time
then
with a growing mix
of fear and sorrow
on his ashen face
he throws back his head
thrusts up his arms
straight and stiff
fists clenched in anger
clenched so tightly
nails
cut into palms
and bring forth blood
bloodied hands
whitened knuckles
stab at the stars
he keens and moans
then begins to wail
the guttural
heart-rending wail
of a man bereft
soul-gored
devastated
(revision © 2019)
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
The Box
and the August 25th prompt at Three Word Wednesday,
and prompt #18 at Writer’s Island.
…a short story of intrigue…
•
“What do you mean Taylor,†Gwen inquired, the strain obvious in her weary voice. “Who exactly is going to confront Dylan… and why?â€
Her voice trailed off to an exasperated whisper. The why was not so much a question, as an exhalation of confused frustration. She seemed to know the answer was much too complicated to address at this hour, and she was too spent, physically and emotionally, to want to hear it.
Gwen turned away from Taylor, head lowered. Her arms fell limp at her side, fingers splayed. She was trying her best to process what Taylor was saying, to understand him – to understand the recent events that had brought her to this place in time… trying to make sense of anything. Her head was spinning, and she could feel the fatigue deep in her bones.
She dropped back onto the sofa, half sitting, half lying down – an exhausted slouch. She felt paralyzed, thoughts racing through her mind – fragmented, disconnected thoughts. If only she could clear her head. She was in trouble.
Continue reading The Box
Burn
…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…
•
talk to me otis
and
marlena
reveal your mystery
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
The Quiet • The Strike
…I’ve written two pieces in response to Three Word Wednesday July 21st prompt • the first is entitled “The Quiet” • the second is entitled “The Strike”…
•
left like spent bait
in the disapproving sun
to rot from apathy
the carcasses of constituents
foolishly quiet
curl brittle and crack
victims of their trust
they did not jump
their chance for change
and so they wither
hollowed by ignorance
and purposeful neglect
while the dark beast
slouches off with eden
marrow dripping from a smile
• • •
The Strike
•
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 silent
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
anticipating 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
in life
the thrill of possibility
can be as rich
as the reward
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
Sad Little Clown
•
I am the sad little clown
with the frowning face
the round red nose
and the great big tear
this meek facade
and silly sham
belie the horror
that I engineer
life’s dealt me cold
my hand is slack
not a queen
no king nor ace
the violence
that dwells within
is masked behind
my woeful face
no one suspects
the evil soul
that festers deep
in this funny fool
they know not
the monster in me
the gentle sheen
conceals the cruel
they don’t realize
a broken heart
a ruined life
makes one quite mad
they simply see
the pitiful
and painted face
that looks so sad
the shaggy coat
the baggy pants
the red suspenders
the big white glove
they do not know
it hides the hand
that choked the life
and killed their love
town after town
state after state
bodies mount
in the circus’ wake
in the dead of night
at the dark of moon
in frenzied fever
each life I take
each beautiful
each innocent
each unaware
that they would die
there will be more
on the road ahead
one for every tear
you made me cry
when the circus comes
and the tents go up
the people cheer
in each sleepy town
‘cause in their ignorance
what they don’t know
who’s really come
is the killer clown
• • •
NaPoWriMo #29
____________________________________
•
a lightless void of soundless vacuum
spinning masses of revolving orbs
hurtling fragments in crystalline vapors
molten cores
mingled gasses
dead husks
black holes
magnetic icefalls
plasma rain
liquid lightening
solid clouds
attractions and repulsions
of precarious fragility
a frozen dance of chaos
on the tentative edge of balance
unfounded fear
unquenchable wonder
unrealized dreams
ultimate frontier
relativity’s fabric
tangled in the cloth of time
reality’s illusion
set in fantasy’s foundation
ceaseless hope
endless adventure
unexpected catastrophe
boundless courage
humankind’s triumph and sad folly
the seductive promise of the future
our salvation
infinity’s threshold
the eternal question
the elusive answer
the everlasting bastion
of never-ending truth
a longing call
a constant listening
a driving force
a reason why
fountainhead of myths
spark of religions
and other superstitions
home of the gods
magnificent obscurity
a source of mystery
font of knowledge
cause of fiction
the unknown of the unknowable
nothingness absolute
the billions and the billions
ever expanding everything
…space is
• • •
NaPoWriMo #27
• one acrostic
• one tanka
____________________________________
•
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
• • •
NaPoWriMo #26 – Power / Alternatives
• one free verse poem
• one tanka
____________________________________
•
let us speak of power
the writer’s words
the artist’s eye
the craftsman’s hands
the singer’s voice
the player’s soul
the actor’s courage
all who rise up in creativity
to share their gift
who elevate our humanness
shun our negative self
who share their spirit to inspire
who see great possibility
in the face of great challenge
who will not succumb
but prevail
as a kindled flame
to light our darkness
theirs is the power
they are the powerful
for they empower
• • •
•
three hundred miles gone
we’re just above dream canyon
big storm front building
cycles won’t make the snow pass
guess we point our two wheels south
• • •
NaPoWriMo #24 – In Vain / Daddy’s Girl
• one free verse poem
• one tanka
____________________________________
• This poem that follows is inspired by Marie Gauthier’s NaPoWriMo day 23 prompt at readwritepoem to find and use a colloquial phrase — and by the current frustration I am feeling trying to deliver on my promise of at least 1 poem a day for 30 days. This day I am blank – my muse is being quite difficult. So for inspiration I looked to a poem I’d written 3 years back about just such a situation of writer’s block. I wrote this new poem from those 3-year-old bones, sparked additionally by Robert Lee Brewer’s NaPoWriMo day 23 prompt at Poetic Asides: exhaustion.
•
the virginal glare
of the backlit void
taunts me
the tiny pulsing cursor
throbs like a migraine
in the blank white field
untouched
ignored
impatient
no burden of remorse
no weight of mystery
does it bear
no sting of anger
no wink of mirth
to reflect
nothing sensual
or sensitive
to share
no coin of phrase to save
just empty screen
tormenting nothingness
30 in 30
pressing down
dissonance spills through my open window
the scatter of rain
stir of wind
rustle of wet leaves
muffled keens
bursts of barks
distant yelps
the edgy din
of dripping
prowling
april night
intrudes in damp insistence
to fill my head
and leave not one small space
for wit
or insight
all in vain
there is no spark
in this soggy midnight
left high and dry
no muse in sight
only exhaustion
nothing clever
or profound
in the air this night
chilled
slack
uninspired
• • •
•
shy knock at front door
lovely daughter descends stairs
who is this brash boy
shake his hand or run him off
daddy’s decision is tough
• • •
NaPoWriMo #11 – Play Ball!
• one free verse poem
• one haiku
____________________________________
•
it is this time every year
perhaps coaxed by the warming breezes of spring
that a flood of recall is unleashed
smell of leather oiled in neatsfoot
clatter of wooden bats in a canvass bag
rattle of metal spikes on concrete
snug feel of the ballglove
tuggin’ on the cap
rollin’ the bill just right
smoothness of the cowhide sphere
grip on raised seams
click and clack of the catcher’s gear
cheers, jeers and sometimes tears
right foot on the rubber
excitement of taking signs
leg coiled for delivery
the hey batter batter
pop of the ball in the pocket
anticipation of an onrushing grounder
launching the throw across the diamond
shielding my eyes in a high sky
relief of snagging one in the webbing
feel of polished hardwood
crack of the sweet spot
exhilaration of connecting solidly
breaking down to first
taking a good lead off
soft slide into the base
the thrill of swiping second
the joy of crossing home
my teammates in a dog pile
sweet sweet exhaustion
knowing I left it all on the field
your arm around my shoulder
the pride in your eyes
root beer at the soda fountain
with the team after the game
riding home on the tailgate
of our old Edsel wagon
it is every year
at this time
that I think of all of this
that I think of you
how you wanted me to try pro
how the scout felt I had the arm
it is the path I didn’t take
you never made me feel sorry
thank you for these memories
thank you for your love
• • •
•
chalk lines laid on dirt
crack of white ash on cowhide
son’s smile is a joy
• • •
poem and haiku by: rob kistner © 2010
NaPoWriMo #6 – The Cast / The Rise
Rhiannon had suggested in the day 6 NaPoWriMo prompt at Read Write Poem that we sort through a collection of our pictures as inspiration for this day’s poem. Although I veered a bit from her precise suggestion, the process of sorting brought me to the pictures I have of my fishing adventures, and that inspired this — so thanks Rhiannon!
• one free verse poem
• one haiku
____________________________________
•
cliff-climbing conifers
stir in the brisk dawn
as breezes swoop the gorge
rustle my jacket
nip my cheeks
across the casual rapids
near the stony shore
rainbows surface in slack water
hungrily gulping morning hatch
my most recent offering undulates past
in the glinting chatter of spring flow
unacknowledged
chuckling
I turn
elbow steady
I begin to rotate my lengthy bamboo
behind to two PM.
silently stripping the slender thread
from current’s surface
leaving a razor crease
disappearing quick as it comes
the lacquered rod bends forward as I lift
then slowly flexes back
the line arcs behind in flight
trailing silvery spray
backward pressure builds
as line nears full unfurling
but just before
a smooth return
slowly brings the shaft
again to ten AM
now
I feel the forward pull of the soaring mass
as overhead the line recoils
midair
the glass-green fiber
rolls out ahead
over azure ripples
the singing strand painting an “Sâ€
in the cloudless sky
quick
smooth
and quiet
the line is re-wed to stream
the feathered morsel at the tip
offered yet again
coaxing a ready trout
to rise
and strike
• • •
•
fly reel freshly oiled
new tippets cut and tied firm
spring trout on the rise
• • •
poem and haiku by: rob kistner © 2010
____________________________________
Racing
•
right
keep right came the response
redirecting the runner
in reaction to his rapid-fire request regarding the route
racing recklessly in redoubled resolve
certain this resurgence would redeem his rough start
he ran rampant
refusing to relinquish his radical pace
no longer rambling
he raged like a rogue renegade
determination renewed
hope refueled
spirit refreshed
his belief was rekindled that a resounding victory would result
if he would just run
run
run
his rally realized
lungs raw and ragged
he rocketed ‘cross the finish line
reared his head
and roared raucously
arms raised in release
tears rolling in relief
he rejoiced
triumphant
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
On The Edge
If hell froze over and if pigs could fly, then perhaps there would be an additional host-venue candidate for an upcoming Olympics — and Kevin Bacon and Mia Hamm could be on the US Alpine Downhill Ski Team? Until then, Lindsey Vonn, Bode Miller and all the international skiers are flying down the frozen slopes in Vancouver, BC… so this is a short prose piece I wrote a couple of years ago, but have never posted here on image & Verse — and to celebrate the 2010 Olympics, I am unveiling it here.
On The Edge
•
It has all come to this. No turning back now, no room for doubt, no fear, no place for mistakes. Years of preparation, visualizing my dream, of tenacious conditioning, practice, of sacrifice, of hope, is finally culminating in this one moment in time.
I hear the winds whistle in the shell of my headgear, the snow crunch crisp and fresh underfoot as I step off the aerial tram and stride to the starting gate. My skis, waxed to perfection, are thrown over my right shoulder, both poles gripped in my left hand. I vibrate with nerves and pure, refined energy.
As I make the short walk I reflect, “over 90 miles per hour for 90 seconds, airborne, hurtling down the mountain like a rocket, free-falling just at the edge of control, at the edge of disaster… at the edge of euphoria! I love this! I can do this, just don’t catch an edge!†I push that brief slip of negativity out of my head, and begin to visualize, while repeating, “tuck tight, knees flexed, eyes down the mountain, fearless… fly!â€
I sit to tighten my boots and affix my skis. I hear the chatter of coaches and officials, the mantra-like self-talk of my competitors, and the clamor of the crowds that collect along the course, gathered exuberantly dense at the bottom.
I begin to slowly tune all that into a background monotone buzz, then a quiet hum, squelching –– until finally, I tune it out altogether. I focus, dialing myself into my personal space, my place of vivid concentration, intense presence… my zone.
Here I wait until my coach comes to lead me to the starting gate, where I check in with the race officials, and queue up. It seems just a blink of an eye and he comes, and I go –– go to what I believe will be victory, my time of destiny. I am ready!
Standing behind the next racer poised to start, I acutely envision the entire course, racing section by section, successfully making and re-making the run in my head, the same one I’ve made many times in practice. I imagine the gate fly open, see myself push off, thrusting with all my might into that first steep drop, accelerating fiercely into the first turn, building a torrid pace, knifing down the mountain, as if an apparition, a vapor, a blur… gone 90/90!
At last, alone in the gate, I see the mountain stretch out below me, the crystalline white falling and twisting –– down, down. This is it, it’s here, my dance with fate; but this is no gamble. I am so totally ready for this, ready to roar down the icy slope, surge across the finish line… ready to fly!
The starting tone begins to pulse. My mind links into the cadence, my body feels the rhythm. My vision grows sharp, my senses keen, my surroundings –– vibrant. Time is folding into slow motion, honing down to the long-awaited instant, the critical split-second. My legs are wound springs, my arms and shoulders are powerful pistons, my heart, a thunderous locomotive. The brink is reached, then crossed. The gate swings away as I launch, in one mighty explosion…
rob kistner © 2008
_____________________
…this post was sparked by a prompt at sunday scribblings…