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: beauty
The Return
Although here in my Seattle home, I am only 200 miles away from my Oregon, the fact that health has prevented me from returning for a number of years, and makes it impossible for me to ever again trek the breathtaking wilderness of that region, that lives so vividly in my memories — it feels that it might as well be on the other side of the country, in a beautiful, unreachable dreamscape. This envisioning I’ve written here of my return is presented from that perspective. It is likely also sparked, in no small way, by a subconscious wish that I could return to the robust health I enjoyed most of the 25 years I lived and explored in Oregon, discovering and falling in love with its precious beauty.
”It is not down in any map; true places never are.” — Herman Melville
Across the chasm of time
and great distance
memories unfold
vividly rich
like elaborate origami sculptures
as the paper of this odd map
unfolds bewilderingly before me
even ‘cross this flat
boring land spread
I see in my mind’s eye
soaring ramparts
of sky-piercing mountains
forested tier upon tier
with enormous sitka spruce
scattered brewers
known as the weeping spruce
the most beautiful of the conifer
whose branches in summer
display sunlight
as a jeweler’s velvet
showcases gems
the whispers
of wind-stirred
lawson cypress
towering ponderosa pine
and douglas fir
waft down emerald climbs
tangerine-scented white fir
a fragrance rivaled only
by the rough-tufted red cedar
the dogwood’s brilliant leaves
big-leaf maples
pendulous western maples
tight ranks of dark-green sadler oak
the golden shimmer
and crisp crackle
of white-barked aspen
these live and breath
boldly in my heart
calling me forward
this morning’s sun comes crisp and bright
enfolding my waking in warmth
and vivid presence
the world fresh and fascinating
I embark toward noonday
the joy of homecoming palpable
senses saturated and alive
blissfully consumed
by a deep satisfaction
that permeates this afternoon
my soul is full
my mind is clear
my heart — overflowing
as dusk descends upon this place
painting its heady grace and expectation
my pace is smooth and steady
the downing sun — a gentle gold embrace
early shadows fall soft across my face
as vesper’s velvet blanket
drapes its comfort ’round my shoulders
splendid calm envelops me
yet there are other shadows
strange distractions
that disrupt my moments
they come unannounced
almost imperceptible
but I follow close
without fear
the way blazened in my mind
and there is still far to go
I am eager to journey
drawn by the beauty
that is the rising moon in sunset
facing into the evening breeze
I venture onward
rolling amber and coral
spreads across the horizon
again the shadows shift
dull confusion finds me
I lose my pace and focus
but I do not heed
this temporary distraction
nor the suggestions of this creased parchment
unfurled before me
for it is not what will lead me home
I do not let it sway or stray me
for my heart knows the way
yet
nagging concern
disquiets me
a stab of panic
pierces my solace
have I been gone too long
will it feel the same
unwelcome bewilderment
grips me
holds me
uncomfortable in my skin
a cloud of frustration
sweeps over me
obscuring briefly
my purpose and destination
then the fog wafts
and again I envision
across the veiled valley
of time
my hearth and home
twilight is coming
much too quickly
and my concern
at first a nuisance — mounts
a gathering feeling
gnaws inside
fear I will not make it home
before this sunset
I am afraid
to lose this evening light
that leads my way
but my way
is not on this map
not on any map
it lives in my heart
and in my soul
this calms the disturbance
of my reverie
quiets my mind
brings my fear to settle
as the ease of remembered beauty
and warmth of home
swell my soul
ahead are the mountains
and forests of my Oregon home
where I finally return
to reclaim my heart
this day
now I have
such sweet recall
pulling me forward
urgently
even in the faded light
of many distant memories
these visions have held me breathless
soon I will gaze upon them again
I redouble my pace
*
rob kistner © 2022
revision of draft © 2011
Poetry at: The Sunday Muse
Poetry at: Earthweal
Little jazz tune from Sanborn entitled “Comin’ Home”… plus a little Keith magic!
https://youtu.be/k84QxVJd0tIp
Northwest Autumn
It is three weeks until Autumn Equinox 2022. I first wrote and published this piece in 2008, significantly revised it in 2018, sharing it again on dVerse in response to a wonderful prompt by Amaya Engleking. I now have further refined it in small ways, and choose to share it again here in 2022. Much has changed in the 14 years since I first wrote this, but not my love for the Pacific Northwest, and most especially — Oregon. It is in the light of this abiding love, that I now share this piece once more here on dVerse, for OLN, September 1st, 2022. Peace!
Autumn is upon us, as we enter our season of nature’s rest and replenishment here in the Pacific Northwest. The cycle of renewal will begin in western Oregon, where I lived for 25 years. I moved in 2015 to Seattle to be near my young grandson. Still immersed in Pacific Northwest beauty here, but Oregon will always hold my heart.
The summer’s dry period has ended, and agricultural irrigation has ceased. Harvesting explodes in October into November, including the grape harvest in our many vineyards. Following the gathering of this autumn bounty, the soil is left to recover. The fruit and nut trees, the vines in the vineyards, and the crop fields will begin the slow period of winter revitalization, in anticipation of the growing seasons to come in the new year. The Great Mandala of life turns steady. The rains that begin sporadically in late October, increasing into November, will work their magic — plumping Oregon’s world-class Christmas tree and holly crops, renewing the sparkle of these holiday icons, readying them for harvest.
Wild nature will also enter a period of recovery and renewal. The flowering plants that have dropped their petals, and the grasses and brush, gone late-summer golden, seek these nurturing rains. Mighty evergreens pause, conifers drop their cones, and deciduous trees shed their leaves all go dormant, and rest. The vast Northwest forests are enriched by this period of rejuvenation.
Streams, whose water levels have dropped considerably, will come to new life when rains begin to replenish their flow. Sockeye and Chinook salmon start their run upstream to begin their spawn. Rainbow, Brook, German Brown, and Cutthroat Trout, as well as numerous other species become active as waters rise and cool. Bear, deer, cougar, elk, coyote, big horn sheep, pronghorn antelope, hawk, osprey, eagle; the varied and plentiful wildlife of our region begin preparation for their unique winter rituals.
Autumn nudges into winter, a peaceful time of rest and restoration here in this breathtakingly beautiful region. A regenerative calm lies upon the lush land, as the season of sky-water arrives to quench nature’s thirst, and revivify her energies in this utopia.
Just as the gardener
nurtures her tend
bending close
to nourish
and protect
so too nature stoops
to embrace
and refresh
her pacific northwest paradise
her autumn shadow upon the land
she leans down
and lets flow life-giving waters
to enrich this lush realm
she covers her beloved eden
in a soft blanket
of moist cloud
a shelter from chilled winter
to insure a rich bounty
when spring returns
abundant fruits
vegetables
and nuts
hill-climbing vineyards
towering trees
too numerous to imagine
endless grasses
bushes
berries
and flowers
all will be spring succulent
from buildiing winter waters
mountain streams
valley rivers
swell with migrating fish
as they journey home
up these fresh waters
of new birth
birds and animals
flock and gather
embraced by this season
of quiet replenish
in balanced step
and close harmony
with this cycle
they too
will welcome next spring
with plentiful new life
a sustaining love
this affair
life
nurtured to flourish
in the eventual spring
*
published: rob kistner © 2008
revised: rob kistner © 2018
final revision: rob kistner © 2022
* More poetry at: dVerse
photos (top to bottom):
Autumn at Multnomah Falls, Oregon
Oregon Autumn rain on conifer needles
Autumn at Sokol Blosser Vineyards, Willamette Valley Oregon
Sockeye salmon, Deschutes River, Oregon
Autumn Cascade Mountain Lake, Oregon
Finish Line
This song by Sarah McLachlan, “In The Arms Of An Angel” always makes me break down. He is my son, Aaron Robert Kistner. Hearing this song takes me deep into memories of my sweet angel. My son Aaron died in his 18th year, just prior to entering college to study music. He was a very handsome, kind, and gentle young man – and a fabulous singer. I miss him so, everyday. I ache to hold him close just once more — to hear his beautiful voice. I wrote this poem very shortly after his tragic death in a horrible auto accident.
In loving memory of my son, Aaron Robert Kistner: 11/4/76 – 7/3/95
the one I treasure most
since your passing.
A simple snapshot,
taken at the airport,
upon your return
from having run the New York City Marathon.
A gentle, triumphant smile,
eyes beaming behind those ‘cool’ shades,
jacket sleeves rolled in casual hip-ness,
bag gripped firm and steady in your left hand,
medal dangling proudly from your strong neck.
The victor: gentle, cool, hip, carefree, proud, and strong,
– fiercely handsome!
How profound this captured moment proved to be.
Taken just before the finish line of your 18 years,
it said it all.
Your race is run,
your bag is packed,
your reward’s in hand.
Fly my sweet angel – fly!
*
rob kistner © 1995
Waltz of Youth
W ith the heft and smooth sheen
of the beautiful sculpted body
caressed lovingly
between her nubile legs
her excitement stirs
her anticipation grows
eager and confident
she lays tingling hands upon it
engaging the sure strength
of her lithe knowing essence
and the firm deft touch
of her pristine fingers
the brilliant young cellist
ignites the dance
strong slender legs
carry firm yearning bodies
perfumed and cologne’d
around and across
the crowded dance floor
pulses alive
budding passion
craving — yet hesitant
swept up in innocent bliss
the waltz of youth
rising and falling
to the rich give and take
of the cellist’s bow
she lifts the energy
coaxing the passion
of the beautiful dance
with her nimble sway
and precision movements
delicately she envisions
the flowing notes
lovely face
in rhythmic expression
eyes sometimes closed
she dreams the music
wholly consumed
by the seductive strains
the enlivened dancers
sweep round and round
bodies a’glisten
in smoldered embrace
bathed in the chandelier’s
golden glow
further fired by stolen kisses
and breathy whispers
of promised love
and naive forevers
dawning lives
in the tender grasp
of blooming desire
and the velvet touch
of mad magical
magnificent music
*
rob kistner © 2021
Poetry at: Sunday Muse
Sweetest Taboo
S ucculent nectar of full plumped peach
laid bare engorged deliciousness
peeled open in promised sweet delight
ecstatic vision of tender flesh
tart sweet tingle at tip of tongue
such sweetness surely is taboo
my mouth thrills at the juicy pulp
my lips glisten sweetest nectar’s dew
breathing in the rich bouquet
all senses teased and tantalized
my mouth devours the dripping treat
again and again ‘til satisfied
*
rob kistner © 2021
Poetry at: dVerse
Bridge of Truth
I sigh a sigh of longing
I feel empty sad and very old
I seek to fill my barren soul
~across the bridge of truth~
I seek not a kingly right
nor scepter gold to rule a realm
worldly wealth I do not need
love’s enlightenment I seek
rob kistner © 2021
Poetry at: dVerse
~ A live bonus from Pauly! ~
Seductive Fantasy
…a stream of consciousness trip…
Soaring psychedelic
colors pierce my eyes
to bleed into my mind
pulsing into shapes
and melting forms
dancingly irregular
a brilliant cacophony
of fully beautiful discord
that flows in time displacement
blared breathing blending abstract
wow dude!
~~ drifting drifting ~~
so wondrous and magical
as to create a dreamspace
where reality steps away
to a seductive fantasy
that roils and broils
a seething serenade
of sounds and vision
a sanctified vibration
simply too gone!
immaculate!
joyful noise’d orblets
flaring and flashing
in hues and shades
in timbre’d cadences
they spark stiletto sharp
stabbing staccato’d stealthy
and again colors pierce my eyes
lovely rumblings fill full my ears
shifting spinning and floating
to journey a’new through
my beautiful bountiful
and utterly blown
mind garden
}|=|{
psssst! hey! you!
am I conscious man —
— or halluuucinating truuuth?
Sorrow
…born in water, in water she’s swept away…
on this broken, cloud-covered day
slipping into the surge alone
silently, she kicks away
on these broken, cloud-covered days
alone with her fractured wishes
she drops so silently ‘neath the waves
deep, deep down to the fishes
alone with her fractured wishes
a’tumble in the seabed’s sway
down down deep with the fishes
she is leaving it all today
sorrow’s a’swim in the seabed’s sway
beauty’s nothing left to say
she is leaving this lonely world, today
the sea will sweep her away
rob kistner © 2021
*Check out: Joy’s Pantoum
Day 2 poetry at: NaPoWriMo 2021
That Velvet
Sorry for this interruption. Feel free to ignore this section and move directly down to the poem, if you choose. The poem is much more sensual and dreamy. This first section is cold, no-filtered, stark reality — fully and sincerely expressed, as I see it. You see, I need to sum up my final, perhaps controversial thoughts, on the issue of protest, introduced here last Thursday. I have been slowly simmering since then: Love MUST win. My proud hippie soul tells me it can — it must for earth, and her human tribe to flourish. As naive and pollyanna as this may sound, I haven’t lived nearly 74 years believing that peace, love, and intelligence will find a way — to simply stand by and see these qualities of integrity snd dignity trampled beneath the feet of humankind’s baser instincts. Perhaps good people have turned the other cheek for too long. Maybe being passively resigned to the perpetraters of evil is not the way. Perhaps it requires an extreme natural culling of the tribe to remove the evil, the result of the arrogant stupidity of that group. Whether I should revel in that possibility is something my peaceful self has been truly struggling with the past few years — since the extinguishing of the Obama light. It goes against my nature. But the continuing greedy, destructive, and heartless ways must end, or perhaps be brought to an end. At my age and health, I, and most of my Aquarian generation, can’t, or won’t, effectively mount the resistance. We lack the stamina or money, or both. Too many among my generation, who may be capable, have lost the vision — turned during the mine-me-first Reagan 80’s, and the grab-fest in the years that followed. I feel we need responsible, strong young leaders to organize on a large scale, activate on a broad scale. It breaks my heart to say it — but me and my generation, we failed. Those who are coming after us, can’t afford to — or humankind and this great spaceship earth, truly are fucked! The power can belong to the young — take it, and wield it wisely! Sorry if I shocked or offended. Just the honest humble opinion of a tired old man. Not too tired to *** VOTE! VOTE! VOTE! ***
This is a 2nd revision of my original 2012 version.
That Velvet
would I were that velvet
that she reaches for so fondly
strokes with delicate pure fingers
with soft silken hands she lingers
embraces to her bosom
wraps ’round her slender shoulders
tingles with excitement
as she surrenders to its touch
would I were that velvet
that drapes her lilting essence
that falls and folds and fondles
as she ascends the stairs each night
the plush and luscious fiber
that rises on her breasts
with each soft and subtle sigh
each deep impassioned breath
oh would I were that velvet
that glides her naked form
on those sunset autumn evenings
enwraps her perfect body warm
that chills and thrills in shivers
as she opens it ‘neath moonlight
and swoons hushed smouldered gasps
as she blooms forth firm and pleasured
oh would I were that velvet
would I were that velvet
oh sweet sensuous angel
would I were
would I were
rob kistner © 2012
(revision © 2020)
And So
and so
I think of her
and wonder
what was the fire
that burned so bright
and raged so fierce
as to consume complete
our essence
left embered char
smoldered ashen
that in its heat
and fury
could not sustain
back I drift
to fall upon
the tenderness of youth
the satin skin
the comely gaze
the velvet touch
a silken voice
rising
to lust and longing
to impatience
to immortality
its soulful siren
so seductive
the nectar of all forbidden
the breathless joy
of sweet innocence
when the wonder
stirs to every mystery
and the spirit lights
to every spark
igniting passion’s pyre
to leave one spent
in blissful ruin
at story’s end
tender memory
of the throaty whispers
of promised pleasures
sweetly secreted
in her virgin kiss
and so
I think of her
remembering
with no regret
savoring the subtle linger
harbored in my heart
of the taste
of her lips
long ago
at seventeen
~ ~
“lips lush as cognac
open softly to kisses
urgently linger”
~ ~ ~
rob kistner © 2010
(revision © 2019)
________________
Clarion Stones
all those years ago
in the time of dangers
they were placed in secret
as a silent beacon
in that deepest night
waiting for the day
when the shadowed world
would waken from the nightmare
shed its narrow petty ways
and embrace the way of light
stacked by those of vision
blessed in hope and courage
one upon the other
like knowledge upon learning
these standing stones of peace
hear them call across the ages
and beckon us to rise
to step into the future
to envision a new dream
to let fear and hatred cease
~ ~ ~
rob kistner © 2010
(revision © 1/22/19)
stacked stones in Sedona red-rock desert
These sculptures are called cairns. A cairn is a human-made balanced stack of stones. The word cairn comes from the Scottish Gaelic: càrn. Cairns have been, and still are used for a broad variety of purposes, from prehistoric times to the present. They are stacked as landmarks, direction finders, memorials, and also spiritual reasons, among other purposes.
Shed some light on this today!
Skyfire
Skyfire
the sunset gun is readied in his grip
quicksilver moon has set a hurried course
the golden orb has wearied from its trip
all is poised, his eyes fixed on the source
gaia reaches gently, into quiet space
while he locks her broad horizons in his sight
gaia pulls a veil of stars slowly ‘cross her face
but he has one last task before its night
he must set the sky ablaze, then he can sleep
broad strokes of coral orange and crimson red
the pattern must be bold, the color deep
so he aims the sunset gun, and blasts it overhead
in a brilliant flash the heavens light with fire
in rich and vivid hues, as if burning with desire
the gumasters succeeded but tomorrow he returns
to rise the morning sun, till then the nightsky burns
Get fired up at dVerse…
Fire Up that Creativity–dVerse Poetics
Touch of Love
Touch of Love
~
a quarter century 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 © 2011
Click below to read more poetry at dVerse:
Open Link Night #233
Yet
~
had she not appeared in that clearing
so lost
had she not crossed my threshold
on that september day
had not her voice
drifted like silk on a summer breeze
to wrap sheer and sweet
around my heart
had not I been drawn
like a bloom to the morning sun
had not I been captivated
as a hummingbird
by a drop of nectar
crystal on a velvet petal
had not my love come down
soft as a rolling mountain meadow
had not this dream been born
had not my life begun again
~ ~ ~
rob kistner © 2012