Limitless

…limitless talent, unfathomable spirit…

Limitless

•

• written for Writer’s Island

Equinox

 

Equinox

•

winter’s journey ends
lengthening light bears witness
spring crests and breaks
here at the equinox

life bursts forth
poking through pliant soil
unfurling on barren branch
here at the equinox

nature stirs in song and call
celebrating new birth
sustaining the cycle
here at the equinox

my heart leaps
my spirit dances
to this rhythm of renewal
here at the equinox

• • •

rob kistner © 3/20/11

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

  • To Soar

    This poem is offered in response to prompt #23 for 2010 at Writer’s Island,
    the Ginsberg ‘american sentence’ is offered in response to prompt #136 at One Single Impression.

    To Soar

    •

    to feel the warmth of early spring sun
    to wander through old growth
    to see the sunset into the pacific
    to breath in the fragrance of summer
    to see joy in another’s eyes
    to hear my child’s laughter
    to be breath-taken by art
    to be dazzled by autumn’s palette
    to taste the richness of chocolate
    to immerse in the rhythms of music
    to see the morning dew sparkle
    to hear the sweet lilt of a thrush
    to know the quiet of snowfall
    to raise my voice in song
    to drift on a clear mountain lake
    to get lost in poetry
    to feel your gentle touch

    …is to soar

    • • •

    to just try to fly is to fall short, one must expect to soar, then leap

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    You & Me

    I offer this piece in response to prompt #69 at Carry On Tuesday,
    and prompt #18 at We Write Poems,
    also the September 6th prompt at Big Tent Poetry,
    and the September 8th prompt at Three Word Wednesday

    You &Me

    (a poetic quadratych)

    •

    The Secret

    what I said was
    don’t touch
    go away
    leave me be

    while inside
    I cried out
    draw near
    stay with me

    you are light
    you are pure
    you are joy
    you are free

    I am not
    I am dark
    I am beast
    can’t you see

    without you
    there is much
    you don’t know
    about me

    The Revelation

    I lived at the light’s edge
    that pooled in the night
    on the bleak back streets
    of the sad brokenhearted

    I hid in the anguish
    of the loveless who cowered
    in the dark nightmare alleys
    of the lost and forgotten

    I fed on the grief
    of the mourners who wailed
    for their horrific loss
    in the ruins of death

    this was my heartscape
    black as mid-winter night
    a lightless horizon
    no glimmer of hope

    trusting was toxic
    no foothold for love
    relations were carnage
    scattered lifeless and cold

    The Change

    ’til a beautiful being
    eyes brilliant and true
    approached from afar
    bearing tinder of love

    the graceful arrangement
    was deftly ignited
    and patiently tended
    the fire gently stoked

    afraid to come forward
    I held outside the glow
    but your kindness drew me
    we stood by the blaze

    with passion it roared
    its light pierced my blackness
    its heat thawed my soul
    my cold heart was warmed

    The Miracle

    you wrapped yourself ‘round me
    gazed into my eyes
    your kiss soft and serene
    was the essence of healing

    with you in my life
    I am darkness removed
    soaring and weightless
    radiant and rising

    vital and caring
    my spirit’s renewed
    illuminated wholly
    by a new dawn of dreams

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    • photo above is of the GOASTT, digitally enhanced by: rob kistner 2010

    Breakthrough

    …this piece is in response to the 19th prompt of 2010 on Writer’s Island,
    and offered for prompt 132 at One Single Impression,
    and for prompt 231 at Sunday Scribblings….




    Breakthrough

    •

    rise up
    clad in colors of a joyful life
    rebuke the strife

    tilt against convention
    the prevailing norm
    is a toxic storm

    buck the winds of rebuff
    ignore the false contention

    stare down the face of ridicule
    if buffeted by cruel
    condemnation

    shun the foolish
    sadly blown off course
    by the brutish force
    of blind conformation

    be not inclined to fear
    nor falter

    choose instead
    to quell their mindless dread
    and so to alter
    the contradiction
    which grips their head

    stay one’s ground
    leaning hard on raw conviction
    wait the weight
    until one’s strength is found

    be anchored bold
    and deeply hold
    to the true and genuine
    until your patience spent
    revives again

    do not resent
    remain flexible
    to withstand the blows
    resisting those
    who would see you swayed
    and lowly bent

    who would see
    your spirit broken
    for so to savor

    instead
    raise high your head
    don’t ever waver

    be never rigid
    brittle
    prone to break

    do not forsake
    your heart song
    eschew the wayward
    noisy throng

    breakthrough

    wisdom is a supple soul
    struck through
    by true enlightenment

    pierced clean and strong
    by wonder

    bleeding tolerance
    and promise

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    • photo by: Kevin Day, digital photorendering by: rob kistner 2010

    True Work

    I offer this piece in response to prompt #18 at Writer’s Island.

    ______________

    AUTHOR’S NOTE: I had this incomplete 3-year-old draft of my poem “True Work” (loosely inspired by Gary Snyder’s “Real Work”). I had wanted, for some time, to edit it into a piece, with which I would be more satisfied. The above listed prompt inspired me to create a suite of poetry, threaded together by the phrase: true work. My focus for this suite being humanity, which was the crux of the “True Work” draft I already had. The digital rendering I created of the hand holding the world helped me finish my vision of this poetry suite.

    ______________

    “empty your love into the world”
    “the true work is never done”

     

    True Work

    ____
    I bend my back and squat
    then straighten at the waist
    hunkered ‘neath the weight
    I lift clean the load
    the warehouseman’s refrain
    always on my mind
    “back straight
    lift with the legs”

    the first test – no result
    I try a second
    then a third
    on and on
    day after day
    long hours in the lab
    the formula must be perfect
    only perfect will save lives

    drywall must be flush
    and plumb
    also square and seamless
    meticulously
    I set each sheet
    with the level and the bob
    then pause
    to wipe my sweating brow

    I curse the clay
    do battle with fatigue
    I coax my muse
    to commit to form
    the first draft of my vision
    to then modify
    and remold
    until the ultimate creation

    these are elements of the work I do
    or did
    or may yet do
    and I am you
    and you are me
    and we are all together
    in this endeavor of our daily life

    but this is not our true work

    to bend to lift someone in need
    to help carry their burden
    until they again stand steady

    to seek the components of peace
    to formulate the dialog
    that fosters understanding

    to measure well tolerance
    to stand squarely flush
    with truth and level justice

    to visualize universal love
    to create the enduring model
    for a free and vital world

    this — is our true work

    so little done
    so much to do

    * * *

     

    If Only
    ____

    stressed beyond limits

    earth’s fragile balance falters

    but this can be changed

    her future is in our hands

    if only we do true work

    * * *

     

    Endeavor
    ____

    abstain from false pride

    prayer does not a halo make

    that requires true work

    ____

    rob kistner © 2010

     

    * photorendering above entitled “In Our Hands”
    by: rob kistner © 2010

    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

    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”

    The Quiet

    •

    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


    You Are Here


    It was 15 years ago today
    you were taken from this earth

    I could not sleep last night
    the tears come at times today

    tears because I miss you
    tears because I love you
    tears because the memories
    bitter and sweet
    bring forth these true emotions

    you abide within my heart these days
    in a place of warmth and peace
    I am so thankful you are here
    and will always be

    ______________________________

    in loving memory of my son
    Aaron Robert Kistner
    November 4, 1976 – July 3, 1995

    No Longer Imagine

    …in response to the 9th prompt on the newly re-opened Writer’s Island, I offer a perspective on love…
    …but first a short verse I wrote inspired by prompt #8 at We Write Poems

    •
    see feel hear touch breath live
    life is a sensual garden
    no longer imagine

    •



    No Longer Imagine

    •

    I can no longer imagine
    the heat of the red rock desert
    soothing my weary bones
    nor the vivid red

    I can no longer imagine
    the power of the blue pacific
    thumping the huge stack rocks
    on the coast at sunset

    I can no longer imagine
    the sweet face of my first-born son
    held in loving embrace
    passed on now 15 years

    I can no longer imagine
    the soft spring rain
    misting the morning light
    bringing life to winter earth

    I can no longer imagine
    the stir of a summer breeze
    shimmering across the surface
    of a high mountain lake

    I can no longer imagine
    the filtered autumn sun
    falling gentle golden
    through a red wood canopy

    for I have experienced
    these wonders
    known these treasures
    they enrich me

    I need no longer imagine
    the fire in a woman’s eyes
    the magic of a woman’s smile
    the tenderness of a woman’s touch
    the passion of a woman’s kiss
    nor what it is to love you

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010



    • photo of Oregon coast at top entitled “Neverending” by: Marc Adamus, an incredible wilderness landscape photographer based in Corvallis, Oregon

    Words of the Wizard

    …I wrote this in response to prompt #6 at Writer’s Island, the prompt is “Unforgettable”



    “The Wizard of Westwood”
    John Wooden 1910-2010

    Words of the Wizard

    •

    John Wooden has,
    on this 4th day of June,
    in the year 2010
    left this mortal realm
    after 99 years
    of untiring service
    impeccable wisdom
    and great love

    a man of balance
    and spiritual depth
    such as John
    comes so seldom
    it must be seriously considered
    that this world
    has lost
    one of its special angels

    and that the warmth
    and the stability
    of humankind
    may in fact
    suffer consequence

    I shed not a tear
    for John
    he needs no pity
    it is for the rest of us
    that I heartily cry

    the following
    are the immortal words
    of a great and profoundly humble man

    gather close
    and hear

    •

    a mentor is someone
    who can give correction
    without causing resentment

    ability is a poor man’s wealth

    adversity is the state
    in which man
    most easily becomes
    acquainted with himself
    being especially free of admirers then

    be more concerned
    with your character
    than your reputation
    because your character
    is what you really are
    while your reputation
    is merely what others
    think you are

    be prepared
    and be honest

    it is amazing
    how much can be accomplished
    if no one cares
    who gets the credit

    although there is no progress
    without change
    not all change is progress

    consider the rights of others
    before your own feelings
    and the feelings of others
    before your own rights

    do not let what you cannot do
    interfere with what you can do

    don’t measure yourself
    by what you have accomplished
    but by what you should have accomplished
    with your ability

    failure is not fatal
    but failure to change
    might be

    ability may get you to the top
    but it takes character
    to keep you there

    listen
    if you want to be heard

    never make excuses
    your friends don’t need them
    and your foes won’t believe them

    failing to plan
    is planning to fail

    if you don’t have time
    to do it right
    when will you have time
    to do it over

    there is nothing stronger
    than gentleness

    the true test
    of a man’s character
    is what he does
    when no one is watching

    if you’re not making mistakes
    then you’re not doing anything
    I’m positive that a doer
    makes mistakes

    it isn’t what you do
    but how you do it

    it’s not so important
    who starts the game
    but who finishes it

    don’t let yesterday
    take up too much of today
    make every day
    your masterpiece

    it’s the little details
    that are vital
    little things
    make big things happen

    it’s what you learn
    after you know it all
    that counts

    players with fight
    never lose a game
    they just run out of time

    material possessions
    winning scores
    and great reputations
    are meaningless
    in the eyes of the lord
    because he knows
    what we really are
    and that is all that matters

    never mistake activity
    for achievement

    success comes from knowing
    that you did your best
    to become the best
    that you are capable
    of becoming

    success is never final
    failure is never fatal
    It’s courage that counts

    success
    is peace of mind
    which is a direct result
    of self-satisfaction
    in knowing
    you did your best
    to become the best
    you are capable
    of becoming

    talent is god given
    be humble
    fame is man-given
    be grateful
    conceit is self-given
    be careful

    the main ingredient
    of stardom
    is the rest of the team

    the worst thing
    about new books
    is that they keep us
    from reading the old ones

    there are many things
    that are essential
    to arriving
    at true peace of mind
    and one of the most important
    is faith
    which cannot be acquired
    without prayer

    things turn out best
    for the people
    who make the best
    of the way things turn out

    what you are
    as a person
    is far more important
    that what you are
    as a basketball player

    young people need models
    not critics

    you can’t let praise
    or criticism
    get to you
    It’s a weakness
    to get caught up
    in either one

    you can’t live
    a perfect day
    without doing something
    for someone
    who will never
    be able
    to repay you

    • • •

    words by: John Wooden 1910 – 2010
    opening by: rob kistner © 2010

    • To learn more about John, please click here

    Trouble Comes to Dry Gulch

    • In response to the 4th prompt on the newly re-opened Writer’s Island, I introduce you to my imaginary childhood friend. In the heart of a terrified young boy, he was more than real…




    Trouble Comes to Dry Gulch

    •

    you were my truest friend
    my steady rock of safety
    my captain of escape
    you were always there

    the amazing man of magic
    the hero of the weak
    defender of the helpless
    my always gentle friend

    when the footsteps in the hall
    woke me in the night
    I would feel you tug my hand
    and under we would go

    through the secret passage
    you kept beneath my bed
    to the waiting viking ships
    and off to fight the dragons

    in the land of snow and castles
    carved from clear blue ice
    in our robes of fur
    we struck with swords of gold

    you were very brave
    in the face of fear
    I knew you would appear
    never laughing at my tears

    when the grating metal rasp
    of door latch in the dark
    would bolt me from my sleep
    you would have the horses ready

    we would thunder off to dry gulch
    to wrangle up our posse
    save the townfolk from the bad guys
    and return when all was calm

    you were very swift
    in a snap you would arrive
    in time to get me out alive
    helping me survive

    below the ocean we would dive
    in your crystal submarine
    down to the coral world
    marveling at the creatures

    we would leave the sub
    to swim among the wonders
    to dart and spin and float
    far from pain and worry

    you were very smart
    my midnight flight arranger
    to rocket us from danger
    far from the evil stranger

    we would soar to venus
    in your silver ship
    or to some distant star
    and do battle with space monsters

    and when they all were slain
    we would fly the milky way
    circle all the planets
    thankful to be weightless

    no matter how afraid
    I knew that you would find me
    knew you’d never judge me
    I knew how much you loved me

    knew you’d have me back by day break
    with the dark night far behind us
    and the warmth of welcomed sun
    would once again embrace us

    the midnight footsteps now are quiet
    the ships and rockets sailed away
    no more trouble comes to dry gulch
    the crystal sub now long in dry dock

    I’m not sure I ever thanked you
    perhaps took your love for granted
    without you I’d never have made it
    I never will forget you

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010


    Integrity

    …I wrote this in response to the May 17th prompt at Big Tent Poetry

     

    Integrity

    •

    I have fondled
    the fabric of fame

    and now you look
    for a pattern in my life
    a tincture in my clarity
    a glitch in my resolve

    you seek the proof
    that I will forsake decency
    doff this cloak of dignity
    don the garb of lechery

    but your search is futile
    no such precedent will you find

    my integrity will not crumple
    I will not capitulate
    not for weighty purse
    nor promised power

    there is nothing material
    can turn my heart from love

    • • •

    …the following is my insane wordle poem…

    Purse Department Sign

    •

    never fondle
    crumple
    or capitulate

    strange sign
    to be found
    in the purse department

    proof
    there is a glitch
    in the pattern of logic
    that no tincture
    of common sense
    can cure

    any comparison
    to sapient demeanor
    is futile

    so I doff my robes of reason
    and don the garb of lunacy

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    Blue Temple

    …response to prompt #14 from Magpie Tales



    The image of this plate above, this week’s prompt at Magpie Tales, immediately put me in mind of serenity. Also, while the plate may be Chinese in origin, it also made me think of the ancient Japanese poetic form called tanka.

    Tanka are 31-syllable poems that have been the most popular form of poetry in Japan for at least 1300 years. As a form of poetry, tanka is older than haiku, and tanka poems are evocative.

    During Japan’s Heian period (794-1185 A.D.) it was considered essential for a woman or man of culture to be able to both compose beautiful poetry and to choose the most aesthetically pleasing and appropriate paper, ink, and symbolic attachment—such as a branch, a flower—to go with it.

    Tanka have changed and evolved over the centuries beyond the traditional expressions of passion and heartache, and styles have changed to include modern language — but the form of five syllabic units containing a total of 31 syllables has remained the same.

    Each line of a tanka consists of one image or idea. One does not seek to “wrap” lines in tanka, though in the best tanka, the five lines flow seamlessly into one thought or feeling.

    This particular visual prompt also sparked my recall of a simple, but wonderful piece of art I discovered a few years back, entitled “Blue Temple” by Vorffy.

    So here I present my tanka entitled “Blue Temple”, including for your pleasure, the Vorfffy art piece of the same name.

    _____________________________




    Blue Temple

    •

    birds in the blue sky

    sampans on the blue waters

    blue temple gateways

    serenity is sacred

    approach with your heart open

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010