Flying Backwards


 

H ey look
look up here
I’m flying backwards

backwards
and upside down

soaring over the earth
over your cars
over your blurred human haste

look how fast I am
and invisible

I see you
though you can’t see
me

wonder where you’re going
going in your big hurry

somewhere
anywhere

nowhere

are you running away
too

I wonder
what are you thinking

how many of you are sad
how many happy
how many mad
bored
lonely

how many of you
are frightened

frightened
and hurting
how many of you are hurting

how many scared
broken hearts
am I racing above
right now
on your road
to nowhere

if you were fast as me
flying here upside down
and backwards
you could outrun
those broken hearts
those hurtful words
the mindless abuse
your fear

you could do it too
I bet you could
right now

I bet you could
too
just like I am
if you were fast
and invisible
like me

like I am
now

*
rob kistner © 2021

See other responses to this photo: Mindlovemisery

 


Arc of the Ages

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Arc of the Ages

~

do not hide
from the great orb
of unquestioning fate
that spins in the spaces
of destiny’s light and dark
days of falter and fear
approaching
moving
unsteady on legs
of unquenchable doubt
what your mind must
conceal from the assassin
of joy and forgiveness
held pure
tested
by time and the hands of
the waiting who cower
yet smile
singing truth through
the hail and barrage
‘cross the bow mast of glory
seeking broad measure and berth
as all that you seem to
desire slips slowly like
rain down a vent pipe
to plumb deep
the black dreams
such is the slag-shattered
glass of the future
that moves slow
through the arc
of the ages
who’ve waited and
watched ‘neath the moon
of deliberate ancients
that revolves in the
void of the others
that see what we
knew to be ever
the voice of the lost
to the light
of the dawning that
heralds the word of
this time that’s upon
us and holds us at
last in the fire
of visions and
longing for all that
we are to be
here in our heart
of the moment
that flees like
a squandered teardrop
forever away from
our failing grasp

~ ~ ~

rob kistner © 2020

 

  • Click below to check out more streaming at dVerse:
    MTB: Stream of Consciousness Writing

     

  • Day Breaker

    “stream-of-consciousness rant”

    2D8B7CF5-E893-4B4B-B175-EFCFFD9F6BDD
    ”Drinkin’ Thinkin’” by: rob kistner © 1997

     
    DayBreaker

    (hard-drinkin’, jazz-lovin’, workin’ man’s lament)
    ~

    day breaks
    on
    a new week’s
    sun

    putrid
    as the stains
    on my
    flesh-soaked
    mattress

    damp
    as my sour
    mat
    of fevered
    greasy
    tangle

    hot
    as my
    whiskey-foul
    breath

    another
    un-commuted
    sentence

    6A-6P
    ’til
    merciful dusk
    delivers me

    jack-knifed
    into
    my
    jack and coke

    don’t obsess
    in sorrow

    drown
    all
    ‘da-way
    down

    a bottom-dive
    to comatose

    no virtue
    feigned
    nor
    implied

    mad goes
    the struggle
    ‘til
    saved by
    jazz
    48 over
    ‘da
    dub-ya
    hump

    2
    debauched
    24’s
    then
    the hissing
    sting
    of monday
    and
    the mindless
    6-6 grind
    120 n’out

    cruel numbers
    game
    goes
    round round
    and ever round
    ’til
    the tombstone’s
    tender
    solace

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2019

     

  • Click below to see what’s being imitated at dVerse:
    Imitation Practice

  • Time’s Window

    “This is the 4th anniversary of my wife Kathleen and I moving to Seattle to be with our grandson Alex. I posted this new piece containing mindful reflections on leaving our home in Oregon, and our new Seattle home. The photos are of our Oregon yard in the Cascade Mountain foothills. That is my wife Kathy standing under, and peering up into our 2 giant banana palms. The poem is just below the photos.“

    96A0D5B9-69EF-49DB-BE33-C1347DFE7938

    E280E402-14C8-4DF8-BE06-05995B79BDD1

    8406EEC5-F134-4D0F-AF92-19D3B1F79A86

     

    Time’s Window
    ~


    we now have a wonderful
    new Seattle home
    shared with family
    ruled by my little guy
    my precious 6-year-old grandson
    and I know sweet happiness

    but there are moments
    with eyes closed
    I can gaze back
    through time’s window

    I see my beloved Oregon home
    of 25 amazing years
    vividly alive this morning
    here in my memories…

    through my window this day
    I see the scurry of creatures
    warmed by the Oregon summer

    I hear nature
    in splendid voice

    the chuff
    of a tree’d red squirrel

    the song
    chirp
    and trill of birds

    chickadee
    goldfinch
    western bluebird
    and others

    fly
    flutter
    and flit

    in a flash of orange
    a striking northern flicker
    momentarily eschewing insects
    is peck peck pecking
    cracking black-oil sunflower seeds
    that spill from our feeder

    a red-tailed hawk
    calls
    from atop a Sitka spruce
    swaying
    in the crisp blue sky

    the muffled belling of a deer
    wandering the safety of old-growth
    whispers
    through the foothills

    the distant bark
    of a neighbor’s dog
    echoing the basin
    up along our stream
    reminds me
    we have friends nearby

    my wife’s
    gentle laughter
    validates the friendship

    her tender smile
    validates our love

    the rustle of leaves
    stirred by the breeze
    wafting through the valley

    smartly punctuated
    by the staccato
    of conifer cones
    that fall
    from time to time
    wrested free by chickaree
    and chipmunk
    chattering high in Douglas fir
    busy with their forage

    wap wap wap

    they bounce off our roof
    striking the ground

    closely followed
    by the scamper
    of their liberators
    crunching their way
    to the heart-meat of the cone
    the delicacy
    that elicits this furious industry

    drifting in the window
    intoxicating fragrances

    cedar
    pine
    fir

    lily
    rose
    lilac

    grasses
    loam
    and more

    a rich
    earthy bouquet

    caught in my reverie
    I breathe in
    deeply
    to suddenly remember

    …I’m not in my Oregon home
    I am in my new Seattle home
    and it’s filled to overflowing
    with family
    and love

    for a moment
    I do not open my eyes
    I linger a bit longer
    in my beautiful dream
    of my Oregon

    my heart will forever be there
    but we will likely never go back
    not until my ashes are spread
    high in the Cascade Mountains
    on Mt. Hood
    across breathtaking Lost Lake

    but here
    now
    on this day
    filled with memories
    and joy
    a solitary tear
    falls

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2019


     
    This new write was a remarkably mind purifying write for me. Click to see how others are purifying their minds on dVerse:
    Poetics- Purifying the Mind

     

  • Click to check out the haps at Toads
  • Heartfire (redux)

    …I did a gentle edit and rewrite of this poem from a year ago,
    in response to the May 2nd prompt at Big Tent Poetry

     

    HeartFire

    •

    the velvet nape
    of your slender neck
    swept with wisps
    of silken hair

    the tender swell
    of your pouted lips
    blossomed full
    in comely glisten

    your quiet sighs
    of smouldered passion
    hushed and low
    in twilight deep

    sterling moonlight
    that fondles you
    in slumber nude
    ‘neath midnight’s window

    autumn sunrise
    crisp and fresh
    blushed coral
    on your waking smile

    sunlight’s gold
    that falls dreamlike
    filtered soft
    in old growth forest

    unspoiled nature
    to far horizons
    from where I gaze
    on mountain’s crest

    christmas eve
    a quiet snow
    fresh fragrant cedar
    my child’s joy

    splendid jazz
    inspired verse
    an evening breeze
    a soul-felt tear

    pristine beaches
    pacific sunsets
    silvered waterfalls
    laughter with you

    what fires my heart
    what stirs my soul
    what turns me on
    these are a few

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011

    Emerald Eyes

    This poem is offered in response to prompt #25 for 2010 at Writer’s Island,
    also offered “off-topic” to the October 15th prompt at Big Tent Poetry.

    Emerald Eyes

    •

    emerald eyes captivate
    fix me in their gaze
    lift me
    carry me
    to the realm of unfinished dreams

    they strip me of fear
    longing
    of inhibition
    to render me transparent

    I rise weightless
    unburdened of care
    an untethered being of pure moment
    soaring through universes within universes

    a traveler in time and space
    ever-expanding consciousness
    aware of all
    riding the strand continuum
    drawing it forward
    reeling it back
    slipping all temporal bounds

    a being of universal presence
    adrift in the infinite now
    lost in the mystery
    veiled in those emerald eyes

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    No First Ink

    Offered in response to prompt #136 at One Single Impression,
    and in response to prompt #73 on Carry On Tuesday,
    also in response to prompt #189 at Three Word Wednesday.




    No First Ink

    •

    I lean upon my folded fist
    cool against my temple
    elbow solid on my cluttered desk

    eyes droop and flicker
    aflame with spoiled sleep

    face slacked
    head now dropped
    held in my hands
    heavy with confusion

    skull upon the finger bones
    in weighted indecision
    procrastination presses down

    where art thou muse
    I seek weightless inspiration
    to be lifted up by you

    instead
    the hum of cooling bytes
    drones relentless in my ears
    impossible to ignore
    no matter how I try

    thoughts like digits on a dollar slot
    spin unsettled in my mind
    they neither click nor lock in place
    they tumble in a jumble
    to roll and blur just out of focus
    lost in mental fog

    sunken in my writer’s chair
    I remain immobile
    paralyzed by perplexity
    imprisoned by the chaos
    awhirl in my mind

    the freedom of decision
    impossible to manage

    I fear nothing will be writ
    no first ink will be shed this day

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010


    On Friendship

    When I sat down late last night (actually early morning hours today) I had glanced at the words from 3WW, and decided to write something primarily for We Write Poem’s prompt #20, to simply write a stream-of-consciousness piece. What you see here is an unpolished first essential draft of what came forth. I chose not to touch it any further, or dress it, but to let it be, fundamentally unembellished, just as it came. It disturbs me, and that compels me to share it. I am calling it:

    On Friendship

    (be advised, this is raw on several levels)

    •

    a grey malaise settles round
    shrouds right down to the ground

    to face myself in this
    cuts deep and jagged
    bloody to the bone

    I am not one
    not a good one

    oh I celebrated the sap of youth
    in the gaggle of my buds
    In the band of my salt brothers

    we laughed and surged
    with lust for the ladies

    straddled us a few
    when we weren’t thrown over
    the heat and steel
    of our low-slung two-wheeled cocks

    all combustin’ in a hammer thrash
    rollin’ in a roar and frenzy
    4-cycle sex rockets
    and how the ladies liked to ride

    they’d get right down
    and squeeze it with their thighs
    wrapped snug
    painted in denim
    to feel it pulse and throb
    then explode down the asphalt
    their asses clenched to hang on tight
    to feel the rush
    the tease of the G’s

    made them weak in their knees
    wet as a summer downpour
    ready as a bimbo-slut

    but I was seldom really there
    for them

    I took more than my fair share
    my gait was bold and brash

    with but a nudge
    took gladly more than my share
    proudly present – but not there
    for anyone

    not for my gang of guys

    I loved them for what they were
    for me
    not for who they were

    I was never one
    just my way of brooding lonely
    without being alone

    my youth was my show
    my production
    with an ever-evolving cast
    little more than familiar extras
    important in that I needed them
    to flesh out my soft parade

    cause I was never really one

    I was there for me
    and my loins
    and my needs
    and my fears
    and my insecurities
    and my my my

    I just was never one

    I broke the rules
    I fucked the rules completely
    playin’ out my sad control game
    terrified of letting go

    playin’ hard on their needs
    to wrap up tight
    inside their fear and joy
    to make it mine

    to take it down inside my darkness
    and hunker over ‘til it cooled
    then scrubble out to grab some more

    I wrapped them in my clever ways
    and bundled them in laughter

    I was good at laughter

    dispensed it freely
    but never gave it away

    it was my tool
    my hook
    my way of hangin’ on
    steerin’ the procession
    takin’ in and hoardin’

    I was the cutting clown
    laughter by cutting down
    on those that gathered ‘round
    to watch me dance
    to sing and prance
    to celebrate my “specialness”
    my talents and great gifts

    my illusions

    but I was never really there
    not to elevate them
    because I wasn’t one

    I dealt with them
    and rushed it through
    to get back to me
    never did do “you” — that well

    I just wasn’t one

    never knew how
    never trusted

    emotionally scarred
    mentally brutalized as a child
    by trust
    until I abandoned trust
    never gave it
    never honored it
    never believed it was real
    too frightened to trust trust
    still a scared little boy
    I broke all the rules
    of friendship

    shattered them

    and now I regret it so

    I am in the shadow of my death
    my body lays siege to my life
    my heart is final stage failure
    and now I need
    what I never gave
    never really understood

    true friendship

    gave acquaintance on a grand scale
    but not friendship

    not as a young man
    when the seeds of such
    are fresh to plant
    to take the long and lasting root
    and ripen through the years

    I missed the season

    to quote the Floyd
    the race has run
    I missed the starting gun

    I have had 3 wives
    still married
    and I have children
    have their blessed love

    no one who knew me
    as an arrogant young man
    would have believed then
    that I’d manage that miracle

    but no deep enduring friends

    dark grey malaise settles round
    shrouds right down to the ground
    and now I am so sorry
    such deep regret
    it seems too late
    for meaningful friendship

    I broke the rules
    I’m paying the price

    * * *

    rob kistner © 2010

    • this also satisfies the 9/22 prompt at Three Word Wednesday,
    and prompt #71 at Carry On Tuesday.

    July Midnight

    July Midnight

    •

    relentless din
    of crawling
    prowling
    night
    pours steaming
    through my window

    midnight intrudes
    damp and searing

    insistent

    scalded air
    too hot and thick to breathe
    a heat to suffocate

    coarse whirr drones overhead
    promising relief

    in vain

    sweltered darkness
    lays heavy upon me

    unbearable

    I toss in labored half-sleep
    gasping for cool relief

    haltingly
    I deep inhale to fill my lunges
    only to bake them
    in cruel sustaining breath
    this oven to endure

    salted droplets trace my spine
    baste my neck
    pool in the hollow of my fevered chest
    bloom and seep
    from beneath the smother
    of matted soak atop my head
    to weep their way ‘cross smoldered brow
    into my eyes
    and sting

    no respite
    in this nocturne furnace

    night clings
    and stifles

    even dreams are scorched
    simmering in July

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010


    HeartFire

    …I wrote this in response to the May 24th prompt at Big Tent Poetry

     

    HeartFire

    •

    the velvet nape
    of your slender neck
    swept with wisps
    of your silken hair

    the tender swells
    of your pouted lips
    blossomed full
    and glistening

    your quiet sighs
    of throaty passion
    breathy hushed
    in twilight deep

    autumn sunrise
    crisp and fresh
    blushed coral
    on your waking smile

    sterling moonlight
    that fondles you
    in naked slumber
    ‘neath midnight’s window

    sunlight’s gold
    that falls dreamlike
    filtered soft
    in old growth forest

    unspoiled nature
    to far horizons
    from where I watch
    on mountain’s crest

    a 6 series beamer
    cool and cruisin’
    down 101
    on a perfect day

    splendid jazz
    inspired verse
    christmas eve
    a soul-felt tear

    my child’s joy
    a quiet snow
    an evening breeze
    spiced with cedar

    pristine beaches
    pacific sunsets
    a waterfall
    laughing with you

    what fires my heart
    what stirs my soul
    what turns me on
    these are a few

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010


    _________________________________

    …from my archives, here is a bit more of what turns me on…


    Why I Write

    In response to prompt #87 at Poetic Asides




    Why I Write

    •

    I write as proof that I exist
    so as not to lose my mind

    to prevent my sorrow
    from choking the life
    from my soul

    to know what I really think
    to ride the currents of my joy
    and laughter

    to track my growth
    share what I have experienced
    shed light on my ignorance
    to leave my trace

    expose my vulnerability
    in hopes others won’t rebuke
    banish
    or hurt me
    but rather see me worthy of mercy
    of love
    to see me not so unlike themselves
    and have pity

    because there is an urge
    to break the mental silence
    to make a din
    create a literate clatter
    to be certain I am not ignored
    forgotten
    or misunderstood

    because I am sad
    I am crazy
    I am odd
    I am insecure
    I am lonely
    frightened
    cursed
    clever

    because I am thrilled
    full of life
    nearing death
    desperate to know
    confident in my knowledge

    because I am entangled
    and strangled
    by the why of it all

    because I can
    and so that I might

    for all of this
    I write

    and to survive
    I have no choice

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010


    Boxes – Contemplation in 3 Parts

    In response to the Ist prompt on the newly opened We Write Poems, I contemplate boxes




    Boxes

    Contemplation #1

    •

    my memories gather and squabble
    like crows in fallow fields
    they pick clean
    the bones of my recall

    bones against the cruel clay
    of an arid barren mind

    bones spilled from soul boxes
    in which I’d desperately collected
    the scarred and damaged pieces
    of my broken dreams

    dreams now parched and withered
    dried brittle in the coarse winds
    of my dire confusion

    their promises scratched and raspy
    slowly slipping unintelligible
    into the chaos and cacophony
    of the crows in fallow fields

    • • •



    Contemplation #2

    •

    tanka

    wonder’s trapped within
    a box within more boxes
    so deeply buried
    by the years of failed dreams
    you must not lose your wonder

    • • •



    Contemplation #3

    •

    tanka

    love is sealed within
    a box locked inside your heart
    lost in the rubble
    of years of broken promise
    you can find it if you look

    • • •



    rob kistner © 2010

    Mind’s Eye

    …response to prompt #13 from Magpie Tales




    Mind’s Eye

    •

    I sit
    with my mind’s eye
    I watch the flow of people

    the shuffle of feet
    with their different sounds
    according to their shoes

    I see wan faces of unsmiling lips
    their void curves denounce this night

    yet unseen
    is the gossamer curtain’s fall
    that defines their soul’s duality

    the divergent reality
    through which truth stumbles blind
    to move in the world rough as a rope
    taut as every promise made
    frayed as wisdom
    leaned in whispered from behind

    grab at time like dropped money

    I might learn something tonight
    if someone will release the light
    so I can shine like a child
    who likes ice cream most of all

    this child reads old mens’ minds
    and notices the shoes
    the belts all made of leather

    I feel a shiver of sad imbalance
    a confliction in my soul

    so I will watch the shoes
    and practice non-attachment
    because I can

    but pieces of me
    stick to whoever gets too close

    you may have seen me
    silhouetted against the sky
    the coldest night in January
    howling with the frozen moon

    then moon and I
    sneak through fate’s construct
    among cages of studs & trusses we run

    from room to imaginary room
    the whole world close enough to touch

    we eat a midnight lunch of damaged bread
    seasoned by caution and foreign lands
    with onion’d thoughts layered deep

    show mercy
    peel back the layers
    peel me away thin by thin
    skin by skin
    to my quivering soul

    I hope I am not ugly in your sight

    these thoughts become too heavy to hold
    to tough to chew or swallow
    my thoughts
    bone-white lies of morality plays
    open for you to peek

    hope they are not ugly in your sight
    hope they do not make you weep
    as you peel back all the layers

    onion’d thought layers
    held fast and firm
    like a carapace
    to which I’m stitched and welded
    and can no more leave than you can truly enter

    they tie me down sometimes
    but sometimes barely so

    inescapable optimism in my bare-bones grin
    flashes in the brittle moonlight

    a stranger comes to where I sit
    to see
    his stare blinds the stars from my eyes

    behind his fey smile
    his radar dreams scan the forgotten creases
    the clandestine getaways in my mind

    standing over
    he peers down with probing gaze

    one of us
    will learn a thing or two this night

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    ____________________________________________
    …an edited re-write of an earlier draft…

    NaPoWriMo #29

    This is my Twenty-ninth, and penultimate post for National Poetry Month 2010

    ____________________________________

    …this poem was inspired by D.S. Apfelbaum’s day 29 post at readwritepoem…

    ____________________________________

     

    Space Is

    •

    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

    • • •



    rob kistner © 2010

    ____________________________________

    artwork entitled “Infinity’s Door” by: rob kistner © 1998

    ____________________________________

    …see what offerings are this day at readwritepoem

    NaPoWriMo #28 – part 2:

    This is part 2 of my twenty-eighth post for National Poetry Month 2010
    • one free verse poem
    • one ecstatic poem


    ____________________________________

    …this first poem was inspired by Julie Jordan Scott’s day 28 at readwritepoem
    the second is an edited rewrite of a poem I wrote a couple of years ago that I wanted to share…

    ____________________________________


    In following Julie’s suggestion that we let intuition guide us to a theme, a subject, essentially to the “prompt” for this poem for day 28 of NaPoWriMo 2010 — what presented itself to me several times was a question. Why do I write poetry? The answer that surfaced — for my personal solace, my peace of mind, for my sanity. Thus came forth the prompt for this day.

     

    Sanity

    •

    in the sorrowing hours
    at full depth of night

    alone with my thoughts
    my terrors
    my dreams

    sculpting words into wedges
    that pry open my psyche

    expose raw emotion

    lay bare my soul

    that I might glimpse who really I am
    and be certain still that I feel

    here is my sanity

    • • •

     

    ____________________________________

     

    ∞

    •

    step gently through the dream-gate

    take hold the strand continuum

    ride the light that carries you

    to the is, was, the will be

    transcendence moment

    when the all is one

    in the perfection

    of pure being

    here now

    alive

    ∞

    •


    • poem and ecstatic by: rob kistner © 2010

    ____________________________________

    …see what else was intuited this day at readwritepoem