Time Window
Posted by Rob Kistner | Filed under Free Verse, Image, Poetry, family, memories, photo, regret
•
In the solitude
of my assisted exile
the window above me
frames a grey
and barren sky
but with eyes closed
I see home
of long ago
alive with morning
the scurry of creatures
warmed by summer
I hear nature
in splendid voice
the chuff
of tree’d red squirrel
the song
chirp
and trill of birds
chickadee
goldfinch
western bluebird
and others
fly
flutter
and flit
cracking black-oil sunflower seeds
that spill from feeders
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
wafts 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 am alone
carefully banished
to this forgotten cloister
sobered
I exhale
and do not open my eyes
a solitary tear
escapes
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
Elton The Elf
Posted by Rob Kistner | Filed under Image, Poetry, art, courage, humor, joy, rhyme, whimsy, wonder
•
an angel-eyed velvet-clad curious elf
was sitting alone on a leaf by himself
quite lost and he didn’t see anyone else
he was scared and he hid and he tried to be stealth
“I wish I was home like a good little elf
‘cause I left my big glasses on my bedroom shelf
and this is no a place for a song-writing elf
these damp woods are not very good for my health”
his mother warned “Elton, you’re a wee little elf,
don’t go wandering off in the woods by yourself
take Bernie along, and your cell phone as well,
dear son please consider your fame and your wealth!”
but wee little Elton was a quite stubborn elf
tired of playing piano in his room by himself
bored with being a world famous rock ‘n roll elf
with gold records – Don’t Go Breaking My Heart was his 12th
you know it really is hard being a curious elf
curiosity is why he’d snuck off by himself
now he’s lost and can’t find his way home without help
sometimes its dangerous being sneaky and stealth
could this be the end for sweet Elton the elf
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
The Sudden Doe
Posted by Rob Kistner | Filed under Free Verse, Poetry, beauty, courage, homage, joy, nature, philosophy, photo, wisdom, wonder
______________________
This is a response, not so much to the letter of Carolee’s prompt, but to it’s essence. Instead of picking a fovorite poem, I have focused on my favorite poet, Gary Snyder. Given I am deeply moved by most of Gary’s work, choosing a “favorite” seems unrealistic.
Gary Snyder (born May 8, 1930) is an American poet (often associated with the Beat Generation and the San Francisco Renaissance), as well as an essayist, lecturer, and environmental activist — frequently described as the “poet laureate of Deep Ecology”. Snyder is a winner of a Pulitzer Prize for Poetry. His work, in his various roles, reflects an immersion in both Buddhist spirituality and nature.
He grew up here, where I live, in Portland Oregon and attended Reed College here. He was friends with Allan Ginsberg, Jack Kerouac, and most of the beat writers, the majority of whom had urban backgrounds. Gary spent much of his youth, including his college years, hiking and working in the Northwest backcountry. This experience and his interest in things rural, made him appear exotic to his Beat Generation peers — who often referred to Snyder as ‘the Thoreau of the Beat Generation’.
Gary uses mainly common speech-patterns as the basis for his poetry, and does not typically use conventional meters nor intentional rhyme. His personal sensibility arose from his interest in Native Americans, their involvement with nature, their knowledge of it and balance with it. He argues that poets, and humans in general, need to adjust to very long timescales, especially when judging the consequences of their actions. His poetry examines the gap between nature and culture so as to point to ways in which the two can be more closely integrated.
A world traveler, with a fondness for the Far East; Gary has spent many years of his life exploring, and living in the wilderness of the western United States, especially the Pacific Northwest. He loves this region, as I do, and his work is strongly influenced by this love. I offer this poem I’ve written in the spirit of Gary Snyder. I pulled it together from a notebook I keep of my wilderness sojourns into this part of the U.S. as well as bits and pieces of drafts I’ve written, all influenced by Gary — not so much by how he writes, but who he is.
Gary Snyder
•
my footfalls
drum the root chambers
of the cascade mountain old growth
each step cushioned
by centuries of needle-drop
in this ancient forest
rounding a bend in the trail
brushing through waist-high fern
I crest a knoll
and stop
mesmerized
light drifts down dreamlike
filtered by the woodland canopy
settling soft around me
suddenly
I’m startled
a young doe bounds onto the path
standing proud
golden in the glow
she considers me briefly
then disappears
quick as a stolen glance
quiet as passing time
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
• photo by Giuseppe Moretti, for Beat Scene Online
The Quiet • The Strike
Posted by Rob Kistner | Filed under Free Verse, Poetry, action, beauty, dark, gratitude, horror, joy, mystery, nature, philosophy, regret, suspense, tragedy, wisdom, wonder
…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
Ardor
Posted by Rob Kistner | Filed under Free Verse, Image, Poetry, beauty, ecstatic, erotic, mystery, photo, sensuality, wonder
•
eyes dark and deep as nile nocturne
scorching as nubian sundance
this blackthorn rose
is the secreted passion
the sultry jungle goddess
inscribed in the book of ardor
fired in molten scarlet
woman forged of earthen bronze
ablaze in the sensual dreams
of writhing midnight
she is smoke and flame
the mysterious traveler
• • •
________________________________
• Magpie Tales prompt Mag 23 •
Gravity
Posted by Rob Kistner | Filed under Free Verse, Image, Poetry, love, memories, regret, wisdom
•
but glide
like a bird in flight
I would soar skyward
in sweeping circles
lifted on mighty thermals
I would not be earthbound
not a captive of gravity
if I could
but break the gravity
of time
I would not be a prisoner
of regret
I would return to you
this day would be soaring
and swooping
and giving thanks
for feathers and hollow bones
and forgiveness
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
Stream
Posted by Rob Kistner | Filed under Free Verse, Image, Poetry, dark, ecstatic, flash fiction, love, mystery, photo, prose, science fiction, stream of consciousness, tragedy, wonder
…I wrote this free verse poem in a single-draft, stream of consciousness, surrealistic spirit, with minimum edits, inspired by the ‘We Write Poetry’ prompt #11 — hence the title.
I then re-imagined it from a steganograhic perspective, and added the flash fiction prologue, so as to also offer it in response to the July 12th prompt at ‘Big Tent Poetry’…
It is said that long ago a civilization existed which embraced at its cultural core the unusual surrealistic tale that follows here. It was passed down from generation to generation, and over the years, a secret sect grew around it.
Claiming to know the “sacred” meaning of the words, the cult leveraged this “knowledge” into a coup to seize control of their planet. They commandeered the wealth of their world, and exerted their power through fear and intimidation.
So as to maintain their rule, they created a code and two keys related to the tale, using the deciphered verse as a secret greeting, to keep their ranks closed.
I have discovered the code and the keys. This Sunday, July 18th, I will publish in this post, the code string, and challenge you to unravel the keys, and solve the secret greeting.
Here is the surrealistic tale, entitled “Stream”, including a graphic image of the sect’s sacred symbol.
•
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
nothing approaching
that moves
unsteady on legs
of unquenchable doubt
what your mind must
conceal from the spirit
of joy and forgiveness
is pure if its tested
by time and the hands of
the waiting who cower
and smile
singing truth through
the hail and barrage
‘cross the bow mast
of glory be given
broad measure and berth
as all that you seem to
desire slips slowly like
rain down a vent
pipe and 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 squandering teardrop
forever away from
our loosening grasp
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
______________________
• Following here are the codes and the key to unlock the secret greeting.
Words code:
1b2342b1234d125a2
5b25c25d26a16b16b46e37b2347c27d27e37f127f3
7g17h28a29a239b139b49c19d129g12
Form code:
63032534066
Key: A letter represents the position of a line, the number immediately preceding the letter is the stanza, and the number(s) immediately following the letter is/are the position of the word(s) in the line – UNLESS the number refers to a stanza. All numbers are single integers.
For the fun and satisfaction of it you should endeavor to solve the code before you glance at the solution as exhibited below…
The secret message/greeting that the code unlocks is as follows here:
is pure truth
hail the glory
as desire
like dreams of the future
moves the ages
who’ve waited and watched
deliberate revolves the light of dawning
that heralds this time of visions
• • •
Breakfast Lovers Fanatsy
Posted by Rob Kistner | Filed under Free Verse, Image, Poetry, family, food, humor, nature, photo, photorendering, rhyme, satire, whimsy, wonder
•
whether panning for poached
fishing for fried
or sifting for softly scrambled
maybe bobbing for boiled
or sunny side up
angling for over easy
perhaps baiting a hook
for benedict
or dangling a lure for deviled
be they baked in cakes
or dropped in soup
it’s a whites & yolks wet dream
it’s a breakfast lovers fantasy
going to the eggs stream
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
July Midnight
Posted by Rob Kistner | Filed under Free Verse, Poetry, stream of consciousness
•
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
You Are Here
Posted by Rob Kistner | Filed under Poetry, gratitude, joy, love, memories, tragedy
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
Always Options
Posted by Rob Kistner | Filed under Free Verse, Haiku, Image, Poetry, Reverse Senryu, art, courage, humor, joy, love, mystery, philosophy, photo, whimsy, wisdom
•
that stretched beyond the road he’d trod
he would go forth this was his mind
but had no notion which way that was
the pathway left was sparse with step
the roadway right was traveled plenty
leaning low to great extreme
he examined close the evidence
it came clear that those who journeyed left
were light of weight with timid step
while those who traveled onward right
wore finest boot of heavy heel
he thought on this for quite some time
until at last he knew for sure
he started neither left nor right
but instead went straight ahead
he hacked and carved and blazed a trail
into the new for those who’d follow
wise in life possessed of logic
he realized to where he’d come
the threshold of a new frontier
too raw for the sated too brute for the weak
those that would survive and prosper
would be among the enlightened bold
it would be those who’d choose this trail
full of promise made by his hand
with spirit full and muscled zest
he whacked and chopped and cleared the way
for those who’d come who were empowered
to seize possibility — a bright new world
• • •
(haiku)
•
trail forked this spring morne
white-tails chose the woods instead
always more options
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
Flash Dance
Posted by Rob Kistner | Filed under Free Verse, Image, Poetry, homage, humor, joy, photo, rhyme, sensuality, suspense, whimsy, wonder
(version 1)
•
of noisy
newborn stars
exploding
with sizzle
and fire
in a plethora
of vivid color
a flash dance
of vibrant sparks
showering our dewy
midnight lawn
this cacophony
of celebration
and pyrotechnical
wonders
passes in
then out of existence
in but a moment
this magical night
•
of noisy
newborn stars
explodes
with sizzle and fire
a spectacle bizarre
a flash dance
of dazzling sparks
shower the heavens
in wondrous light
this cacophony
of celebration
and pyrotechnical
delight
passes in
then out of existence
in but a thrilling moment
this magical night
•
of newborn stars
explodes above us
bold and bright
they swoosh and sizzle
spin and tumble
in mesmerizing
fiery flight
a flash dance
of dazzling sparks
shower the heavens
in wondrous light
this cacophony
of celebration
this pyrotechnical
delight
passes in
then out of existence
in but a moment
this magical night
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
• photo of aerial fireworks by: Astro Spectacular
Questions
Posted by Rob Kistner | Filed under Free Verse, Image, Poetry, courage, dark, family, homage, horror, photo, tragedy, wisdom
and for prompt #59 at Carry On Tuesday…
•
he lifts himself quietly
from beneath the sheets
soiled with neglect
makes his way carefully
past the shallow-breathed crumple
that lay milky-eyed in a heap
un-moving on the floor
save a twitch of the sodden head
this wreckage is his mother
why do you just lie there mother
my head is full of demons son
the response only imagined
she remains slack and death-like
where nocturne angels of sweet release
had laid down lush upon her
in fevered embrace
lustfully conjured
by last night’s spoon and lance
still skewered silver in the soured vein
mother — why do you want to die
the return is only silence
he lingers but a moment
verifying life
then moves on
head down
he angles to the bathroom
to the scum-brown bowl
to wash his face
a face lit sallow by the yellowed bulb
that hangs bare and lonely
eyes of knowing
eyes of sadness
stare into the mirror
broken as his heart
then close
your eyes hold a story my son
will you tell me your story
yes mother
if you really want to hear about it
if you really could
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
No Longer Imagine
Posted by Rob Kistner | Filed under Free Verse, Poetry, beauty, ecstatic, gratitude, homage, joy, love, mystery, nature, sensuality, wisdom, wonder
…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
•
•
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
Extinction’s Shadow
Posted by Rob Kistner | Filed under Haiku, Image, Poetry, Reverse Senryu, Senryu, art, dark, horror, mystery, tragedy, wisdom
and strongly influenced by prompt #7 at We Write Poems…
•
smothered by big oil
our blue planet is dying
greed’s shadow falls hard
•
future is mortgaged
to petrochemical lust
fatal addiction
•
mankind is drowning
in a flood of fossil fuel
black tide of folly
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
by: rob kistner © 2008
