Pepper’d Memories

 

Yes — I was the walrus
so too the fool on the hill
I was the nowhere man
sometime I feel nowhere still

but when the Fab4 took the stage
and raised their voice in song
they roused my golden slumber
my spirit sang along

I strolled to strawberry fields
along sweet penny lane
and when miss Rigby died
I felt McKenzie’s pain

stowed in the submarine
and sailed beneath the waves
down with the octopus
among the coral caves

and when the sergeant
struck up his lonely hearts club band
I fell in step by step
to march off to Pepperland

but before I’d hit the road
I ended up wounded in my bed
a delinquent name of Maxwell
took a hammer to my head

he’d come through the bathroom window
I forgot to shut it tight
I should have known better
but it’d been a hard day’s night

my friends had called for help
doctor Robert came in time
I’d said doc don’t let down
he did not — and I feel fine

cops searched helter skelter
looked here there and everywhere
but they found clues for no one
I said let it be I didn’t care

leaving home, you won’t see me
I said heading out the door
when I saw her standing there
my lover from the night before

oh darling let’s go day trippin’
I want to hold your hand
down this long and winding road
it won’t be long to Pepperland

now we’ve come together here
me and my sweet belle Michelle
she’s been writing paperback novels
the kind the drugstores sell

we have no plans to get back
we’re swept up in the allure
of Lucy and her diamond skies
on our magical mystery tour

even with George and Johnny dead
that old magic’s not yet slipped away
because old Paully‘s discovered AI
so a brand new tune is on the way

it will be so very cool
to hear them once again
to remember those wondrous days
get to relive them now and then

*
rob kistner © 4/5/11
expanded version: rob kistner © 6/13/23

Poetry at: dVerse

 


Spellbound

poet
you are enigma

darkness and shadow
you veil and shroud

fire and light
you burn and incandesce

torch my essence
burn deep my soul
trouble my spirit
unsettle my being

then poet
ignite my wonder

whet my seeker’s vessel
with need
to be filled full

poet
at once familiar
yet
exotically foreign
wonderfully strange

wrongly boxed but
exquisitely wrapped

in angst
indignation
longing
discovery
loss

in love

with all these
and infinitely more
you reach an empty place
deep within

echoing my past
awakening my myths

exposing
that which I embrace
in the moment
as truth

refocus me

stirring my pain
my anger
my loneliness

my hope

offering just enough answer
that I combust with question
sacred uncertainty

I’m held
suspended in inquiry
in memories of neverwas

enrapt by your careful words
transfixed by mystery
elevated by insight
impaled by vision

spellbound

This Night

As you read this Christmas poem, with its taste of bittersweetness, see it not in a dark light — embrace it as a tale of a long-awaited journey, to be with the one beloved.


digital collage entitled: “Christmas Tear” – by: rob kistner © 2011

 

B rushed my shoulder on this morning’s train
then at the market it was there again
while in line to get my breakfast tea
from our favorite table it beckoned me

in the crowd at the festive mall
glimpsed like a flicker of candle light
I swear I saw it fleeting fall
upon the gifts I did not wrap this night

upon the tree I did not decorate
the greeting cards I did not write
in frail voice I chastise fate
singing carols doesn’t feel right

this season I see it everywhere
the shadow of your love
elusive as a shopper’s smile
caught up in the crush and shove

but soon I’ll catch and hold it close
warmly to my breast
it will sweetly fill my heart
lay soft with me this midnight rest

for it returns this night each year
the same night you went away
in dreams you kiss away each tear
touch my lips that beg you stay

taken from my life in sleep
gone without a last goodbye
as we dreamed at midnight deep
each year I weep and wonder why

but this year I’ll not awaken blue
in the end an easy thing to do
this night I’ll make our dreams come true
this midnight deep I will come to you

*
rob kistner © 2011
update by rob kistner © 2021

Poetry at: dVerse

This poem originally posted 2011: at Magpie Tales

Frozen Man

Vote = Voice — Speak Up! 2CC45105-E580-4197-9120-35D724A74CF8

Voting HELP: CLICK HERE

 


line art: “Frozen Man” — rob kistner © 2008

 

Stopping Is No Option

~

— QUADRILLE —

Stopping is no option

giving up
is giving in
grip letting go of dreams

frozen is the frightened man
withered in a worried cage

happy is a voting man
a hero heard and heeded

stopping is no option
for the times
they are a’changin’

rob kistner © 2020

~ ~

— COMPLETE VERSION —

* Watch me read Frozen Man complete version: CLICK HERE

Stopping is no option

to lose the way is to keep going
keep moving forward
lest one atrophies
rigid with despair
paralyzed with doubt
locked in hopelessness
bound by fear

the giving up
is the giving in
is the rot that sets
with the loss of wonder
when grip lets go of dreams

loss of faith debilitates the soul
cripples the manifest light
that shines so bright
at the leap into sacred uncertainty
so bright
as to boldly illuminate truth

frozen is the frightened man
withered in a worried cage

terrified of the wrong step
of the journey all in
of daring the way unmarked

wounded by fear
bleeding out the color of life
hemorrhaging joy
exsanguinating possibility

a cold brittled husk
mired in regret
for never having shone so brightly
as to blind the eyes of death
as to light the way of truth

valiant is a voting man
a hero heard and heeded
a cry of dissatisfaction
a voice of change
a stand for defiance

stopping is no option

so senators and congressmen
you best heed the call
don’t stand in the doorway
don’t block up the hall
for they that will lose
will be they who have stalled

so brothers and sisters
raise up your hand
let it be known
throughout the land
if we want change
we must take a stand

NO
stopping is no option

for the times
they are a-changin’

~ ~ ~

rob kistner © 2008
revision © 2020

 


 

NOTE: To read more about folly: CLICK HERE

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
  • The Gift


     
    The Gift

    ~

    unworthy fool am I

    to ignore it
    to abuse it
    to mistreat it
    to misuse it
    to mishandle it at every turn

    no way am I deserving

    yet over and over
    you lay it at my feet
    to protect each step
    on life’s harsh road

    time after time
    you wrap it round me
    as shelter
    from sorrow’s storm

    again and again
    it nurtures and sustains me
    on my journey through
    the wastelands of the lonely

    this light
    this precious treasure

    no way do I deserve
    but forever will I cherish
    your soul gift
    of selfless love

    would I could give you
    such a gift in return
    it would be my purest
    my most unselfish gift

    a gift golden as the sun
    tied in a tinsel of stars
    to nurture you always
    to keep you radiant

    my most precious gift
    of a love supreme

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2019

     

    32AD0E85-B0A5-4D6D-B19A-E51CD04E0C53DAY 7

    Swept Away

  • A bluesman’s life and soul: “Music gives me goose-bumps, especially when created from the heart, by a genuine human spirit…”
  • swept-away.jpg

     
    Swept Away

    (- REDUX 2019 -)

    ~

    memphis red
    no longer is

    gray now shines
    from a balding head
    filled with scarlet embers

    memories still burn
    a fired spirit

    too deep for coddled mortals
    to fully fathom

    red is real
    red is legend

    his tales of pain
    of injustice
    the lore of the big muddy

    his eyes
    earthy brown
    turbulent as that river

    his stare
    a deep current
    impossible to escape
    you’re swept away

    his voice
    a tempered edge
    honed by blues

    broadleaf husky
    thick as sorghum
    smooth as beale street bourbon

    the cf martin
    swings from a leathered neck
    on a tattered strap
    stretched and shaped
    by the heft of sorrow
    poured into the soundhole

    marked and scarred
    by years of burden
    of witness

    its character and patina
    bear testament
    to a genuine soul

    cracked and seasoned hands
    reach with suffered care
    to wrap the fingerboard
    in love

    callused digits
    yellowed by habit
    depress taut strands
    no longer catgut

    blood and bone
    grip
    connect
    sculpting emotions

    true life
    ensnared in sitka spruce
    and spiraled steel

    knowing strains rise
    chords of loss

    rhythmic stomp
    stinging verse
    of broken promise
    failed love

    of dirt field
    cruel street
    back alley
    of harsh wisdom

    resonate to fill this space
    to break my heart
    to steal my soul

    swept away

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2007

    __________________________

    photo rendering above entitled: “Knowing”
    rendered by: rob kistner © 2007

    Click here to read about more blues on TOAD

    And So

    “sweet memories of my youth”

     

    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)

    ________________

    23749CC2-151F-4BDE-BA62-BC76B9234D39

     
    click here to read more poetry at dVerse

    Clarion Stones

  • revised for Lillian at dVerse Poet’s Pub


     
    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)


    67F4B295-9233-407D-934F-9CA3C5A2B3F5
    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.

  • Check out more shedding at dVerse:
    Shed some light on this today!

  • Hope

  • For society to have a real chance we need quality education!

    IMG_8584

     
    Last Hope

    ~

    I lift myself quietly
    very quietly
    from beneath the sheets
    soiled with neglect
    soaked with my nightmares

    I am again awake
    from another dark night
    that began with fear
    fear I might not survive
    and ends in sorrow
    realizing I did

    I rise
    make my way carefully
    past the shallow-breathed crumple
    that lay milky-eyed
    in a heap on the floor
    un-moving
    save a twitch of the head

    a head which now harbors demons
    where nocturnal angels of sweet release
    had lain down lush upon it
    in fevered embrace
    lustfully conjured
    by last night’s spoon and lance
    still skewered silver in the soured vein

    this wreckage is my mother

    I stop but for a glance
    verifying life
    then move on head down
    angle to the bathroom
    to the scum-brown bowl
    to wash my face
    lit sallow by the yellowed bulb
    that hangs bare and lonely

    strange eyes
    hold me in the mirror
    broken as my heart

    eyes of knowing
    eyes of sadness

    grief courses through me
    weighing upon my being
    burning into my heart

    I want to cry out
    but there is no one here to hear me
    no hero that can help me

    driven by instinct to survive
    by urgency to flee
    I shudder away the paralyzing despair

    in this dank food-less morning
    in this ruined single room
    in this coat-less chill of predawn
    I gather up my books
    step lightly through the door
    down the damaged stairs
    into the hostile streets
    heavy with this childhood of strangled dreams

    I duck and dodge
    in and out of shadows
    praying to once again avoid the evil
    that lurks and slinks
    among the garbage and graffiti
    of these crumbled bricken’d canyons

    that rolls slow and lethal
    gripping cold blue steel
    in predatory drive-by

    evil
    seductive as a smile
    deadly as a snake

    evil
    which if diligence should fail
    I fear will consume my soul

    deliberately I continue
    until at last I find my way
    to the building
    to the classroom
    to my teacher
    to my desk

    to the only hope
    to which I dare cling

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2011
    (revision © 2019)

    ___________________________

    Click to learn more about toad’s social awareness

  • Daredevil’s Dread

     

    Daredevil’s Dread

    ~

    to be shot from a cannon
    into the cool night air
    is really no big deal

    to face a barrage
    of flying knives
    isn’t really that unreal

    to leap through the fire
    of a flaming hoop
    the warmth is kind’a nice

    jumping giant chasms
    on two-wheeled fury
    sure – let’s do it twice

    to be blown up
    in a speeding car
    sort’a turns me on

    falling 20-story
    from a skyscraper
    I’m up over and gone

    riding upside down
    on an airplane wing
    it’s the only way to fly

    the high trapeze
    without a net
    I wouldn’t bat an eye

    buried alive
    in a padlocked tomb
    count 10 and I’ll cheat death

    chained in steel
    tossed in the sea
    no need to hold my breath



    the sphere of fear
    the dome of doom
    the bungee-cord freefall

    to walk blazing coals
    swallow deadly swords
    no sweat — I’ve done them all

    almost nothing scares
    this bold daredevil
    I am very proud to say

    save the single thing
    of which I’m terrified

    to give my heart away



    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2010
    (revised © 2018)

    ____________________________________

  • top 2 photos: Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus
  • bottom photo: source unknown
  • Hedone’s Daughter

  • WARNING! For adult readers only!
  •  

    loves-serenade

     

    Hedone’s Daughter

    ~

    radiant vision silken skinned
    translucent alabaster blaze
    torrid as a teen’s temptation
    leaned low
    here before me
    yearning

    straplened ankles fragile turned
    stiletto’d rise
    on carpet soft
    emblazened vixen
    forward bent
    availed so boldly
    flush with craving

    graceful face
    brazen aglow
    comely raised and tilted back
    my fingers tangled in your hair
    lifting firm
    yet luscious slow

    swept away in lustful swoon
    forearms rest on velvet sheets
    eyes aflame in sapphire need
    blatant in your fetched seduction

    Hedone’s daughter lush with Spring
    smouldering
    in golden light
    that folds upon you soft as satin
    ‘cross nape of neck
    arched silk desire

    down glistening back
    that tempting tapers
    to the tender
    warm and sultry
    wonderland for fingertips
    to touch
    and tease
    and tantalize

    to explore
    your quivering body
    soul-addictive
    luscious
    grand
    divinely-pleasing sculpted vessel
    brought forth by Aphrodite’s hand

    virgin fruit swells full and ripe
    flesh silhouette to hypnotize
    enticing in the candle’s flicker
    fondled by my hungry eyes

    they stroke and tweak
    the blossomed berries
    that burst
    engorged with passion’s heat

    that taunt my tongue to twirl ’round
    my teeth to nip in playful tug
    draw to my lips
    now lewdly moist
    to take
    and taste in eager suckle

    willful hands
    of pleasured probing
    wrap slender waist
    then slowly slide
    ‘cross pleading hips
    of sensuous rise
    to fall into erotic folds
    molded from the charms of Venus

    ’round dual swells of burning myth
    that writhe
    atop two lathen’d stems
    long and lithe
    as liquid love
    turned by pleasure’s gloried angels
    tempered in a sacred fire

    stretched taut
    raised high on tips of toes
    proud
    defined
    and goddess buff

    enough to make one
    want to stuff
    to thrust and thrust
    in randy lust
    ’til passion’s seed
    has turned to dust

    and wanton
    carnal
    flames
    are snuffed

    spring’s sweet madness
    full rebuffed

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2010
    (revision © 2018)

    _____________________

  • candle photo entitled “Lovers” by: Bolshevixen
  • photographer of couple embracing unknown
  • Click to read more dVerse poems of desire

  • The Fool


    “Sad Harlequin” by: Lladro

     
    The Fool

    ~

    I will not smile today, you see
    my broken heart is hurting, so
    tears now reside where joy ran free.
    I will not smile today, you see
    she loved my gold, but not so me.
    Played for a fool, I did not know.
    I will not smile today you see,
    my broken heart is hurting so!

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2008
    (revised © 2018)

  • see more at dVerse
    Repetitive Forms – Meeting the Bar

    __________________

  • Probably invented in the 13th century, the triolet was cultivated as a serious form by such medieval French poets as Adenet le Roi and Jean Froissart. … The earliest triolets in English are those of a devotional nature composed in 1651 by Patrick Cary, a Benedictine monk, at Douai, France.
     

  • History. The triolet is a close cousin of the rondeau, the rondel, and the rondelet, other French verse forms emphasizing repetition and rhyme. The form stems from medieval French poetry and seems to have had its origin in Picardy. … Also, at the end of the 15th century, the term triolet appears for the first time.
     

  • The triolet is a short poem of eight lines with only two rhymes used throughout. The requirements of this fixed form are straightforward: the first line is repeated in the fourth and seventh lines; the second line is repeated in the final line; and only the first two end-words are used to complete the tight rhyme scheme. … Thus, the poet writes only five original lines, giving the triolet a deceptively simple appearance: ABaAabAB, where capital letters indicate repeated lines.
  • Seasons

  • Suite of four haiku reflecting the seasons…

  • collage entitled “Four Seasons” by: rob kistner © 2007

  •  
    Seasons

    ~

     

    Spring

    (haiku)

    ~

    wings flutter gently

    spring breeze bends full flowered stems

    meadow dance begins

    ~ ~ ~

     

    Summer

    (haiku)

    ~

    green leaf on blue pond

    turns in golden summer sun

    red bird softly sings

    ~ ~ ~

     

    Fall

    (haiku)

    ~

    stalks lie down in fields

    arbors burst with ripened grape

    fall is on the land

    ~ ~ ~

     

    Winter

    (haiku)

    ~

    coarse lands cloaked in white

    lakes bejeweled in crystal

    winter’s dressing hand

    ~ ~ ~

     

    rob kistner © 2007

    _____________________

  • Click here to read more poetry at dVerse

  • Cloistered

  • This piece deals with the strange duality we all carry with us through life, the unique contradiction between the person we think we are, and the ‘many’ other persons others perceive us to be from their experience of us, as filtered through their differing individual perceptions. Fair or not, convenient or not, we are ‘judged’. Our lives are impacted to one degree or another, every day by how we measure up to each of these interpretations of the “I” we are thought to be. This includes the “I” we perceive ourselves to be. Which one is real, is valid, or is any one of them truly definitive? The phrase “I am” presents a fascinating philosophical quandary.


    image by René Magritte

     

    Cloistered

    ~

    when another
    tells you of yourself
    you’re shown the dance they see
    your outward choreography

    but you hear not of the music
    that rings true in your mind
    that leads and drives the steps
    to this inward dance they’re blind

    you are shown the reflection
    not the light that shines inside
    that illuminates your soul
    to guide your steps and stride

    are we the I that we know
    the self that we so treasure
    or are we in fact the other
    the one the others measure

    for if the valid I
    be the one that is most known
    then we are in fact that I
    the one to ourselves not shown

    for surely when compared
    the majority story shared
    is of the outward other
    the one seen by another

    and so we live our life
    cloistered in this other
    and live this life alone
    even when by many known
    for the I that’s outward shown
    is the I that’s not our own

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2012