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

Blood Moon

This piece is offered in response to prompt Mag 25 at Magpie Tales,
prompt #13 at We Write Poems,
and the August 2nd prompt at Big Tent Poetry.




Blood Moon

•

icy round
the wolf’n eye
soft and round
the riding breast
roundness
in the grande dame’s fear
a circle round
the blood moon’s crest

there are lies
within that circled moon
that surround
this cruel charade
they gather
and collect the tears
‘til midnight’s debt
is fully paid

‘til innocence
is found to want
and purity
so deep defiled
that cold and soulless
lupen eyes
will cleave the sweet
in red and wild

and all that once
was tender
will on this night
turn beastly raw
and guilted
hearts be locked away
to deny at dawn’s light
the truth they saw

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

What is / Continuum Redux

I wrote this pair of poems inspired by the ‘We Write Poetry’ prompt #12



What Is

•

yesterday is money spent
a corner turned
the choice that’s made
the tear that’s shed
the sentence spoken
the breath exhaled
the fuel consumed
it’s burned to ash

today is influence
momentum moving
the raindrop falling
hands on the wheel
the river flowing
the voice that’s singing
it’s face to face
it’s real time

tomorrow is the land of dreams
it’s the great unknown
the wheel of fate
it’s the far horizon
the dawn approaching
the planted seed
has no guarantee
yet it’s full of promise

• • •

Continuum Redux

•

yesterday was once today
today likewise was once tomorrow
tomorrow will be yesterday
but first it must become today

• • •

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

Questions

…I wrote this in response to the June 28th prompt at Big Tent Poetry
and for prompt #59 at Carry On Tuesday


 

Questions

•

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

…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

Extinction’s Shadow

…these are rewrites of prior drafts, edited fresh for the June 21st prompt at Big Tent Poetry
and strongly influenced by prompt #7 at We Write Poems


Extinction’s Shadow

•

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

• 3D color rendering at top entitled: “Too Long in the Shadow”
by: rob kistner © 2008

That Hollywood Sparkle

…I wrote this in response to the June 14th prompt at Big Tent Poetry


 

That Hollywood Sparkle

•

it’s not so much we resent the hungry
no more than do we despise the poor
rather we avoid and dismiss them
with the dull cough of apathy
we find them disturbing and dangerous
they disquiet our comfort

we do not flow with the milk of kindness
our part is more the dark brandy of denial
we do however praise our stars
for their sensitivity toward the downtrodden
it makes the less fortunate more glamorous
and we like the hollywood sparkle it imparts to tragedy

• • •

rob kistner © 2010


Maneater

• In response to prompt #6 of the newly opened We Write Poems, I find arrogant, manipulative divas to be difficult to tolerate, or to understand…



Maneater

•

auburn mane with sable streaks
frosted ermine — lush with pride
a bounce and whip, and tiply snap
with each stiletto’d wanton stride

taught hips roll on slender stems
that part in ripples then enmesh
a brushing sigh of stirring heat
toned thighs gliding flesh on flesh

a stare of comely crystal blue
floats above a ruby pout
that takes you in devouring
has its way, then casts you out

tongue tip teases top lip’s edge
like supple paintbrush flowing
a smile to burn and hypnotize
that wraps around you knowing

luscious wench — worldly wise
sleek as steel — tall and strong
swift and cunning, motor running
she might acquiesce, but not for long

poor fool who tastes this lusciousness
is hopelessly addicted
there’s only one word for this life-force
that word, my friend, is — wicked!

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

Anger – 3 Contemplations

…I offer this 3-part contemplation on anger in response to the June 7th prompt at Big Tent Poetry

• the first poem is a free verse conceptual perspective on the essence of anger
• the second is a poem I would like to share, which touches the primal anger I felt at the time of the tragic death of my 18-year-old son, Aaron — written shortly after the horrible event
• the third is the pantoum which was directly suggested by this prompt — it is based on a poem I wrote while in the early stages of my grief, also regarding the raw, unfiltered anger I felt, and still feel occasionally, surrounding Aaron’s death



Anger

•

love
bruised

crying out
to be understood

so loudly
that it cannot hear

frustrated
that its capacity to feel

is far greater
than its ability to express

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

______________________

Primal

•

i remember well the day he died
the searing pain
that fueled my rage
setting fire to the skies

primal power

giving life to sorrowed hatred
sustaining me no food or sleep
while i cursed the cruel heavens
in ringing spite that toppled mountains

and leveled to despair
every mocking face of care
reaching out to touch me
saying how they understood

they sure as hell — did not

or they’d have never gotten near me
they’d have given me vast berth
for all i wanted was to strike them
make them scream
make them hurt

i would have given him my life
with little thought have taken yours
for if my son could no longer live
nor would anyone on this earth

• • •

rob kistner © 1995

______________________

This Cannot Be

•

this cannot be the way his story ends
his youth snuffed out by someone’s mindless deed
this cannot be the horror fate intends
if life you want mine now I do concede

his youth snuffed out by someone’s mindless deed
if debt is owed please I will make amends
if life you want mine now I do concede
hell’s threshold now to where I stand extends

if debt is owed please I will make amends
anger grips me like a poison seed
hell’s threshold now to where I stand extends
my soul ablaze my heart begins to bleed

anger grips me like a poison seed
god your cold and heartless name offends
my soul ablaze my heart begins to bleed
a blackness here within me now distends

god your cold and heartless name offends
hatred of you deep inside does breed
a blackness here within me now distends
upon my very essence it does feed

hatred of you deep inside does breed
cruel god is this the horror you intend
upon my very essence it does feed
this cannot be the way his story ends

please tell me this is not the way his story ends

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

• collage above entitled “Stages of Grief” by: rob kistner © 2010


______________________


In loving memory of my son, Aaron Robert Kistner: 11/4/76 – 7/3/95

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

Eve’s Eyes

• In response to prompt #5 of the newly opened We Write Poems, this is a surrealistic poem I created using a technique of creative omission called erasure. I am generally not a fan of fashioning a poem to or from a form or device — but this was interesting. The original poem I “mined” was entitled “Pointed Roofs”, by Dorothy Miller Richardson. You might find it interesting to compare Dorothy’s piece with my finished piece…



Eve’s Eyes

•

plentiful
the long faces

the girls
numerous
brought the sense of misery

the girls
nervous
were part of the remuneration

the very first
eve
playing a melody

swollen
her fingers weak
unexpectedly stiffened
her trembling hands
dreadful

she stood
angry

stupid people
had made her play

her discomfiture forgotten
she simply poked the piano

almost unrecognizable
she played with burning eyes

thumping
and thumping again
she played afresh
laughed into the air
back to the wall
behind the piano

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

________________________________

…the painting above is entitled “HOMAGE for GILLES CARLE”, by: Estelle St-Pierre

Lupus Luna

 

Lupus Luna

~

wolf moon hangs heavy
in the damp night sky

I feel its powerful tug

bulbous moist pearl
rolling in a cold chromium fog

forging my steely urges
hardening my unspeakable needs

wet slivers of cloud
smear themselves across its face
irregular
dappling my perverse metamorphosis

translucent sacks of moonbeams
glide the blue black sky
breathing

the hoarse breath of the beast
festers a howl
rumbling deep in my throat

in the heavens
glassine billowing pillows
oozing
soaked with midnight

stars float and spark
glinting
dripping
shivering

as I shudder
in dread of this witching hour
engorged with unearthly power

frozen splintered crystal tips
diamond chips
pinprick rips in blackened space

piercing
white hot
my ungodly eyes
seared with bloodlust
probing
hunting

stars wink and wane
and glisten
shattered bits of silvered light
snapping here then not
behind the ghostly white vapor
that slithers through the firmament

I slink the midnight mists
eternally cursed
driven by a horrible hunger

the world
devoid of color
aglow in sterling grey
a negative of day

thick and chilled

filled with the sound
of stalking
after-dark things

abominations of nocturne
in this sorrowing hour
to lay bare your soul
in periled introspection

in grief of secrets

~ ~ ~

rob kistner © 2010

  • collage above entitled “Lupus Luna” by: rob kistner © 2010