Lost Meditations

EA50D2AC-D8B2-48C4-BF8F-515D1941A438

 
Lost Meditations

~

lost meditations resurface
in these november years

reflections of mysteries once pondered
beauty beheld
of veiled truth pursued

in quiet depth
disturbed only by faint breath
beckoning me inward
to the bright center of joy

where a flutter of understanding
in a snap-flash of oneness
shudders me conscious
in shivering anticipation
of that which is not known

that which cannot be named
in the twilight of this finite
as threads of evermore
bind fast my dreams
to carry them onward
effortlessly

I gently surrender
as lost meditations resurface
in my november years

~ ~ ~

rob kistner © 2008
(revision © 2018)

__________________

  • Click here to read more poetry at dVerse
  • For Naught

     

    For Naught

    •

    the virgin page taunts me

    untouched

    the bright white
    throbs like a migraine

    no burden of remorse
    no weight of mystery
    does it bear

    no sting of anger
    no wink of mirth
    does it proffer

    nothing sensual or sensitive to share

    no tale to spin
    no plot to thicken
    no coin of phrase to turn

    just vast blank space
    tormenting nothingness
    cruel emptiness
    to drain my brain

    dissonance spills through my open window
    the scatter of autumn showers
    stir of october wind
    rustle of moist leaves

    in the distance
    muffled keens
    bursts of barking
    far off yelps

    the edgy piercing din
    of dripping prowling night
    intrudes in damp insistence
    to fill my head
    fevered with frustration
    to leave not one small space for wit

    the search for insight all for naught

    no spark to light this dark
    no muse in sight

    nothing clever or profound
    in the air this night

    chilled
    slack

    uninspired

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011

    • linked at Magpie Tales

    Bogged

     

    Bogged

    •

    that’s the thing about ruts
    the longer we remain bogged
    the harder it is to escape

    •

    stopping is no option

    to lose the way
    is to keep going
    keep moving forward

    lest one be rutted in uncertainty
    rigid with the rigor of fear
    bogged down in despair
    paralyzed

    stalled in hopelessness
    the giving in
    the giving up

    caught in anguish
    the rot that sets
    with the loss of wonder
    when grip lets go of dreams

    arthritic loss of faith
    debilitates the soul

    cripples the manifest light
    that shines forth
    at the leap into dark unknown
    into the sacred mystery

    frozen is the doubting man
    withered in a worried cage
    terrified of the wrong step
    of the journey all in
    of daring the way unmarked

    thus
    he bleeds out the color of life
    to become cold and grey

    a petrified husk
    of brittle remorse

    mired in regret
    for never having shone so brightly
    as to blind the eyes of death

    stopping is no option

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011

    • linked at Magpie Tales

    Boldy Go

     

    Boldly Go

    •

    the great wheel of time
    turns ever slow and steadily
    its ponderous mass unstoppable
    it presses onward mightily

    climbs the mortal mountain
    bearing the weight of history
    of ages and civilizations
    borne then razed by its immensity

    our lifetimes ride this wheel
    how far is but a mystery
    locked in fate ’round we go
    rolling bold toward hidden destiny

    frail temporal beings
    of a most amazing bravery
    we dream of a tomorrow
    for which there is no guarantee

    adrift toward a future
    of veiled and vague contingency
    still — we dare to love
    despite this vast uncertainty

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011

    • this poem linked at Writer’s Island and One Single Impression

    Sea Song

    • this poem linked at Writer’s Island and One Single Impression

     

    Sea Song

    •

    sad she comes
    everyday
    to these empty shores
    on wings of memory
    to serenade this sea

    a song of longing
    bowed on strings
    of a broken heart
    mournful for the one
    lost to these silent fathoms

    her tears
    steady as the mists
    relentless swept away
    by these cold
    indifferent waves

    only they
    know where her lover lies
    so everyday she comes
    taunted by these tides
    to seek their mystery

    and every night
    darkness falls
    chill upon this deep

    her forlorn refrain
    shatters in the moonlight
    the sea holding cruel tight
    to its precious secret

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011

    _________________________

    TWO OTHER RECENT POEMS:


    “And So”


    “The Sync”

    Deep Indigo

    …written for Day #7, NaPoMo 2011…


    Deep Indigo

    •

    he wakes
    unbidden by alarm
    lingers in the darkness
    warm neath the blankets

    fumbling for the lamp
    follows moments of procrastination
    before he lifts himself upright
    slides feet into slippers
    to rise ever so stiffly
    from the comfort of bed

    pulling on his robe
    he ambles to the kitchen
    takes a cup from the shelf
    pours chamomile tea
    brewed ready each morning
    by the wonders of technology

    he retreats to his office
    to his chair
    where it waits
    welcoming
    in a pool of soft light
    buffered against the chill
    of pre-dawn dark

    he sits
    sips steeped motivation
    quietly peeling away fog
    that layers his mind
    residue of another fitful night

    he is somber
    but pleased to be awake
    to be alive
    grateful for the peace
    and the quiet of early morning
    fleeting though it is

    his thoughts
    begin to un-blend
    to gather
    in a cohesive palette
    stirring his notice

    slowly they sort
    in colors of mood

    melancholy greys
    fear’s dark ebony
    purples of pain and anger
    the violet of regret
    sorrowful blues
    gentle peaceful greens
    golden joy
    laughter’s bright amber
    love’s ruby red
    the scarlet of passion

    this morning
    reflections on his mortality
    newly threatened
    shoulder in coldly
    crowding his reverie

    pondering his plight
    cursing fate
    he struggles
    neath the weight of uncertainty

    a riot of emotions
    overcome him
    he seeks clarity

    he reaches for his laptop
    his tool of resolution
    his canvass of language

    in the spreading saffrons
    and corals of dawn
    he begins painting deep indigo

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011

    Shuffle

    …written for Day #6, NaPoMo 2011…


     

    Shuffle

    •

    life deals the cards
    face down
    from a deck
    stacked full with jokers

    rare
    the precious wild card

    the game plays out
    slowly
    turning each card
    hand at risk

    wild card
    strikes a jackpot
    play continues

    but the jester
    hand is bust
    player folds

    not until
    the hand is forfeit
    or the final card
    face up
    is it known
    what fate has dealt

    • • •

    rob kistner © 4/6/11

    Believe

    This piece is offered in response to prompt #19 at We Write Poems
    and in response to the visual prompt Mag 23 at Magpie Tales seen at bottom of post.



    • image entitled “Weary” – colorized, digitally rendered by: rob kistner 2010


    Believe

    •

    I’d like to make myself believe
    the dream I dreamt as a young man
    that we can change the world’s heart
    to embrace love for one another

    I’d like to make myself believe
    people are by nature good
    that we can live in peace
    and make the world a better place

    I’d like to make myself believe
    universal understanding
    is a common goal
    of the peoples of this planet

    I’d like to make myself believe
    we haven’t lost our faith
    in these sacrosanct ideals
    of an elevated life

    I’d like to make myself believe
    there still exists somewhere
    a shared and nurtured vision
    of a paradise on earth

    I’d like to make myself believe
    but empty runs the hourglass
    again I’ve heard the daily news
    and I’m so weary, and brokenhearted

    yes, I’d like to make myself believe
    I’d like to, really like to
    but sometimes now I even wonder
    if anyone ever truly did

    • • •

    • poem above borrowed key line from the song “Fireflies” by Owl City

    _________________

    Time Running Out

    •

    once demure discourse

    now rhetoric to offend

    volatile neighbors

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    • haiku above also offered for the visual prompt Mag 23 at Magpie Tales,
    and the September 15th prompt at Three Word Wednesday.


    Mag 23

    Old Man’s Prayer

    …this piece is in response to the 16th prompt of 2010 on Writer’s Island,
    and visual prompt Mag 27 at Magpie Tales (see image at bottom),
    also offered for prompt 129 at One Single Impression,
    and for prompt 228 at Sunday Scribblings….




    Old Man’s Prayer

    •

    successful as a younger man
    the grind became my home
    and I a conduit of worry
    could I keep the crazy pace

    years spun wild as a top
    around faster ever faster
    life layering its patina
    etched deeply in my face

    suddenly no longer young
    now looking back from 63
    I’ve known triumph I’ve known tragedy
    they’ve marked me both the same

    I’ve borrowed bought and sold
    strayed through several shades of grey
    but have I leveraged my soul
    just to play the fleeting game

    I pray I will not be an old man
    gazing lonely out my window
    trying to remember
    exactly how long it has rained

    not sitting silent by the fire
    lost in contemplation
    wondering if all I lost
    was worth what it was I gained

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    • photo of top from the movie Inception

    _________________



    Mag 27

    Always Options

    …in response to the 10th prompt of 2010 on Writer’s Island, I offer a perspective on perspective…




    Always Options

    •

    he came upon divergent ways
    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



    • dedicated to the visionaries who see beyond •

    The Key

    • In response to the 3rd prompt on the newly re-opened Writer’s Island, I offer a gothic tale…
    • I also offer this in response to prompt #116 at One Single Impression




    The Key

    •

    I must move quickly from this light
    that pools incrementally
    in this long
    pungent
    segmented hallway

    there is some safety in the shadows
    that linger tight
    to the arch walls

    so I bolt
    through the full moon’s glow
    that seeps silvered through the windows

    I press myself
    against the damp irregular surfaces
    that are the stacked-stone
    boundary breaks
    of this eerie chiseled passage

    I pause at each
    until I reach the last

    I halt

    sliding two fingers
    of my right hand
    into the small pocket of my waistcoat
    to confirm that it is still there
    I feel the cool brass
    of the oddly carved key

    relief seasons my trepidation

    nothing in my being
    wants this dire mission
    to which I am shackled

    but it is only my hand
    on the inscripted dagger
    gripped tightly in my left
    that can bring an end
    to my uncle’s unholy
    reign of horror

    I am the last surviving member
    of our cursed bloodline
    so the brutal deed
    falls to me

    creeping stealthily forward
    like a shade on the dank wall
    I move cautiously closer
    to the iron-laden
    dense wood door
    of his sleeping chamber

    my heart pounding
    my diaphram starved for breath
    I feel I may pass out

    but still I pursue
    the evil incarnate
    that lies
    locked away
    in undead repose

    suddenly
    a noise
    immediately behind me

    it echoes through these catacombs
    pierces my taut raw nerves
    and instantly paralyzes me

    trembling
    I turn

    no one there

    hushed
    I listen intently

    no other sounds
    save the blood
    pulsing as a roar
    in my ears

    I begin to move
    but again
    I hear it

    panicked
    I jerk my head around
    and see

    in this frozen moment
    my stressed mind deduces
    the source of the noise

    moisture
    collecting on the stone ceiling
    gathers overhead
    into sagging condensation

    it released
    as a weighty droplet
    splattering on the floor
    just behind me
    with a sharp startling slap

    I relax a bit
    enough to again draw
    tensioned breath

    several more labored
    careful steps
    and I place my hand
    gently on the wrought handle
    of the immense door

    transferring the lethal dagger
    to my quivering right hand
    I reach
    steadily as possible
    into my pocket
    and withdraw the strange key

    it is unnaturally heavy
    and seems to emanate
    an unearthly energy

    I clutch it firmly
    fearing if I lose my grip
    I will lose my nerve

    I guide the key
    into the slot
    of the ornate handle plate
    seating it fully

    slowly I begin to turn it

    I feel the resistance
    as the key’s teeth
    engage with the bolt
    and begin to grudgingly
    draw it from its secure well

    just before I have fully retracted it
    I pause
    my mind racing
    blood pressure soaring
    overcome by the magnitude
    of what I am about to do

    no turning back now
    this must be done
    and I must do it
    but I am terrified

    still I hesitate
    attempting to gain
    my much needed composure

    I slow my heartbeat
    steady my breathing
    steel my resolve
    and turn the key
    its final quarter inch

    the lock clicks
    the handle releases
    and the door unseats inwardly

    this is it
    fate has dealt the deck
    I am prisoner
    in this horrible game

    I swing the door open
    ever so gradually
    and step in
    toward my destiny…

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010


    Val

    NaPoMo poem #10

    This is the tenth of the poems I will be writing each day here in April, in honor of National Poetry Month, as proclaimed by the Academy of American Poets.

    Suggested by read write poem as a poem for day 10 of National Poetry Month; this type is known as a ‘found poem’. Passages here are borrowed from the pages of Robert A. Heinlein’s science fiction masterpiece, “Stranger in a Strange Land”. While still holding fast to the spirit of Heinlein’s novel, I’ve slightly rearranged, and mildly embellished the text to create this piece entitled “Val”.

    • NOTE: these poems will all essentially be early drafts, so edits may occur after their initial posting.

     

    Val

    •

    valentine michael smith
    was a most intelligent creature
    a son
    of deep space pioneers

    he lived an alien
    on the far frontier
    his ancestry was human

    raised on mars
    by planet natives
    he thought and felt
    quite martian
    he’d never laid eyes
    on man

    brought to earth
    by scientists
    who knew not
    how to grok* smith
    who knew not
    how not to
    and quickly grokked
    the madhouse planet

    he understood earth
    and its suffering
    so thoroughly
    it became his own

    it nearly drove him crazy

    heartfelt
    val reached out
    to spread enlightenment

    for this
    he was despised

    feared and hated
    quite ungrokked
    smith was sadly slain

    his death was brutal
    he died as he lived
    a stranger
    in a strange land

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2009

    ___________________________

    *Grok – to understand so thoroughly, the observer becomes part of the observed

    • you can find other NaPoMo offerings at read write poem

     

    Vessel

    …sculpture below by the remarkable Rose Bean Simpson… she is a 3D poet…

    Vessel

    •

    there is a needing and a caring
    a taking and a giving

    pieces of one’s soul
    peeled away
    for the sake of the cherished

    a duality of dark and light
    positive and negative

    that haunts the reaching out
    and clutch of profaned hands
    which inflict raw wounds

    that also blesses the sacred touch
    to sooth the burning bruise
    and heal the unseen damage

    a rootedness in the need to nurture
    in the looking one-eyed blind
    to see that which is not visible
    to the unfocused seer

    madness engulfs the heart
    of the flat-light sighted
    obscuring truth

    the radiance of clarity
    envelopes the sainted
    illuminating the wondrous

    voids of spirit
    marked and remembered
    are besought in the leaving time

    at the crossing over
    to the dream
    or hard justice

    I am here but for you
    until all that remains are bones
    taken up to strike down menace
    that which means you harm

    devour me complete
    in validation of my path
    consummation of my holy fate

    I am your vessel of deliverance

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2009

    …poem inspired by read write image #10, seen above, found at “readwritepoem”

    Continuum

     

     

    Continuum

    •

    emerald eyes stare

    fix me in their grasp

    lift me into the realm
    of unfinished dreams

    strip me of fear
    longing
    of inhibition

    render me transparent
    as I rise weightless
    unburdened of care

    an untethered being of pure moment
    filled with universes within universes

    a vessel of time and space
    ever-expanding consciousness
    aware of all

    not as separate
    but as the is – the was – the to become

    with infinite reach
    embracing the strand continuum

    drawing it forward
    reeling it back
    in uninterrupted linearity

    for no reason
    but the being of its universal presence
    its omnipotent here-ness
    the infinite now

    seeing through the emerald eyes
    with crystalline gaze
    I behold the beginning of the endless
    touch what is not known
    glimpse what cannot be now
    but is forever

    an epiphanal glance
    at the mystery of fate
    the why within the why

    ever I ascend to realization
    that the meaning of the mystery
    is veiled in those emerald eyes

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2009

     

    ___________________________________

    …photorendering at top entitled “Emerald Eyes” by: rob kistner © 2008

    ___________________________________

    A BRAND NEW WORD: •Epiphanality – 1. The quality of transcendence and enlightenment that exists in something 2. the ability to transcend and rise above

     

    …wonderful poems found at “readwritepoem”

     

    Sunrise Requiem

    …this poem was inspired by two wonderful lines of refrain provided by Michelle McGrane

     

     

    Sunrise Requiem

    •

    the afterimage has yet to dim
    emblazoned in my mind
    the sun fresh on the horizon
    my eyes follow your graceful silhouette
    moving away from me
    the taste of you sweet on my lips

    if you are lucky
    you will carry one night with you

    my gaze held fast
    until there was nothing
    just the rising sun
    the cruel sun
    that disrupted our tender night
    with the promise of another
    but no warning
    how very dark and deep

    if you are lucky
    you will carry one night with you

    no warning of the bitter cold
    that would set upon my world
    no warning that this sunrise
    would burn into my heart
    our final sunrise
    the taste of you sweet on my lips

    if you are lucky
    you will carry one night with you

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2009

     

    …wonderful poems found at “readwritepoem”