Original DDE™ art: “Western Tanager” — by: rob kistner © 3/9/26
—-<§>—-
the breeze speaks first
then the birch answers
with a gentle wave of branches
suddenly
a restless Tanager lifts
taking flight
as if the sky had called its name
I remain below
feet rooted in gravity
studying the freedom
of that brief upward decision
<~>
rob kistner © 03/9/26
colony / rattling / still / lose / crunch / life / fits / hunch / scan / packages / grasping / chains
Original DDE™ art: “Wobblingly Woozy” — by: rob kistner © 3/9/26
—-<§>—-
scan of my beeping phone — Amazon Fresh at 4:00 AM
text glowing — a delivery — frozen groceries on my stoop
packages under the porch light — bulging paper bags—
breathing cold air — I step softly onto my quiet deck
still — the street sleeps while my hushed door opens
my front light waking to extinguish the darkness
colony of simple shapes flank the wooden porch-planks
brown bags with handles standing patiently waiting
hunch of caution murmurs somewhere in my stomach
balance lately has not been a sure companion
lose my focus — suddenly I awkwardly fall backward
when reaching carelessly for the next grocery bag
rattling my nerves when my damned heel catches—
fridge doors are just not a soft place to land
crunch of stiff cardboard box folding underfoot
is followed by my tailbone sharply meeting tile
life compresses to a flash-bang of excruciating pain
my shrill shrieks filling the humming kitchen air
fits of unbridled expletives erupt spontaneously
indescribable pain spreads throughout my butt
grasping for counter to steady the spinning room
until the floor releases its claim to my gluteus
chains of stars still floating aloft in my head—
I try putting groceries away — wobblingly woozy
<~>
Original DDE™ art: ”Gettin’ Too Old” by: rob kistner © 3/9/26 rob kistner © 2/26/26
Didn’t realize it was my time — I’d missed the EXIT sign…
Original DDE™ art: “I Wonder…” — by: rob kistner © 3/6/26.
—-<§>—-
somewhere
in the journals of life
a number was written—
was written beside my name—
a quiet prediction
made by statisticians
and the calendars of time—
my shelf life
seventy seven years…
seventy eight—
seventy nine perhaps
a tidy place for me
to fold my map—
leave—
and they close my door
but…
my door never closed—
well — never stayed closed…
instead
it reopened—
I stepped through
walking on
beneath fluorescent skies—
my breath again moving
in and out—
so I move on—
beyond my use by date
…day after day
…week after week
…month after month
…now a couple years passed by
I missed the announcement
to please exit quietly—
so I remain—
making my way…
like an old dog
that refuses to leave the porch
now
like an old dog
my bones complain
like old wood in winter
my stomach grumbles—
flatulence has become
an annoying friend
fatigue drapes itself
over my afternoons
the earth’s begun to wobble a bit
so I watch my steps—
which are fewer now
the sun still rises
with stubborn ceremony
clouds drift the same
as they did when I was twenty—
wind still moves
through the branches
high in the trees…
as if practicing nature’s musical—
birthday candles still sell—
I just sit here
wondering—
not why pain exists…
not why time carries on…
not about its heavy gravity…
not about angels on pinheads…
but why
my small flame of breath
still leans toward tomorrow
no answer arrives
only morning after morning
opening its quiet hand—
placing another hour in mine
as if it had always meant to
I feel my road should have ended—
I now travel borrowed miles
I suspect
there was once a ledger somewhere—
a neat column of years
of miles
allotted to me—
my expiration date
a careful estimate
drawn up by invisible clerks
of probability
that column must’ve ended—
but my road
has not
it keeps stretching forward—
through ordinary days…
through their fluctuating length…
through season upon season…
through rain tapping upon the roof…
through the soft blue television light
of insomnia’s midnights
my body still carries
a caravan of complaints—
bones creak—
my recall is at times
a lost distracted child—
energy wanders off
like a tired guest
still
my heart—
that stubborn drummer—
continues its slow dirge…
sometimes in irregular rhythm
inside its quiet cavern of ribs
I walk unsteadily
very carefully now
through each morning
the air tastes the same
as it did in younger seasons—
cold…
bright…
intoxicating
birds continue crossing the sky
without consulting any statistics
light spills through windows
flooding across my floor
day after day—
increasing and decreasing
with extravagant generosity—
time continues
upon its relentless way—
but I realize
these extra miles I enjoy
are not owed to me—
they are only
borrowed distance—
in borrowed time
unexpected road…
beyond the place
where my map was meant to end—
where my journal was meant to close
so I move on—
…gently
…gratefully
…awkwardly
…and most curious—
like every human
who has ever
walked this beautiful earth—
wondering
—just how far
my road ahead
is willing to stretch—
how far the horizon
is willing
to keep stepping back—
how much time
have I truly been allotted—
…when does my journal finally close?
I wonder…
<~>
rob kistner © 03/7/26
Original DDE™ art: “Endless Highway Blues” — by: rob kistner © 3/6/26.
—-<§>—-
cold van coughed awake outside another dim hall
for years now we been climbin’ this rock’n’roll hill
I tune my damned strings standin’ on the echoing empty stage
you sit memorizing lyrics on the dimm’d stage-front ledge
nearly 30 years now of this thunder-drummin’ big beat
our busted guitar cases betray what we’ve been about
our sweat droplets sparkle in colored gel’d stage lights
our sound climb’n in a roar into night club lofts
the magic smoke curl’n upward — crowd surges ’n shouts
sweet riffs just keep rise’n higher as the crowd-mind shifts
some nights the gig has our soul energy wildly stirrin’
some morning-mirrors return two ragged faces stare’n
your voice always softens the roar of a restless crowd
as my les paul ripps out raw with the rocker’s creed
we criss-cross this wide land tote’n battered gear
still chase’n the golden promise of the perfect gig
young bands arrive dreamin’ — bright with spunk’n’spark
we smile’n watch’em burn on — with our know’n smirk
along endless highways and in broken shabby motel rooms
the songs keep breathing hope — so the heart still roams
we carry mic chords, amps n’guitars in sore tired hands
following the siren’s echoes of our damned stardom plans
when the amps fall quiet as lights come up in the empty’n hall
…askin’ ourselves will we ever make it — believin’ we might still
<~>
My band: StoneFox and I (on left)
<~>
rob kistner © 03/5/26
I added this last song because miss M makes me cry…
Original DDE™ art: “The Light We Carry – 1 & 2” — by: rob kistner © 3/4/26.
—-<§>—-
suppose one day
the people of earth awaken
and war has become
a forgotten language
museums hold rusted rifles
the way they now hold stone tools—
artifacts of an early mind
that had not yet learned
how to live together
could the earth finally learn
the long discipline of peace
imagine the planet turning
through its dark ocean of stars
with no nations sharpening steel—
no sirens climbing the night air
no young faces traded
for the arithmetic of war
cities would glow softly
like lanterns beside a river
markets would open with the sun
Original DDE™ art: “The Light We Carry – 3” by: rob kistner © 3/4/26
children would inherit a language
where the word enemy
had grown dusty with disuse
is such a world possible
or only a fragile dream
spoken by poets
and weary historians
a world
where the night skys
seems relieved—
where stars burning quietly
over a planet
that has finally lowered its fists
but peace
once found
would be fragile—
…like glass
…or frost
…or the wing of a moth
how would such a world
safely protect itself
not through power
power always hungers—
power devours
markets would open with the sun
Original DDE™ art: “The Light We Carry – 4“ by: rob kistner © 3/4/26
perhaps peace begins
much smaller than a planet
perhaps the guardians of peace
would be ordinary people
awake to their responsibility
parents teaching children
how easily anger multiplies
artists reminding nations
of their shared humanity
poets and writers
planting questions
where ill conceived certainty
once stood as the norm
peace might survive
only if earth’s citizens
learned to recognize
the first shadow of cruelty—
before it gathers weight
jnside each person
there is a small light—
not loud
not heroic—
only steady
the quiet light
that refuses cruelty
the patient light
that listens before judging
if enough of those lights
were kept alive—
…in kitchens
…in classrooms
…on sidewalks and buses—
their glow might gather
a slow constellation
rising across the human world—
a beautiful family oh peace
markets would open with the sun
Original DDE™ art: “The Light We Carry – 5“ by: rob kistner © 3/4/26
then the earth itself
might begin to shine differently
its cities bright
not with power—
but with understanding
with knowledge
yet…
if we reached such a moment
how would we guard it
peace cannot truly be locked
inside treaties
it survives only
when those inner lights
P
are tended daily—
when people remember
how easily darkness grows
in neglected corner
even in that careful world
adversaries would linger.
not a nations
not an ideologies—
something older
the restless appetite
that sometimes rises
in the human spirit—
…the desire to possess
…to dominate
…to believe one’s own story
is the center of the earth—
and even then
one truly critical danger would remain—
…not an army
…not a border
…not a cult or ism
only the old shadows
waiting in the human mind—
…envy
…fear
…the hunger for power—
…for more—
resentful covet
restless winds
chaotic winds
winds capable of
extinguishing the small lights
we carry within us
so a peaceful planet
would never be
a finished work—
impossible
Original DDE™ art: “The Light We Carry – 5“ by: rob kistner © 3/4/26
it would be a living sky
of human lights—
each person responsibleui
for keeping its heart-flame
clear
to help illuminate
this world of light—
of peace
it could become a garden
that every generation—
…tills
…tends
…and protects
with patient hands—
pulling weeds
as they learn—
…the language of forests
…the rhythm of rivers
…the pulse of nature
how its heartbeat
is like unto their own
because the ultimate danger
to a peaceful planet
will always be…
the unattended heart
<~>
rob kistner © 03/04/26
Original DDE™ art: “Alone” — by: rob kistner © 3/03/26
—-<§>—-
dawn settles softly
around her quiet chair
the sunlight
remembers her warmth
nothing moves
yet something lingers
love’s breath
held hushed in the room
I reach for a cup
I remember her hands
her hands steadied mornings
her hands soothed my longing
her hands quieted my soul
time carries her voice
like dust
like dust in a cascade sunrise
like dust visible only
if light tilts just right
light cresting mount hood
I thought sadness was absence
absence is not sadness
sadness is a presence
without weight
sadness is an empty chair pulled close
sadness is a chair no one sits in
sadness is a lone morning mug
sadness is a heartbeat
a heartbeat felt in stillness
her laughter survives
in my habits of silence
her smile survives
in the waking sun
her soulful essence survives
in the way I pause
before speaking her name
what is gone
our dream is gone
our future is gone
what now lives
is her tenderness
her tenderness still breatths
breaths beneath everything
<~>
rob kistner © 3/03/26
Original DDE™ art: “The Invisible Hand I~II” — by: rob kistner © 3/2/26.
—-<§>—-
Last night the sky over the Pacific Northwest felt unusually clear, as if the brisk night had polished it. I stepped outside with my cane and let the reach of any ambient light fall away, giving the dark its full authority. The night set its gentle embrace upon me. Above my head was a cacophony of lights.
I noticed the stars held solid in their spacing — they endured their endless rank. Somewhere beyond their patient burn, beyond even the thin milk of the visible galaxies — something held everything together. It knew perfectly this brilliant scatter. I sensed an aliveness, felt a breathing presence. I was awed by the essence of the enormity. But save an occasional perceived twinkle, or streak of shooting star, or the slow lit slip of something manmade — all was still.
In Life on Mars, Tracy K. Smith writes of dark matter — the unseen force that keeps galaxies ordered. They say most of the universe is made of what we cannot detect. As if embraced by an invisible hand. I think of the quiet forces in a life — love, joy, sadness, anger. These are all unseen, but they add weight to life. We are held more by what we cannot see, than by what we can.
dark matter holds true
galaxies spinning in space
the unseen balance
<~>
rob kistner © 3/2/26
Original DDE™ art: “Undaunted” by: rob kistner © 2/26/26
—-<§>—-
rain needles the canvas dome
each drop a small drumbeat
on the skin of air
the balloon heaves upward — stubborn
ropes creaking like old timbers
but the integrity of form holds
he stands in the wicker cradle—
bearded, bald, rainslicked
eyes narrowed against the lash of sky
lightning stitches white fire
through torn gray clouds—
threading the world to its danger
he lifts his fist into the thunder
not in wasted anger
but in absolute refusal to yield
wind shoves the craft sideways—
the burner roars back
a furnace answering the storm
below rivers and fields dissolve into shadow
roads vanish like unfinished sentences
the earth relinquishing its claim
the land breaks into rocks and black water
the far ridge an edge he must cross
no place to settle, no safe step offered
he has a critical crossing to make
a promise tied somewhere beyond
this wall of rain and noise
water drips from his glasses and beard
cold threads his jaw flesh and mouth
a line drawn firm and steady against retreat
fear moves through him like a ghost
old doubts rising from some left behind life
a scrap of doubt trying to take hold
the wicker basket shudders and trembles
the wind turns wild — chaotic
still he stands
he rises — bold as flame
carried through fracture and flash—
undaunted by the sky’s fierce argument
beyond the storm’s torn veil
somewhere past the roaring dark
the promise waits — calling him on
<~>
rob kistner © 2/26/26
When sanity is silent — insanity speaks…
Original DDE™ art: “Tattered & Battered” by: rob kistner © 2/26/26
—-<§>—-
the union was never iron
only threads of perspectives
pulled taut across a loom of equality
it was a highway to hope — a new future
filled with promise and possibility
stretched far out before us
but that bright promising highway
now seems shattered — damaged
deeply potholed with lies
ballots once whispered hope
like wind through tall grass—
each blade leaning toward consent
now the manipulative hands of a few
threaten the sanctity of the ballot box
trying to fold voices into silence
now a few want to violate that sanctity—
to suppress the true voice of the people
and the truth for which it stands
courthouse hold their breath—
marble pillars remember
the weight of honest footsteps
laws bend first in language—
then in practice—
finally in the quiet of fear
now our lady liberty is blinded—
who used to welcome those in need
now only those deemed appropriate
neighbors lower their flags—
not in surrender
but in frazzled uncertainty
truth is sand in the gears—
ground finer each day
by the engine of corrupt power
Original DDE™ art: “This Guy Needs A Job” by: rob kistner © 2/26/26
when the sane and the just
sadly fall quiet and complacent
the unjust ones among us will rule
still, the shredded fabric of hope listens
for the now muffled sound of the brave
crying out for freedom and justice for all
because a union survives
not in the few’s crushing grip
but in the many’s courageous hands…
that refuse to unclasp—
don’t let go of love
don’t give up!
<~>
rob kistner © 2/26/26
Original DDE™ art: “Soarin’ Stanley McGee” by: rob kistner © 2/21/26
—-<§>—-
there once was a ski jumper — Stanley McGee
who leapt with a holler of… “hey — look at me!”
he shot from the ramp like a sneeze from a cold—
then into the heavens untethered and bold
he skimmed over treetops — clean outta sight
like a rocket achieving suborbital flight
he sailed on the thermals — both arms outspread
and tickled the clouds with the top of his head
the judges kept watching as upward he rose
is he ever comin’ down again — nobody knows
parents grew nervous — young children cried
“helluva jump” they said — “can’t be denied”
so if you pass through when the north winds begin
we’ll point to the sky with a frost-bitten grin
“he hasn’t come down yet — and he left long ago—
we think he’s in orbit — not really sure though”
this probably happened — ain’t spreadin’ no jive
though my mem’ry is spotty — its mostly alive
as Kurt Vonnegut said it in Slaughterhouse-Five
“…all this happened — more… or less”. 😉
<~>
There are many hungers…
Original DDE™ art: “Please…” by: rob kistner © 2/23/26
—-<§>—-
hunger waits
at the edge of sleep
as I lay my head
on wanting’s pillow
folding darkness
around my stomach—
then toss’n’turn
under a blanket
of longing
I rise to rehearse
the feel of fullness
my hunger calls
through quiet rooms—
still…
nothing answers
<~>
rob kistner © 2/23/26
Original DDE™ art: “A Walk With Our Father” by: rob kistner © 2/21/26
—-<§>—-
morning lifts its pale shroud
as a new day enfolds the valley
morning’s mist is loosening
from cedar—
redwood—
from fir
the voice of water sparkles
as it rushes between boulders—
worn smooth as memory
the rising sun ignites symbols
in spider silk and moss
which enwrap the willing bark
in their soft embrace
boot tracks lead
where we are meant to go—
our voices low
we follow
the path bends ahead
toward the rush of water
white fury striking rock—
spray lifting high
into the newborn rays—
flashing like diamonds
in the chill early sky
in my left hand
I grip my walking staff
in her steady right
my sister carefully clutches—
our father…
his ashes
in a beautiful copper urn
balancing—
I spear the path ahead
as we retrace boot tracks—
echoes of those
who passed before—
of our dad
whose memory
now feels stolen from us—
by time
in breath and footfall
we are keeping our promise
to our cherished father—
to his precious memory
step after step
through shadow and light
he walks with us today
we are on our way
to my dad’s favorite spot—
now our favorite…
by dusk — we will be there
the solitary trail
beckons us beyond
the forest stirs a chill—
a shiver
as we finally arrive
the moon is rising
shining through branches—
a pale witness
well dad
we made it
we’re here
with you
like we promised
at this bend
the river tumbles quietly—
a whispered prayer…
a gentle…
tearful—
goodbye dad
<~>
rob kistner © 2/22/26
“Questions about age and wisdom…”
Original DDE™ art: “Light Across The Lake” by: rob kistner © 2/19/26
—-<§>—-
what first captures the eye
the quick brightness of youth
or the effortless grace of wisdom
who turns toward a beautiful face
and does not see and feel
the brief advantage it carries
how long can beauty
trade on charm
before the market closes
when beauty fades from the mirror
does perception sharpen
with that distraction lifted
what useful is learned
when the mirror no longer
negotiates on our behalf
who learns the weight of silence
the usefulness of patience
the mercy hidden in restraint
what radiance grows from endurance
from losses carried
and kindness chosen anyway
Original DDE™ art: “Waiting“ by: rob kistner © 2/21/26
what seasons wait
invisibly within the bones
patient as seeds beneath winter soil
is there a wisdom
carried in weathered hands
remembering storms skin forgot
who hears the deeper music
that follows grief, love, mistakes—
and the long labor of forgiveness
is there a steady voice
when pummeled by grief
then left shrouded in sorrow
is youth a bright candle
and age a shielded lamp
held against the winds of time
looking back ‘cross the lake of time
was youthful beauty the moon on the water
and aged wisdom the light on the dock
when the years
finish their accounting
what is priceless that remains
<~>
rob kistner © 2/19/26
I dare you to listen to Joni here and not shed a tear…
Memories of my muse…
Original DDE™ art: “My Muse” by: rob kistner © 2/18/26
—-<§>—-
she arrived
this being of the ages
this muse
this nymph…
this spirit of the land—
like a vision
I hadn’t realize I’d petitioned—
like a beautiful day
like enveloping fair weather
I did not know
how much I needed
warm rain
across sunlit stone
cedar smoke
drifting through morning air
she—
beautiful as in all creation
her hair
the deep amber glow
of raw gold
in low light-
or catching fire
when ignited by the sun
in a warm sunset’s embers
on a late afternoon
deep in September
when she turned
she radiated warmth
as if morning…
evening…
all the day itself
lived in her—
like a kindled harth
her laughter—
moved like wind
through tall summer grass—
bending nothing
touching everything
her voice
smooth
like the feel of fine silk—
a tone
like the elixir of gods
she needed not shout
she shared wisdom
with velvet certainty
she walked
as though the land
recognized her returning—
let sigh at her passing—
slender, lithe, unhurried
any lights near
lean toward her passage
loved by language
she spoke with the calm certainty
of one who has listened deeply—
…to grief
…to conflicts
…to solutions
…to seduction
…to beauty
…to art
…to love
nothing in her asks permission
nothing in her forgets delight
nothing in her forgets gratitude
nothing in her forgets to share
her intelligence moves through her
like light through clear water—
sensed before understood—
a glimmer in the eye—
a knowing curve
at the corner of her mouth
she teaches me—
…the names of birds,
…the patience of roots,
…how the earth listens
before it answers
at twilight her voice softens
braiding stories into ember glow—
I gather each syllable
like sparks against the dark
wanting their warmth to remain
when she walks beside me
the ground feels steadier…
my footsteps lighter…
as if they have finally
found their proper rhythm
at dusk
her hand in mine
is both question
and shelter—
the world grows quieter around us
her lips at my neck — her breath
…is cedar
…rain
…sunshine
…firelight
it is the pull and power
of the surf
crashing on the shore
the slow warmth between us
rose like tidewater
in moonlight’s silver—
unhurried…
certain…
returning again and again
stars appeared
in their light
her eyes
were younger than yesterday—
but held the truth of ages
a history older than sorrow
belied by her youthful aura
but her heart—
deep
…with a tenderness
wide enough
to always call me home
but our time was fleeting
now she is gone
still—
I have so much to give
so much to learn…
as I ever yearn—
I will forever
dream her return
<~>
rob kistner © 3/03/26
Original DDE™ art: “Tumblin’” by: rob kistner © 2/16/26
—-<§>—-
The laundromat on Aurora hummed with fluorescent patience, each dryer tumbling private histories into anonymous warmth. Mara fed quarters to the machine, watching the glass blur socks, denim, and his blue scarf — she had decided maybe to keep.
Steam rose from her paper cup, carrying the scent of burnt coffee, cinnamon, and bad memories. Her mother used to insist, lips forget what they have kissed, once enough ordinary days stack between — as if time were a shelf where longing could be misfiled.
Across the aisle, a child pressed her palms to another dryer door, laughing at the kaleidoscopic spin. When Mara’s cycle ended, she folded the scarf, hesitated, then placed it into lost-and-found near the counter. Outside, buses sighed, traffic thrummed low. She stepped back into the drizzle, hands gripping her laundry basket. It, and her heart, a bit lighter — her world washed cleaner.
<~>
rob kistner © 2/16/26