Author: Rob Kistner

Original DDE™ art: “Stark & Thorny” by: rob kistner © 2/10/26

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in a world gone grey
joy suffers

eyesight
sans trichromatic vision
is a world gone grey
stark—
gone harsh

without color
the world would whisper
speaking only in hushes—
it would not sing

morning would still arrive
but only as a pale imposter

a cold agreement
between light and shadow

no blue
to calm the soul

no jeweled sunrise
to convince the sky it mattered

no green
to teach leaves the word—
alive

faces would be written
in contour and shadow
no blush—
emotion measured by angle alone

flowers would still open
but only as shapes
only in proportions

oceans would forget their seduction
becoming vast thoughts
rather than promises

fire would lose urgency
reduced to motion
without warning

memory would thin
we would remember events
not the brilliance of celebration

birthdays as dates
not the vibrance of parties
or the wrappings of gifts
or the rainbow icings of cake

in such a world
color would become myth—
a rumored miracle
whispered by light
to anyone still listening

and inside light itself
color would wait silent—
unspoken

in this colorless quiet
we might finally notice
how much the world leans on us—
not just to see it
but to feel it—
alive

<~>

rob kistner © 2/10/26

Poetry at: dVerse

Original DDE™ art: “Moon’s Flower” by: rob kistner © 2/9/26

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pines settle — quietly resting
moonlight paints the lake
stars ripple upon the surface
stirred by the night breezes

a flower floats gently
mirrored amidst the night sky
that softly blankets
this world of dreams

a loon echos into the silence
calling me to sleep

<~>

rob kistner © 2/9/26

Poetry at: dVerse

Original DDE™ art: “Water’s Call” by: rob kistner © 2/5/26

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the water falls — where silence grew
a silver thread the forest knew
now carves its song in shaded stone
to your troubadour heart, it calls — come home

cold mist drifts soft through cedar’d air
a hymn repeats — a whispered prayer
the cliff confides the truth it knew—
the water falls — where silence grew

each drop recalls the mountain’s bone
its patient work — by centuries hone
the darkened wall — current made true
a silver thread the forest knew

cascade resounds — forest refrains
a vow renewed by falling rains
the gorge replies in timeless tone
it carves its song in shaded stone

you stand, undone, and understand
the gentle reach of this open hand
why no matter how far you roam—
to your troubadour heart, it calls — come home

Original DDE™ art: “Jimi“ by: rob kistner © 2/5/26

<~>
rob kistner © 2/5/26

Poetry at: dVerse

Original DDE™ art: “Chasing Simile” by: rob kistner © 2/4/26

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simile is like a ladder
pretending to be a metaphor
like a wink that forgot the joke
like saying this is that
while nervously crossing fingers

it behaves like a bridge
made of comparisons
like duct tape for meaning
like a dog
dragging yesterday’s newspaper
in today

simile is as polite as a knock
on language’s door
as clumsy as a metaphor
with training wheels
as helpful as pointing
saying that—
but pointing sideways.

it stacks itself like mirrors
facing mirrors
like a thought
wearing another thought’s coat

like explaining love with weather
or silence with snow
or itself with itself—

which is a whole lot
like chasing your tail
and calling it clarity

which
in thinking about it
is a bit like madness…

Such fun!

<~>

rob kistner © 2/4/26

Poetry at: dVerse

Original DDE™ art: “Creation Storm — I & II” by: rob kistner © 2/3/26

 

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like a Kansas flatland twister
the act of creating
is contained chaos—

all may seem peaceful
but a storm is coming—

a storm of arriving ideas
thoughts and visions
pitching and spinning—
beating against the tried and true…
ricocheting off the status quo…
ripping the roof off the mundane—

new images
colliding in midair—
bursting like skyrockets

unfinished phrases
twisting in the mind
tugging at the soul’s treeline—
terms and concepts
rivering forth—
a potent and most beautiful chaos

attention splinters
scatters wildly
the pulse quickens
as if the mind
must outrun itself
to find the calm—
to find the ”eye”

then something ignites
like a time bomb
as time reshuffles

momentum takes over
as I am pulled upward
then inward—
down blurred corridors of my mind
where light narrows
as intention sharpens—

thoughts—
concepts—
and insights—
that I’m shocked are mine
begin making themselves known—
like someone vaguely familiar
wandering into a candle’s light

it is here I greet them
befriend them
and become intimately acquainted

outer world dissolves…
clocks lose relevance…
hunger becomes theoretical…

the body is reduced to breath—
and hands
hands become tools
tools become possibilities

I cease resisting

inside this whirling
cone of creation
energy feels boundless—
thought welded to action—
each idea feeding the next
at impossible speed

like a raft in a rapids—
like rain off a rooftop

words arrive faster than doubt
color…
form…
cadence…
phrase—

everything aligns
everything insists

I do not notice fatigue

I do not notice time

eventually the grip loosens

I break free
unsure if it’s morning or night
though I am not concerned
just curious
and fascinated

the room reappears

the body makes its demands—
…water
…food
…care
—much rest

I attend to them slowly
still glowing

because I have returned
carrying something solid
something wonderful

a nearly finished work
…shaped
…resonant
…breathing—
alive

evidence of what I created
evidence of where I’ve been

and why—
I will go again

<~>

rob kistner © 2/1/26

Poetry at: dVerse

Original DDE™ art: “Misty Mountain” by: rob kistner © 2/2/26

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The arrival was gentle, respecting status. In the foothills of western Oregon, rain wasn’t an event, but a condition — something the forests gratefully expected. I walked the short road through town, past the closed café and the post office clock that never hurried — letting the moist air caress my face, drops settling upon my cap and jacket.

By midafternoon the rain found its rhythm. It stitched the forest together, thread by silver thread, darkening bark. It loosed the heady petrichor of the region — blended conifer, moss, limestone, and fertile earth. Falling water speaks in several dialects here — on leaves, on needles, on tin, on the slow creek that remembers everything.

That evening the rain thinned but didn’t leave. It lingered as mist, as mountain breath. Lights glowed warm behind windows, and the forested hills leaned closer, keeping me warm and peaceful in my sleep. I dreamed the rain was not falling, rather embracing, and quietly listening — perhaps somewhere that infamous wood chuck did too.

rain kisses cedars
firs embrace the sky-waterm
soil welcomes its friend

<~>

rob kistner © 2/2/26

Poetry at: dVerse

“Embracing Calliope — the muse of poetry and song.”

Original DDE™ art: “Words & Music” by: rob kistner © 1/27/26

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my heart lives
where meaning and feeling
are lovers

where sound turns visible
where notes cast their own shadows

where words have wings
and drift across the mindscape

where poetry emerges—
not explaining
but listening hard enough
for meaning to trust it

curiosity pauses
just long enough to hear
as a spark ignites—
and cold logic loosens jurisdiction

uncertainty murmurs…
courage counters…
creation converts diction…
imagination leans in—
crisply attentive

then music enters

a pulse vibrating beneath language
an ecstatic breath—
but strong and steady

vibrant tonal harmonics
can open wide visions—
visions beyond the logical plane
visions traversing the heartscape

they teach the body electric
how to remember joy…
how to comfort sorrow…
how to embrace truth…
how to align with the laylines
of the universe— alive

pulling tempo and rhythm
from the prime temporal pulse

here
where sound becomes color

where a chord opens a door
and language steps through
naked and barefoot—
seeking balance and place

music breathes—
a pulse under life’s ribs
a gravity that tilts expectation

here
rhythm teaches time to bend—
a bass line steadies the spine
and that poetry
becomes lyric
that kindles a light

that loosens the knot of time
freeing logic—
spilling letters

vowels glow like embers
consonants strike sparks
and silence is never empty—
it’s only waiting

fantasy isn’t escape here
it’s fuel

I walk inside imagined weather—
storms of harmony…
cascading chorus…
volatile verse…
rivers of rhyme…
seeking clearings of grace

seeking the spirit of Calliope—
the beautiful song
the commanding word

here
the mystery sharpens
not fades

here
living with this peculiar heart
means everything—

here
everything is tuned
to joyful wonder—
to transcendent discovery

here
the magic of poetry and song
swing open the crystal gates
to the supereal realm of beauty—
beauty at the beat of life

and the beat
of that special heart
thumps and thrums to
that same solid tempo

<~>

rob kistner © 1/27/26

Poetry at: dVerse

Original DDE™ art: “In Dreams — I & II” by: rob kistner © 1/27/26

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I feel the rise
lifting at will
ceiling thinning into sky
then blowing away

I am leaving—
leaving the weight of sleep
without resistance
as if permission has always been

below me the room remains
wholly intact
and there am I
still sleeping soundly—
body folded carefully—
entrusted for safekeeping
while I travel beyond

I actually see myself
feel myself—
airborne and weightless
in flight—
rolling
spinning
flipping
somersaulting in the sky

flight that carries no fear
only an exciting lightness
as rooftops drift beneath me

then I’m over treetops
streets loosening their grip

then the city lights
falling away—
then the entire global earth
comes breathtakingly in view
further and further away

the distance—
exhilarating
and somehow
fulfilling…
a relief

I am not escaping danger
but escaping confinement
escaping restriction

the unnamed weight of staying
gravity disguised as restraint—
the familiar calling
asking me to remain
to be smaller

from above
everything makes sense—
…paths visible
…choices gentler
…even mistakes reduced to puzzles
puzzles to be solved—
a map of learning

all seen from a distance
that distance
becoming ever greater

eventually I grow concerned
feeling uncertain I can return
that I can descend again

suddenly
the feeling of falling—
but any fear subsides—
I feel joy

I am carrying sky inside me
returning to the body below
safely
I know—
changed
but intact

knowing this release exists
knowing I can fly—
and can do so when needed again…

Original DDE™ art: “Dream Flying” by: rob kistner © 1/27/26

…a great feeling of calm
a sensation of warmth blankets me
as I drift again into quiet

I am back
deeply satisfied
and quite safe—

…I experienced this amazing
nocturnal journey
quite frequently through childhood

but the magic was stripped away
by the pressures of adulthood

but I still remember it—
vividly!

<~>

rob kistner © 1/27/26

Poetry at: dVerse

Original DDE™ art: “So… Where?” by: rob kistner © 1/26/26

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vacation dictates
we highlight the best sights

from meaningful browsing
boisterous planning ignites

focus broadens
destinations widen
doubt loosens jurisdiction

imagination sparks flare
heating conversation

conflict murmurs
budget counters
logic gains diction—

final itinerary
resolves destinations

family agrees—
some frustrations

vacation fixation
challenges relaxation

<~>

rob kistner © 1/23/26

Poetry at: dVerse

 

The final line from each stanza from Billy Collins’ “Fortgetfulness”

Original DDE™ art: “Losing Traction” by: rob kistner © 1/22/26

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forgetting begins as a kindness — you’d soon like to go away
a soft eraser rubbed lightly at the edge of every day
names loosening their grip on familiar faces
home and car keys laid down in too many odd ball places
a sentence abandoned — unlanded… unfinishd slack
staring blankly in the street — where’d I park the vehicle
days filled with ghosts of almost’s – that’ never go away
the mind-glitching pause… not empty — just off track
whose memories are slippery-slidin — slick as a girkin pickle
who have even forgotten how to swim… and how to ride a bicycle

its thoughts widening slowly, not like loss — but like distance
like a field once crossed — now unrecognized from a hill
visions that once drove us — now just no longer will
stories repeated absent-mindedly until we’re not certain why
details thinning — leaving only vague facts without feeling
recall how her voice sounded — not how much she knows
the instincts remembering before the mind goes
step by careful step — less recollection each time
the future left swinging open like a door that should close
well on your own way to oblivion where you will join those

for whom even the names of their children get blurred
dates soften into seasons — seasons into light
the past is a handful of tones and textures — a lil’ bit’a fright
a dark lamp in a window — title of that song you just heard
something important you were meant to carry
but set down ‘cause it was heavy — fearing it’d fall
language itself grows hesitant — syllables stumble n’stall
meaning drifting ahead without effective explanation
like somebody in a flashback you don’t recognize at all
whose name begins with an “L” — as far as you can recall

no need to feel remorse — say wha… oh yes — of course
no need to hold back — no need to retrieve the “what for”
the mind’s traveling lighter than it ever has before
floating free of lists — passwords — no anniversaries
carried by an instinct older than most memories
older than fears that once made you shiver
forgetting is not failure — it’s peace… why deny it
not erasure — not loss — it’s chaos  now made quiet
no resistance or regret — gone… every sliver
it has floated away — down a dark mythological river

<~>

rob kistner © 1/22/26

Poetry at: dVerse

Original DDE™ art: “Painting The Canyon” by: rob kistner © 1/20/26

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January leans over the Clackamas
its icy rapids
speaking in bright curt syllables—

silver over cold stone
as it sculps its way west
from deep in the Cascade Mountains

snow quilts the gorge
as layer upon hushed layer
sparkle beneath towering lodgepole
and white western pine—
standing like sentinels

dark spires
in a frozen marbled cathedral
of crisp breath and frost

the sun sinks low
and the canyon ignites—

not in flame
but in fierce color

vermilion
molten gold
violet smoke
cerulean

amber flaring
over the rims of shadow

light skids
across bald glacial boulders
slick as molten pigment
on a wild
unframed canvas

even the tumbling river
catches vivid fire

each ripple a shard
of burning glass

each rapid a brief star
bursting and gone

shadows lengthen—
black and deep charcoal
pencil across pristine snow

the roar of whitewater
seems to soften
as if listening to itself—
as if remembering older winters

for one bright moment
the world becomes an abstract—
knife-cut acrylic edges
that peak and flash
sharp and wind-honed

we stand
stunned in the radiance

untouched
as daylight scatters
like sparks downstream—
glinting golden

until gentle night
gathers them safely
into its coddling hands—
blanketing them in darkness

<~>

rob kistner © 1/20/26

Poetry at: dVerse

”When time and distance stand between”

Original DDE™ art: “Heart’s Confession” by: rob kistner © 1/19/26

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Mist drifted through the old orchard as Jeremy observed his breaths, each one a heartfelt apology lifting from his chest. He believed memory lived in the soil, that every footstep conjured the past. Tonight he walked barefoot, letting cold earth speak. Near the center row of trees, he buried a jar of confessions, folded slips of regret, folded prayers.

The moon hovered like a listening ear. He knelt and murmured, “bury me with the lies I’ve told”. The sentence floated upward, a fragile moth of sound — carried on his breath. Jeremy felt lighter, as if truth were not a blade but a doorway. Wind threaded the branches, braiding silver through leaves.

He imagined his future self finding this relique, smiling bittersweetly at the memories. Forgiveness, he decided, was a season, not an event — something that ripened slowly. Fruit after frost, waiting to be gathered.

<~>

rob kistner © 1/15/26

Poetry at: dVerse