rob kistner © 2021
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https://youtu.be/5Kahhl5Qhus
my mouth upon you
hungrily
oh lush plush pink lady
I bite you
firm but gentle
sweetly as ambrosia
you glisten
honeycrisp
trickle from my lips
you taste
golden delicious
tart as jonagold
tender flesh
so succulent
saucy treat sweetango
again I bite
with such delight
your tantalizing treasure
my soul’s afire
heady desire
such luscious juicy pleasure
rob kistner © 2021
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I was so horrified by what transpired in our nation’s capital yesterday that I set out to write a scathingly angry piece. However, it just got darker and darker still, the more I edited — and I was dragging myself under. So instead, I turned to blissful whimsy. I will return to being pissed off tomorrow.
a tear can cloud the brightest day
song will brush those clouds away
is not sadness just a passing state
but what melody can alleviate
a tune played true as voices ring
little sorrows flee from such display
thing is, too few will dare to sing
and thus succumb to much dismay
yet when life is lived in harmony
what sorrow you feel will quickly fade
joy shared in chorus works perfectly
it swells the soul in love’s serenade
is it not foolish to stem bliss’s bloom
to see naught but the dark and gloom
sing — let beautiful light the room
rob kistner © 2021
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Certainly one of my most favorite poets is Gary Snyder. He has inspired me for years to write about the natural wilderness, an endeavor that sparks the ecstatic in me. This short poem of his that follows in parenthesis, “How Poetry Comes To Me”, directly inspired me to write the poem that follows further below, “Why Poet”. I had been in discussion with members of a poetry group years ago. We were talking about where and how we find our muse. Holding in mind this poem by Gary, I wrote the first draft of “Why Poet”. I wrote this revision found here for this prompt.
© Gary Snyder
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fond of stumbling in
fumbling through
finding the way that’s mine
seduced by the clue
drawn to the fog
I seek the wonder
it withholds
my ears prick
to the distant sound
that calls
just beyond clarity
it is to this
my soul is pulled
because
down that path
around a curve
over a crest
hidden away
the truth dwells
rob kistner © 2021
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But my adult son and daughter have much life still to live. Watching the challenges they continue to encounter, fills me with much concern. However, seeing them embrace the ongoing changes so brilliantly, fills me with much hope. My 7-year-old grandson Alex, my son’s boy, while mildly confused by it all, and ready with questions, is maneuvering this new normal — resiliently.
I worry for his education, but he assures me he finds school online with his friends, “kinda fun PaPa!” He answers the zoom “school bell” on his laptop every morning with a smile. He is bursting with learning, always proud to share with me what new he knows today! He, with great support and nurturing from his father and mother, have shown PaPa — love finds a way.
rob kistner © 2021
To check out more poems at dVerse: CLICK HERE
what was the fire
that burned so bright
and raged so fierce
as to consume complete
that in its heat
and ferocity
could not sustain
your tenderness of youth
until it became
much too much
for you to bear
yet still I hear
your silken voice
rising
to joy
to freedom
to love
to lust and longing
to heartache
to impatience
to immortality
your soulful siren sound
calling from the rooftops
over new york city
so seductive
the breathless passion
the bliss
and sorrow
of bittersweet innocence
when your wonder
stirred to every mystery
and your spirit lit
to every spark
igniting the fury in your soul
so brightly it burned
filled with red yellow honey
sassafras and moonshine
in a roaring sweet blindness
an inferno of creativity
ultimately
to leave you spent
at the stony end
and so
crying angel
I think of you
sweet songstress
remembering
rob kistner © 2020
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you were there
the dismissive femme fatale
in this final edit
you took his cues
took his keys
took his shoes
took his leave
took his heart…
…took him apart
you took him for a fool
it wasn’t you didn’t want him
you said
you simply saw yourself
in a different movie
with a different ending
one that saw you
leave quietlyy alone
through the garden
alive with the fragrance of roses
and the joys of the lilly
and you said “I’d like, too,
to plant the sweet alyssum
that smells like honey
and peace”
and in this peaceful quiet
there would be
no long farewells
no broken hearts
at least
not yours
and the abandoned man
in the leather chair
had my face
had no expectations
made no demands
held you responsible
for nothing
nothing
and the night lark sang
and a silver tear
fell hard as steel
from his crystal’d cheek
which you collected in a sterling box
to toss into the freezing sea
for you had no need for tears
no need
you’d rolled the dice
but the bones was loaded
and you left the table
cashed in your winnings
climbed the winding stairs
silk purse in hand
his heart in your pocket
to place it at midnight
on your balcony rail
to watch it wither in the moonlight
he had no need for it
now
nor did you
anymore
nor most certainly
did you
no need
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this castle is most ominous
since becoming Overlord of the Realm
Zwénne has rejected our father’s example
as our father rejected him and his ways
no joy warms the hallways, or towers
this long proud and mighty old structure
now a soulless abode of dark magic
it has become cold and foreboding
a nest for perverse wing’d changlings
rumored deadly for those that dare enter
but I know they are not just rumors
there is undoubtedly a murderous evil
that dwells within its walls
raging jealousy — seething and vicious
since conjuring the spirit
of Döxys, the blood beast
and having been thus possessed
Zwénne has become bloodthirsty
mindlessly violent and cruel
now a ruthless predator
whom I have come to slay
would that this task were not mine
but I have been charged herewith
by the supreme council of wizards
Zwénne is my fallen elder brother
and by decree, under this 3rd moon
in the presence of his perverse court
by my hand alone, he must die
no turning back now, this must be done
and I must do it, but I am terrified
I hesitate at the heavy castle door
attempting to gain much needed composure
I slow my heartbeat, steady my breathing
I lift the iron latch, the lock clicks
the massive door unseats inwardly
this is it, fate has dealt the cards
I am both prisoner and executioner
trapped hopelessly in this horrible plot
I search my soul to find the courage
to take the life of my own flesh & blood
I swing the door open ever so gradually
eyes darting, mind racing, heart pounding
I step in…
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the hall clock chimes
it’s the hour of twilight
the chill of night settles
I sit warm in my inglenook
serene in the solitude
for I’m not alone
your sweet memory’s
come to visit
rob kistner © 2020
To check out more poems at dVerse: CLICK HERE
I see soaring ramparts
of sky-piercing mountains
forested tier upon tier
with enormous sitka spruce
scattered brewers
known as the weeping spruce
the most beautiful of the conifer
whose branches in summer
display sunlight
as a jeweler’s velvet
showcases a gem
and always beautiful fae Lauma
the earthen forest spirit
clad benevolent in glorious old growth
conifer robe — rich and regal green
she whispers
in wind-stirred
lawson cypress
towering ponderosa pine
and douglas fir
her enchantment
wafts down emerald climbs
to brush softly my cheek
in brisk spritely breeze
a heady fresh bouquet
of invigorating conifer
dashed tantalizingly
with tangerine-scented white fir
a fragrance rivaled only
by the loamy sweet spice
of the rough-tufted red cedar
and eternal the forest fae Lauma
clad benevolent in glorious old growth
conifer robe — rich and regal green
hair of silken white-spun cloud
the dogwood’s brilliant leaves
big-leaf maples
pendulous western maples
tight ranks of dark-green sadler oak
the golden shimmer
and crisp crackle
of white-barked aspen
these are the mountains
and forests of my oregon home
where I will someday return
to dance with the bewitching fae Lauma
eyes blue-green as the realm she dwells
clad benevolent in glorious old growth
conifer robe — rich and regal green
to share whispers of the mighty wood
and reclaim my high-mountain heart
now I have only
sweet recall
even in the faded light
of distant memory
these visions leave me breathless
rob kistner © 2020
To check out more poems at The Sunday Muse: CLICK HERE
so deliver me to snow-melt high-mountain waters
sweep me away in their crystal’d blue streams
tumble me joyous in their rolling white rapids
sail me over a waterfall grand as my dreams
now I’ve grown weary — my leave I will take
to rest in the peace of a deep mountain lake
rob kistner © 2020
To check out more poems at dVerse: CLICK HERE
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 nourishing waters
I am your vessel of deliverance
I am your song of ascension
rob kistner © 2020
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I’m awake here late this Christmas Eve, wrestling hard with what I believe is bunk about this Santa Claus thing, and here’s the evidence that I bring.
It’s said his reindeer all can fly, but did you ever see them in the sky? So he makes all the gifts just with elfs. Then what’s the stuff in stores on shelfs? And he lands his sleigh atop our roofs! Gotta’ ask you now — heard any hoofs? They insist, he’s down the chimney into the fireplace! He’s so rotund he wouldn’t fit that space. And, oh yeah, all year long he knows how I act? Sorry, but I overwhelmingly dispute this fact.
Regarding the truth of Santa Claus, all of this proof is full of flaws. Reading what I have just written, I now believe I know what’s true. Santa Claus lives in me and you.
rob kistner © 2020
To check out more poems at dVerse: CLICK HERE
approaching my new home
it was the first thing I noticed
the fasciating weathered old window
time after time
I watched through that window
as dad returned home from work
his face chill from a winter evening
or warm from the setting sun
always wonderfully gritty
day’s end stubble
would scrub my cheeks
as he’d gather me in his arms
coming through the door
factory permeating his khaki shirt
I love that puzzlingly pleasing smell
soon as he was in the house
he’d grab me up
tumble me to the floor
lift me high in the air
to fly
right out that magical window
I could always fly with my dad’s support
and the time he shielded me
behind his strong legs
as the neighbor’s rabid collie
came at me so suddenly
snarling at me through that old window
I was frightened but felt so safe
and those magical moments
as a child
every christmas eve
dad would take me by the hand
and walk me uptown
into our little burg
through the brisk air
under the bright lights of the season
and into each cozy store
everyone was celebrating
shop owners heaping candy
and assorted goodies on me
then we’d head back home
as we approached
I saw our christmas tree
somehow magically decorated
sparkling through that window
it was a christmas miracle
every year
santa had come
while we were gone
I was always confused
by the multiple santas
we would encounter on our little walk
but I was never confused
about my father’s love
then there’s the time
he introduced me to hardball
broke a pane in that old window
his rubbing away the tears
first time
I was hit by a pitch
and when he taught me to catch
then throw a football
the moment he handed me the keys
to his classic Chrysler
parked right outside that window
shiny — and now mine
when he cried at my graduation
and again at my marriage
and still again
at the birth
of each of his three grandchildren
I see so many incredible memories
floating toward and past me
gazing out that window
so many
a lifetime of love
captured and framed
by that weathered old window
dad lies quietly in bed now
under that worn old window
love folds frail on his timeworn face
and gentle tears
I add mine
falling
mixing with his
as I stand over him
leaning down to kiss his cheek
helpless
watching him go
sun embracing softly on his weary form
through that old window
I linger to kiss his stubbled face
one last time
“goodbye dad, you saved my life!”
rob kistner © 2020
To check out more poems at The Sunday Muse: CLICK HERE
I have set out now past noonday
the joy of discovery always palpable
when traveling in the wilderness
my senses saturated and alive
there falls a deep satisfaction
that permeates this afternoon
my soul is full my mind is clear
my heart bursts — overflowing
I journey until dusk descends
heady with wondrous expectation
my stride is smooth and steady
into the golden downing sun
early shadows fall soft upon me
as vesper’s velvet blanket
drapes ’round my shoulders
splendid calm envelops me
yet there are other shadows
strange distractions
that disrupt my moments
they come quite unannounced
with still far to go
I am eager to journey
drawn by the beauty
the rising moon in sunset
into the evening breeze
I venture onward
vivid ambers and corals
spread across the horizon
again the shadows shift
dull confusion finds me
I lose my pace and focus
to draw up momentarily
nagging concern
disquiets me
a stab of panic
pierces my solace
bewilderment grips
holds me
uncomfortably
I must return home
a cloud of frustration
sweeps over me
obscuring briefly
my destination
then the fog wafts
and again I see
across the veiled valley
my hearth & home
but I wander
again I lose the path
as the mist settles
like a shroud
twilight is coming
much too quickly
and my concern
mounts gravely
a gathering fear
gnaws inside
I’ll not make home
before this night
I am afraid
to lose this light
I am afraid
to lose my way
I am afraid
this wilderness
I am afraid
rob kistner © 2020
I wrote this piece to reflect the very early stages of Alzheimer’s, when the individual is not certain what is happening, and has not yet been diagnosed – but is beginning to become concerned, and the fear begins to rise. In some ways, this is the disease at its most devious. It is manipulating the person, yet they’re not aware what evil is overtaking them.
This piece seeks to emphasize that devious nature. Alzheimer’s is a sneak thief that subtly begins to disrupt our daily life, and steal pieces of time, creating a fractured reality — that gradually grows more and more unsettling. It then begins to rob us of our life-learned skills, our talent, our grace, and our dignity. Finally it kidnaps our memories, our loved ones — and then takes our life.
The stanzas here gradually diminish in size to reflect the diminishing nature of this killer. Bless all those stricken with this monster.