abstract – Image & Verse

Solo Flight

Come ride a jazz guitar solo — welcome aboard…

Original DDE™ art: “Solo Flight” — by: rob kistner © 4/7/26

—-<§>—-

embraced by the spot

held in its glow

the crowd gathers around him
close—
lifting him—

to help him ignite the fire

his foot is already moving
soft…
rhythmic…

that quiet
metronomic hammer of the heart

the bass lays
the foundation
…low
…steady
…certain

the brushes sizzle
sparkle—
whispering heat—
a living shimmer underneath

the piano leans in
with color—
then light within the color
showing the way forward

(spark)

he’s in it

one special note
placed—
and held

it blooms
a warm sustain—
…turning
…building—

(spark)

then—
he releases

fingers rush—
a brightness
spilling into chords—
phrases shaping themselves

a flurry—
cascading down the neck—
he rides it
…eyes closed
head tilted slightly
back and right—
he’s inside the sound

lines forming—answering—

the brushes keep their sparkle

the bass holds solid—
the beating heart of jazz

the piano lights the way

(spark)

and he drives it
…lets it cook
…lets it rise

until—
a magical chord
lands—
and everything settles—
like a hand on his shoulder

he eases—
lets it roll
momentum carrying forward

(spark)

then—
a small cluster
of explosive notes form—
and with them
brief vocal tones
shaped to the notes—
riding them tight
and harmonically

in just a breath
that quick flare
lifts the line back up
rollin’ hot

rekindled
his fingers already moving—
…back into the flow
…back into the heat
risin’ scorched

the motion alive—
no hesitation
no break

(spark)

and now—
it opens wider
…more than notes
…more than lines—

the fire finding itself again—
fanning fierce
rolling forward—
…spilling out
…roaring on
…enchanted

—flaring

into the mystic…

<~>

rob kistner © 4/8/26

Poetry at: dVerse

Plenty Enough

Original DDE™ art: “Gilded” by: rob kistner © 12/4/25

—-<§>—-

abundance is not a storehouse

or a vault

sealed in the dark

nor a fertile field

brimming with grain

not if a needy child

a hungry child

or anyone as such

may not enter

or share

it is not the bright idea of “plenty”

claimed by the few

guarded like treasure

while the world waits outside—

gate closed

abundance requires access—

requires the sharing hand

requires availability for all

like air

like sunlight

like rain that does not choose

which fields to bless

if a foolish world

stores mountains of food

but desperate mothers

still measure meals in worry—

then… what we call abundance

is only hoarding—

dressed in finer clothes

when people sleep on concrete

when bodies go unhealed

when bare unwashed feet

meet the sting of winter asphalt

when a just call for

critical help

goes unheeded

when true starvation

causes anyone unbearable pain

or excruciating death…

the “lie” of distance becomes obvious—

as if abundance can live “over there”

and still mean something here

true abundance is local

immediate

shared

it is not a rumor of plenty

but a presence of enough

in our own rooms

in our own hands

in the widened circle

where no one is left outside

abundance begins with an open gate—

not with the locked door

behind which a fatted few sit

counting their gold

eating there filet mignon

swilling their fine wine

~ no ~

it must live in the daylight

in the place where hands meet freely

where people come together

in the promise that enough

belongs to all

in the promise to care for each other

in the promise to care for our shared home

earth

you can pile food past the horizon

stack medicine to the ceiling

let good clothing gather

in towers of folded grace—

if it never reaches the people

who hunger

who ache

who shiver

then plenty is only a dark shadow

pretending to shine

true abundance is tangible

not rumor—

a chorus of shared opportunity

a fairness declared

a deeply rooted equality

it’s the way we lift each other

from the dim corners of need

abundance is not a closed fist

it is an open hand—

it is love

a rhythm of grace

a human tide of love

moving outward

making room

making a difference

giving of yourself

letting not one soul

stand outside

wanting

rob kistner © 12/4/25

Poetry at: dVerse

SunsetGunn

NOTE — I borrowed lines and inspiration from my 2011 poem: Skye Fyre

The SunsetGunn is loaded, the controls, in GunnMaster’s grip
calmly concentrating, he scans the horizon with careful eyes
the golden sun having made his journey, is weary from the trip
quicksilver moon will very soon, traverse the starry skies

Gaia rolls on gently, hushed in quiet space
GunnMaster has her skyline, locked squarely in his sight
Gaia pulls a veil of stars, slowly across her face
GunnMaster has a task, he needs complete before its night

he’s to set the sky ablaze, before he falls to sleep
a fiery coral-orange, twilight-blue, and crimson-red
in patterns broad and bold, in colors rich and deep
he carefully aims the SunsetGunn, and blasts it overhead

in a brilliant, blinding flash, he sets the dimming skies a’fire
in vivid hues, and lavish shades — the dusky sky ignites and burns
GunnMaster has succeeded, so for this night, he can retire
the SunriseGunn already loaded, in early morning, he returns

*
rob kistner © 2023

Poetry at: dVerse

A few more from Animal Logic — GOOD SHIT!

When The Trees Die

T he landscape
losing its gild
mottles
in gunmetal grays
long gone greens
bare blacked sterling

nothing for the eye to swoon
nor in which
the soul to find solace

the poet’s words of warning
had fallen for years
on deaf ears
now nothing
to inspire grand verse

just barren rolling regret
stripped of lush mystery
color drained
jagged n’poisonous

fractured storm clouds
laced with the toxins
of human excess
and lethal impatience
churn ominously
in huddling menace

brightened breezes
that in the once-time
sizzled in the aspens
rolled the conifers
in velvet undulation
rattled the oaken forests

build and bulge
buffeted into angry fronts
seethingly murderous
faced with nothing
to stem the rage
nor to buffer
or discourage
the thrashing fury

howl and growl
into brittling winds
strafing gales
razing tempests

hollowed trunks
like spindled husks
ripped mercilessly from the earth

this world
that’s tumbling towards nothingness
is parched dust-blown emptiness
achingly void

my heart
shudders for the deep chill
of shadow
mourning eden’s devastation

scorching sun
pierces the dirt-broiling stir
that bites and stings
stumbling along dry cracked terrain

blurring watery eyes
chafing coarsen’d skin
that scalds and blisters

would that it rain
drown the lands
that I might
turn my face to the sky
flood my wooden mouth
charred by hunger
with drenching waters
of suspended thirst

to douse the cruel fire
of my spirit
that longs for
the whisper of winds
in canopies high above
now long forgotten

longs for the plush
of a high-mountain meadow
now scattered in tumbling debris
crying in cruel winds

never
never will it happen

ignorant words
which should never have been spoken
our covenant with nature
was badly broken

much too late
we realized the arrogance
of belief
that lacked intention
of assumption
that lacked conviction

as through tears
we watched our trees
slowly die

*
rob kistner © 2022

Poetry at: earthweal

Bridge of Truth

The music is a key element of my expression here…
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P ossessed of all it is I am
I sigh a sigh of longing
I feel empty sad and very old
I seek to fill my barren soul

~across the bridge of truth~

I seek not a kingly right
nor scepter gold to rule a realm
worldly wealth I do not need
love’s enlightenment I seek

*
rob kistner © 2021

Poetry at: dVerse

https://youtu.be/cpPSBzGEklE

~ A live bonus from Pauly! ~

Seductive Fantasy

…a stream of consciousness trip…

Soaring psychedelic
colors pierce my eyes
to bleed into my mind
pulsing into shapes
and melting forms
dancingly irregular
a brilliant cacophony
of fully beautiful discord
that flows in time displacement
blared breathing blending abstract

wow dude!
~~ drifting drifting ~~

so wondrous and magical
as to create a dreamspace
where reality steps away
to a seductive fantasy
that roils and broils
a seething serenade
of sounds and vision
a sanctified vibration

simply too gone!
immaculate!

joyful noise’d orblets
flaring and flashing
in hues and shades
in timbre’d cadences
they spark stiletto sharp
stabbing staccato’d stealthy
and again colors pierce my eyes
lovely rumblings fill full my ears
shifting spinning and floating
to journey a’new through
my beautiful bountiful
and utterly blown
mind garden

}|=|{

psssst! hey! you!
am I conscious man —
— or halluuucinating truuuth?

Day 1 poetry at: NaPoWriMo 2021

Convergence

Convergence, 1952 by Jackson Pollock

when the multi hues
of your vivid life
finally converge

and its fractured palette
at last melds
into a beautiful whole

may its canvas forever hang
in the hearts
of those you’ve loved

Poetry at: dVerse

Lunar Spring

Vote = Voice — Speak Up! 2CC45105-E580-4197-9120-35D724A74CF8

Lunar Spring

Mad March finds me on the moon. I’ve brought me some flutter-bees, in hopes my humor may actually survive. Winter rains held on long this year on earth, but skies are clear up here — though cold as hell. This weightlessness improves my attitude, lifting my mood. Makes me feel like a feather. My prodigal smile breaks through a bit, watching the damned butterflies escape and flit.

We brought some paneled sun and bottled rain, gonna try to ignite these seeds here in my spacesuit pocket. Maybe we can get’em pushing their sprouts through this boxed fertile earth soil. Brought it all the way from Oregon’s Willamette River Basin. Oh look, the butterflies are cavorting among the moon rocks. Gotta get a picture of that, though they really don’t look very well!

We brought some recordings of chirping birds, and sealed fragrances of new blooms. We are working our butts off, and this lame luna wind ain’t gonna waft the fragrances. Well, we got the synthesized smells, hues, and sounds of Spring, but it ain’t makin’ my heart sing, or my spirit dance! Spring on the moon’s no romance, it sucks! Oh look, the fucking butterflies are at it again.

moon wind’s blowin’ badly
butterflies behavin’ madly
gravity’s flyin’em upside down
zero oxygen’s droppin’em to the ground
won’t be long before they’re expired
and me and the crew are totaly tired
spring on the moon sucks!

~ ~ ~

Image: Eddie Schrieffer

To read more poems at Sunday Muse: CLICK HERE

Lauria at the Speed of Light

remembering a great performer, good friend, former bandmate, lost to Covid-19

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Lauria at the Speed of Light

did I ever tell you about Lauria
living at the speed of light
blazing through the midday sky
rocketing through the night

she was a natural wonder
a miracle to behold
soared through time like a lightning flash
unwilling to ever grow old

streaking through the universe
a meteor of flesh and bone
racing high above on wings of dreams
like a shooting star she shone

mystery sister of Aoede & Terpsichore
she’s a goddess of dance and song
she’d cast her beguiling lyrical spell
and hold captive her mesmerized throng

the news came late last weekend
Lauria was nowhere in sight
last seen circling a midnight star
moving at the speed of light

people who knew Lauria well
were sure it was what they’d feared
she had finally outdistanced time
and mystically disappeared

never ever to be seen again
no way — no how — nowhere
she’d lived life at such velocity
she blazed out like a beautiful flare

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oh, would her end have been such magic
whirled away in an enchanted gust
sadly she was felled by a virulent evil
smaller than a speck of stardust

R.I.P.

~ ~ ~

NOTE to “Blogger” site owners: I enjoy reading your work, but frustratingly, many “Blogger” sites DO NOT let me post comments? 🙂 So sorry if you don’t see personal comments from me on your “Blogger” site. But I will keep reading your work — and welcoming and responding to your comments here on Image & Verse.

Click to read more dVerse poems:

OpenLinkNight #273

Arc of the Ages

Arc of the Ages

do not hide
from the great orb
of unquestioning fate
that spins in the spaces
of destiny’s light and dark
days of falter and fear
approaching
moving
unsteady on legs
of unquenchable doubt
what your mind must
conceal from the assassin
of joy and forgiveness
held pure
tested
by time and the hands of
the waiting who cower
yet smile
singing truth through
the hail and barrage
‘cross the bow mast of glory
seeking broad measure and berth
as all that you seem to
desire slips slowly like
rain down a vent pipe
to plumb deep
the black dreams
such is the slag-shattered
glass of the future
that moves slow
through the arc
of the ages
who’ve waited and
watched ‘neath the moon
of deliberate ancients
that revolves in the
void of the others
that see what we
knew to be ever
the voice of the lost
to the light
of the dawning that
heralds the word of
this time that’s upon
us and holds us at
last in the fire
of visions and
longing for all that
we are to be
here in our heart
of the moment
that flees like
a squandered teardrop
forever away from
our failing grasp

~ ~ ~

Click below to check out more streaming at dVerse:

MTB: Stream of Consciousness Writing

Crows of Castle Keep

“Castle Keep is my metaphor for the mind.”

Crows of Castle Keep

my contemplation on dementia

my memories gather and squabble
like the crows of castle keep
they pick the bones
of my recall

bones against the cruel clay
of an arid
barren mind

littered with the harsh forgotten
like the bones of the dinosaur
I’m becoming

struggling
with what letters are made of
my words crack and crumble

my thoughts
parch and wither

lonely silhouettes
against an unforgiving skyline

fading visions of my past
of my life
my home
of yesterday

harder and harder to remember
the degrees of separation
growing ever greater
smoldering in the fog
of my reflected past

splashes of vivid color
on scraps of paper
blown in the mounting winds
of my confusion

dread rising
that I will soon not remember
what it all meant to me
a stirring fear I will forget
lost in tormented emptiness
that all will go black

this is not just a poem
it is much more

this is a light
searching in blackness
for familiar things
for persons beloved
that I do not recognize

this is a fractured tome
a cry of frustration
a tear of loss
a whispered prayer

an epitaph
to my fading map of then

of cherished memories
that now falter
and dim

slowly slipping
unintelligible
into the cacophony
of the crows of castle keep

~ ~ ~

Click below to heck out more poems of blackness on dVerse:

dVerse Poetics: On Shades of Black

Falling To Pieces

”I can’t see the end of me” by: Oladios

Falling To Pieces

oh dear
I fear
I have lost my heart

and along with it
a larger part

if I do not panic
but stay calm
instead
being careful
not to lose my head

if I can
look to the future
avoid the dread

it’s not hard to conceive
kitty I truly believe

though parts of me
have certainly
lost a bit
of fleshy tether

eventually
with what’s left
of me
I can finally

pull myself together

~ ~ ~

To check out more poems at Sunday Muse: CLICK HERE

This Heart

This Broken heart

~
this heart’s now yours
this damaged heart
this brittle fractured aching heart
broken by you, every part

I’ve no use for this ruined heart
plucked here from my chest
I seek a new and vital heart
one that’s far less stressed

a fresh heart that’s unbreakable
a heart able to forgive
unmarred unscarred yet tender
beating with the joy to live

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~ ~ ~