•
to build our house of love
we need not brads nor hammer
we need not bricks nor mortar
we need not hod nor trowel
our house of love
rises on trust’s foundation
shelters with devotion
comforts with a kiss
it will not fail nor fall
for it has no part nor measure
it is not limiting nor temporal
it is timeless as our passion
our house of love
needs not brad nor hammer
it is cemented with our lifeblood
made fast with the beating of our hearts
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
•
furtive strumpet nonpareil
fumbles from the motor-coach
cup of bacchus fondled lush
held close to velvet bodice
supple breast, soft loin and limbs
costumed for seduction
magenta lace and turquoise silk
kindles lust’s combustion
sweet undulation in a mirror mist
of moonlight on the midnight fog
beckons through the dewy fern
enticing — come enjoy
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
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•
this day as I journey
I come upon a stranger
standing by the road looking sad
heavy box held in his arms
clutched close to his breast
he stares into my eyes expressionless
his gaze stops me still
fixes me in place
his face is tired and drawn
etched in withered worry
when at last I move
I draw close enough to see
this sullen man is me
everyone is born with some special talent
he sighs
I am a collector
of tears shed in moonlight
the pain of love’s betrayal
the grief of empty lives
he concludes
and offers out his hands
that open on the box
he beckons me retrieve
this container he protects
filled with apprehension
I reach and grasp the case
lift it cautiously from his grip
lay it gently at my feet
it opens as I do
slowly
to reveal its strange contents
three lone broken hearts
these are yours
I am told
created by your deeds
cruelly left behind
as coldly you moved on
each belonged to one who trusted you
a trust you did betray
without a second thought
love you tossed aside
abandoned carelessly
now the burden of this box
is mine beyond the grave
eyes lowered in fatigue he exhales
it was on a road like this
that it was passed to me
I have carried it too long
I am weary from the load
looking into my eyes he points
now you must bend and lift
and clutch it to your breast
to struggle with its weight
until you pass it on
searching the distance he goes on
someday a stranger will approach
over that horizon
he will stop and stare
transfixed by your presence
you will charge him with this chest
then he will lift and carry
as I do
in this cycle of forever
for he too
will be you
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
and “The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test” by Tom Wolfe.
I was a disenchanted-college-student-rock-musician and had just been awakened by the ’67 Summer of Love, when I came upon both of these books in the Spring of 1968 in a bookstore in Clifton, Ohio, just down from the Ludlow Garage, where my band, Stone Fox, had just opened for the Allman Brothers and Santana.
These books fueled my frustration with “the system”, sparked my wanderlust, and eventually found me and my three best friends, astride internal combustion iron horses, young men heading west — and thus began the rest of my life.
What these books represented was not a map for the rest of my life, I’m well beyond that angst. Rather, they’re important to me because they were the catalyst that first ignited my genuine independent thought, and empowered me to act on that thinking.
Following here is a poem I wrote which reflects, quite well, where my head was during that period. You can also click on the highlighted passage young men heading west in the previous paragraph to read a poem I wrote about the motorcycle journey.
•
when night fell on bohemia
the streets were set ablaze
in black light
in strobe light
it was tie-dyed psychedelia
when night fell on bohemia
jack and neal were on the road
ridin’ with the fire-whores
of angst and indignation
like combustin’ carnal fireballs
when night fell on bohemia
allen was howlin’
pal’n with corso
and long’n for peter
hunter, groin deep
in the brain-drug flesh festival
…hunter was fearful
and loathing it all
when night fell on bohemia
bill, stark naked
was lunchin’ with the devil
jelly-rollin’ in a hell fire
when night fell on bohemia
gary headed for cold mountain
to watch it all from sourdough
electric bob went subterranean
me – stung by disenchantment
the swollen outlaw bastard
coming fast
hard as holy hell
cresting and crashing in
just as night fell on Bohemia
I was on my way
howling mad
and mind-expanded
in a rolling demon’s fire,
lighting the night
dancing with beelzebub
raving and blazing
hormone’d-hungry
lusting and longing to gorge
every forbidden morsel and crumb –
the smorgasborgadelic mindfeast
when night fell on bohemia
ken and tim
gathered up the faithful
on the magic bus
and stole off with the future
like pranksters
ever further
• • •
rob kistner © 2008
•
lilting golden
‘long an autumn lane
carried gentle
on the winds
the rustle of aspens
lush and hush
like the murmur
of whispered passion
from a lover’s lips
a’tremble with desire
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
•
gazing upon this magnificent canyon
cut by time and current in the great rock of the earth
I marvel at the power
at the beauty
at the determination of the relentless river
sculpting this majestic work
tumbling timelessly in crystal clarity
over boulder and falls
ever onward
• • •
photo & poem by: rob kistner © 2010
•
moonlight keeps dark at bay
pressing in
as night winds stir
mocking final breath of life
lost to the lightless realm
beyond the chill encircling me
no emotion here
save grief
failed digits of a graspless hand
on a broken stair
where ankle bent
and held oranges spilled
no voice came to the futile cry
those lips will not know again
sweet fruit
nor love…
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
…this piece evolved from both a visual prompt (see below) on Magpie Tales, as well as a “hinge” prompt on Read Write Poem…
•
so many times
I return home from a business trip
swing onto our concrete carport
pause – and key the engine off
all is silent – save the tick and popping
as the engine cools
my favorite moment
just before I open the door
to step out
to approach the house — approach you
this moment of anticipation
knowing you are waiting
bathed and fragrant
warm and soft
dressed in something that will whisper
welcome home my love – I’ve missed you
to take you in my arms
fall into your loving eyes
pull your willing body close
to wrap ‘round you
drink you in – intoxicated
these moments melt into sweet love making
that continues until exhaustion
we both love when I return
but tonight
I do not key the engine off
I do not reach for the handle
do not open the door
I simply sit
my warm hand encircling
the coolness of the ivory fob
you gifted me with
on our African honeymoon
you are no longer waiting
not in quite sometime
not since you lost your battle brave
not since I held you, that final time
your body still soft and warm
warm as my trembling hand
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
•
my muse is hard to capture
though I do try each day
just goes so fast
I turn around
it’s past me in a blur
leaving little inspiration
each day becomes each night
here I sit in the wee hours
while the sane sleep
steeped in contradiction
thoughts vague
filled with doubt
words tossed about the unyielding page
I start then stop
I write then not
caught mercilessly unclear
in terminal hesitation
in quiet rage
fickle muse – please…
a spark to light this dark
that grips me like a cage
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
rounding a bend
brushing through waist-high fern
I crest a knoll and stop
mesmerized
awash in the warm brushstrokes of evening
filtered through this woodland realm
as the waning sun paints the world golden
below me
a pristine ribbon of silver-blue water
flecked with sunlight
sparkles like a strand of gems
transfixed
I marvel at the beauty
at the power
of this mighty river
as it tumbles in timeless clarity
over boulder and falls
ever onward
its lyric voice
beckons me
I come
entranced
stand immersed in its energy
captivated by its duet with the wind
that plays the boughs of the towering pines
singing down the lofty climbs
to gently brush my face
toss my hair
and dance past me round a bend
in perfect harmony
serenaded in this evensong
sunset has melted into moonrise
the waters ripple sterling in soft applause
the moon sets aglow this splendid concert
so I listen
spellbound
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
_____________________
• photographs taken near my home in the Cascade Mountain foothills
top photo entitled: “Sunlight on the Clackamas”
bottom photo entitled: “Moon over the Santiam”
_____________________
•
unfurling in linear spiral
time escapes into the future
tethered to the past
ever captive in the now
over and over
repeating in my head
these same strange words
the same chilling voice
over and over
unfurling in linear spiral
time escapes into the future
tethered to the past
ever captive in the now
always the same fevered dream
the fear
the guilt
the regret
I am fallen
paralyzed
unable to lift my head
it’s then I see him
see him coming
slowly out of the mist
coming
always coming
his sour smile
menacing
condemning
I want to rise up
run at him
scream at him
strike at him
run from him
run
but I cannot
I cannot
again that haunting voice
unfurling in linear spiral
time escapes into the future
tethered to the past
ever captive in the now
but what
what does it mean
I’m going
going — I think
going mad
mad
what does it mean
why — charles
it means nothing
and everything
and yes — charles
you are going mad
who
who are you
how do you know my name
why won’t you leave
leave me alone
what do you want!
want?
why – you, charles
tethered to your past
ever captive in this now
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
•
he runs his fingers through her hair
tears run down his cheeks
he holds her near
cradled
too late protected
he runs the events
over and over in his mind
the horrible events
daisey
our golden lab
running out into the street
you running out after
right into the path
run down
why
why
why did you run
now time
and your precious life
running out
running out
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
•
right
keep right came the response
redirecting the runner
in reaction to his rapid-fire request regarding the route
racing recklessly in redoubled resolve
certain this resurgence would redeem his rough start
he ran rampant
refusing to relinquish his radical pace
no longer rambling
he raged like a rogue renegade
determination renewed
hope refueled
spirit refreshed
his belief was rekindled that a resounding victory would result
if he would just run
run
run
his rally realized
lungs raw and ragged
he rocketed ‘cross the finish line
reared his head
and roared raucously
arms raised in release
tears rolling in relief
he rejoiced
triumphant
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
•
what is it you find so amusing my dear
perhaps it’s the fact I have only one ear
it makes it difficult to accurately hear
so you’ll have to speak that much louder I fear
yes it’s true, as you see, I have only my right
the left was cut off in a terrible fight
and I have not been quite the same since that night
it’s hard to be happy when you’re a pitiful sight
my glasses are impossible to keep on my face
and my hat just refuses to stay in its place
where there once was an ear I have only a space
but having one ear surely is no disgrace
with only a right ear my intake’s askew
I only hear things from a right point of view
so my right point of view I assume to be true
and therefore it’s righteous — what I think and do
now what is it you find so amusing my dear
I hope you’re not laughing at my missing ear
I suggest you had better stop pointing, you hear
’cause a righteous right-eared man is someone to fear
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
•
sailing on a skiff of dreams
the ferryman standing watch
you soar untethered
‘mong the clouds of wonder
to magical mystical ports of call
where all imagined is in your grasp
if only you could stay the course…
but fast – daybreak approaches
• • •
The Final Dream…
•
caught in the final dream
called forth by the ferryman
spirit stirs to the distant voice
readies for the journey
one foot still in this mortal realm
soul resigned to embarkation
time folding in upon
as slow you approach the light
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
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