Y esterday is the tear shed
the breath exhaled
the word spoken
the harvest in
today is the voice singing
the raindrops falling
the river flowing
a hand sowing
tomorrow is the unfolding dream
the gold dawn approaching
a new hope’s promise
the planted seed
*
rob kistner © 2021
Poetry at: dVerse
Poetry at: Poets & Storytellers
C arefully I walk this edge
balancing eternally between
my sacred nurturing soul
and my burning hearts’s needs
know I will not be confined
staying always in motion
an eternal ebb and flow
perpetual like the seas
my spirit is amorphous
bathed in the rays of change
expanding unrestrained
seeking purpose and freedom
I will not be defined
my nature is fluid
my essence is turbulent
deep and ever changing
my heart in constant surge
ignores the prevailing winds
seeking balance that is mine
to change at need — at will
you need not seek me
for I am always here
but do not name me
I will not be yours
*
rob kistner © 2021
and yet
the stuff I have
I must ignore
to have the time
to find some more
to stash
what it is I got
so there’ll be nothing
I have not
and when I have
all that there is
I’ll sit back
and say
gee wiz
I’m not certain
this is all
there is
limited space
no way
no way
I can fit more in
today
I may be nuts
or maybe not
but gotta have more
than what I got
I’m on the verge
of losing it
but I believe
more will fit
we’re near full
for sure
for sure
but I can still
fit a bit more
I can always
fit a bit more
though what I have
is gathering dust
and some perhaps
is gathering rust
though the walls
are ‘bout to bust
I’ll stuff in more
because
I must
I simply
must
~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
Poetry at: dVerse
https://youtu.be/cpPSBzGEklE
~ A live bonus from Pauly! ~
P lease permit me to present two concepts for your consideration. One is time, the other is keeping in the present moment — a place in which we seem relentlessly encouraged, cajoled, even badgered to remain. First of all, time is relative, a fleeting thing, constantly evolving. It is transitory and non-substantive.
So how does one keep in the present moment? As a general definition, “keep” means to hold, or maintain something in your possession or control. A moment is an ever-changing, elusive, arbitrary piece of this relative thing called time. So it would appear, given the ethereal, amorphous nature of time, that one cannot “keep” any aspect of time — one of which being a moment.
Therefore, with time being the core component of a moment, and time unable to be, by definition, “kept”, the logical deduction is that a moment, present or not, is therefore unable to be ‘kept’. Moments are a flow continuum, so ride it mindfully and alert. Besides, in the pursuit of things relative, fleeting, ethereal, and uncertain — love is a far more glorious pursuit than a “present moment”.
Poetry at: dVerse
april’s wine is intoxicating
as winter’s pale heart yearns
to feel spring’s grand unfolding
as nature’s palette slowly turns
this sweet inebriation
of april’s longing soul
can bring forth act’s impulsive
and draw one to the jester’s role
so be wary – for when one’s
caught in this season’s swoon
the better judgements of january
dissolve under april’s moon
the elixir of a world in bloom
is to the lusting lovelorn
a most dangerous of potions
risky randy thoughts are born
so remember and be warned
under passion’s frenzied rule
april can easily make one
act quite the splendid fool
Poetry at: Poets & Storytellers
https://youtu.be/-GdJ_HOjtew
unfortunately
I’ve again awakened
another hard night
now
another shit day
I rise
make my way carefully
moving head down
shufflin’ to the bathroom
to wash my face
it’s reflected sallow
in the yellowed wash
of feeble incandescence
strange tired eyes
hold me in the mirror
broken as my spirit
eyes of knowing
eyes of disappoint
eyes of sadness
the look burns through me
weighing upon my being
I want to scream
but no one’s here to hear me
in this cluttered two-room flat
morning maintenance done
I grab a cold bagel
gather up my stuff
trudge out the front door
down the rickety wood stairs
into the oblivious streets
that echo my strangled dreams
I duck and dodge
in and out
of early morning shadows
past the garbage and graffiti
of these dirty bricken’d canyons
they vibrate with the rush and chaos
of synapse and sinew
the hum of networked urgency
data outdistancing comprehension
can — beyond the reach of — should
monoliths of human avarice
cold and indifferent
clad in stainless
stone
and such
a halogen and neon blaze
they surge with manipulation
and greed
in varying shape and differing size
they flank in concrete corridors
that criss and cross
blink and beep and ring
they buzz and hiss
and stink
thoughts flood in a torrent
souring my head
I’m now rushing
unseeing
seething with anger
and exasperation
when suddenly
I stumble
a crack in the sidewalk
this fuckin’ city!
then I look down
startled
what the hell
a flower
really
no shit!
in that moment
flabbergasted
I unspring my tension
exhaling
I pause
I’ll be damned
caught in a flash
of wonder
I muse
maybe
maybe dreams
actually do survive
somewhere
in this concrete hell-hole
Poetry at: Sunday Muse
This is Seussian Tetrameter…
I am gone this I’m sure
and I doubt there’s a cure
is this joy is this bliss
was that simply a kiss
will I wake I can’t tell
I am under your spell
is this all what it seems
am I lost in my dreams
if it’s true then it’s fine
these sweet dreams are divine
here’s a wish I now make
hope I never awake
*
rob kistner © 2010
More tetrameter poetry at: dVerse
Open Link Night at: dVerse
~ A live bonus from Brandi! ~
while her heart she emotes
it’s her soul she reveals
she brings tears to my eyes
while my logic she steels
speaking truth she stirs hope
shattered dreams so to heal
and she gives of her self
her love rolls like a wheel
she is grit she is style
she is humble and real
she is Brandi Carlile
and she lives her ideals
Hanseroth twins: key to Brandi’s sound & success.
More poetry at: dVerse
…and for a two-song encore…
1.) “Crows Calling at Night” by: Li bai
Yellow clouds beside the walls; crows roosting near.
Flying back, they caw, caw; calling in the boughs.
In the loom she weaves brocade, the Qin river girl.
Made of emerald yarn like mist, the window hides her words.
She stops the shuttle, sorrowful, and thinks of the distant man.
She stays alone in the lonely room, her tears just like the rain.
2.) Reinterpretation of “Crows Calling at Night” by: Li bai
Yellow clouds near the walls where crows are roosting.
They are cawing as they fly into gingko tree boughs.
The Qin river girl is creating brocade with her loom.
The emerald yarn is mist like, the window hides her words.
Sadly, she stops the shuttle, and thinks of her far off love.
She is lonely here in her room, her tears just like the rain.
3.) A fully original poem inspired by Li bai’s “Crows Calling at Night”
A Crystal Tear
Sun-gold clouds fade in dimming cerulean
a lone raven’s black eyes stare steadily
loudly cawing, he effortlessly alights
perched in the striking autumn yellow
of the ginkgo’s lovely fanned petals
a lonely woman works in deft rhythm
rich silk gleams taut in her drawloom
she carefully raises the brocade patterns
learned as a child in her Shanxi province
sure hands pull the fine emerald threads
prayer on her lips — she stares far off
a closed window holds fast her whispers
sadly she falls quiet — pauses the shuttle
thinking longingly of her distant lover
wondering — will their lips again touch
she sits alone — unmoving — head turned
a crystal tear falls like a first rain drop
More poetry at: dVerse
his stern face
stern smile
stern voice
stern eyes
hypnotic wink
fired lips
burning kiss
cast her vulnerable
she adores the touch
of his strong stern hands
warm sure hands
so too
she loves his cane
rob kistner © 2010
More poetry at: dVerse
on this black velvet night
my brilliance shines
like crazy diamonds
hidden thoughts
soar untethered
ignited
to shine on brightly
illuminating the darkling
mysteries of time
I am the time master
I fold reality
Poetry at: Sunday Muse
Day 18 poetry at: NaPoWriMo 2021
Poetry at: Poets & Storytellers
rob kistner © 2010
More poetry at: dVerse
Poetry at: Poets & Storytellers
Day 16 poetry at: NaPoWriMo 2021
the prowling
is familiar to me
I understand
the continuous hunt
but patience
that too often
escapes my grasp
as do many salmon
elude the mighty bear
but still
he stays his task
relentlessly
in my imperfect way
I feel I understand
this relentlessness
we both
ride the great wheel
‘round and ’round we go
the bear and I
uncertain in our quests
yet still he flashes his paw
at the ever-leaping prey
in his relentless hope
to finally snag a salmon
so too have I reached out
time and again
with the relentless hope
to grasp the ultimate answer
verifiable evidence
to finally solve
my lifelong mystery
just who am I
how did I get here
where did I come from
who were my birth parents
none easily answered
in our ongoing endeavors
success is not guaranteed
for the bear
nor I
and yet
we both continue fishing
More poetry at: dVerse
Where The Sidewalk Ends — Shel Silverstein
That horrible smell
that’s filling the air,
the one that’s most certainly
impossible to bear,
is coming from that women
with the massive blue hair
sitting alone on the patio chair,
on the deck of the house,
that’s below us — right there!
What a putrid aroma,
you’d think that she’d care,
that there’s simply some things
that one never should share,
like the stink that is rising
from that patio chair,
on the deck of the house
that’s below us — down there.
the smell is outrageous
it’s terribly crass
look, it knocked our poor Rover
right flat on his ass.
And the hideous color
of that mountain of hair —
I can’t help it, can’t help it,
I can’t help but stare.
it’s tangled and horrible
and it’s disgusting too
an eye-blinding nightmarish
shade of bright blue —
and it’s causing a feeling
of nausea too!
I must look away
my heads starting to whirl,
and I feel that my toes
are beginning to curl,
I fear over the edge here
I’m going to hurl —
and I don’t want to do that
in front of a girl.
Maybe I’m wrong
but I would assume,
if one’s going to bathe
in a noxious perfume,
they’d at least have good manners
and exhibit some pride,
and not foul the ozone,
instead — stay inside,
and not be the cause
of such a mind-numbing fume
but keep the eco-disaster
contained in one room.
And if you’re chromatically challenged my friend,
consider the others that you might offend.
A monumentally grotesque rat’s nest of blue,
is not something I care to look at on you!
Look Sis, look look, look quickly down there,
that woman is getting up out of her chair.
oh joy, for joy, that’s all I can say,
thank our lucky stars, she is going away!
I hope away she will stay
for the rest of the day,
or as long as the damned wind
keeps on blowin’ this way.
More poetry at: dVerse
OLN poetry at: dVerse