Month: January 2019
Serenity Totem
Entitled: “Sierra Gold” – by: rob kistner, 2017
all the way from Paris
supple leather cuttings
scraps secured in Denver
links of golden chain
my wife’s broken necklace
small wood and metal findings
recycled from the Goodwill
the 7 found-pieces assembled
to create a striking talisman
a tasteful visual accent
affixed to this Totem’s front
hand painted oaken dowels
make up the wall mount plate
all these special treasures
gathered lovingly
cut and measured carefully
then assembled with precision
on rigid spiraled cylinders
that once archived my drawings
now crafted into an artwork
hand-signed one-of-a-kind
to be a beautiful addition
to a most unique collection
to be on display and sold
at a coming juried art show
rob kistner © 2019
This art piece pictured at the top here is called a Serenity Totem. I conceived this original artistic concept, and have been designing, creating, and selling these for years. They are made from all reclaimed upcycled materials, and found objects, mounted on coated, spiral bound, fiber board cylinders. On some I may also incorporate elements of trim discards of handmade Japanese Chiyogami Washi fiberstock. The cylinders intended purpose is archival storage of my furniture design blueprints and my digital artworks. Each Serenity Totem is a hand-signed, one-of-a-kind creation. I make them in four diameter sizes: 2″, 2.5″, 3″, and 4″. I have them hanging all around my studio where I also write. I create and sell these under the name Serenity Totems Studio.
by: rob kistner, 2007 ~SOLD~
by: rob kistner, 2009 ~SOLD~
January Rain
January in the Pacific Northwest, finds wild nature in a period of recovery and renewal. Nature’s flowering plants, grasses, and brush, will be blessed by the nurturing rains that fall with the new year. Mighty evergreens pause, and deciduous trees go dormant. Our vast forests are rejuvenated by this period of rest.
Streams have come to new life as the rains replenish their flow. Rainbow, Brook, German Brown, and Cutthroat Trout become active as waters rise and cool. Bear, deer, cougar, elk, coyote, big horn sheep, pronghorn antelope, hawk, osprey, eagle; the varied, plentiful wildlife of our region have begun their winter rituals.
Our winter’s January is a peaceful time of rest and restoration here in this breathtakingly beautiful region. A regenerative calm lies upon the lush land, as the season of sky-water has arrived to quench nature’s thirst, and revivify her energies in this utopia.
pure life-giving sky water
bless this land you love
DAY 10How Thin the Veil
alone
in the dead of night
burglar moon at the window
having stolen the colors of this day
the world chill and quiet
I wonder
how thin the veil
between here and gone
and what will be the final breath
the beckoning breeze
the courier gust
to part that curtain
to lift me
shed of mortal husk
and carry me through
to where
to what
I do not know
only that the day
the hour
the moment
draws ever closer
as I lie
alone
in the dead of night
Golden Morning
last night’s dew clings
fondly to the old-growth
wrapped in crystalline embrace
it adorns the stately cedars
as if diamonds
that sparkle in the morning sun
a splendor befitting their beauty
this Spring day begins bright and crisp
bird songs lilt
carried on a light breeze
I see you afar
approaching on the path
backlit by sunrise
your hair golden in dawn’s glow
lover beholding beloved
I sit
warmed in daybreak’s window
with tea and fascination
I watch you
as you stop to rest
in this moment
my love spills over
floods ’round me
until I am consumed
your lips sculpt a smile
I’m swept away on passion’s tide
on this golden morning
~ ~ ~
rob kistner © 2007
(revision © 2019)
Blue
~
This is Tanka Prose, similar to Haibun. Instead of the Haibun’s Haiku ending, this features a Tanka, of my composition, at its close. The 31-syllable Tanka has been the most popular form of poetry in Japan for over 1300 years. As a form of poetry, Tanka is older than Haiku, and Tanka poems are intended to be evocative.
During Japan’s Heian period (794 to 1185 A.D.) it was considered essential for a woman or man of culture to be able to both compose beautiful poetry and to choose the most aesthetically pleasing and appropriate paper, ink, and symbolic attachment, such as a branch or flower, to go with it.
Tanka have changed and evolved over the centuries beyond the traditional expressions of passion and heartache, and styles have changed to include modern language. But the five syllabic units, containing a total of 31 syllables, has remained the same. Each line of a Tanka consists of one image or idea. One does not seek to wrap lines in tanka, though in the best Tanka, the five lines do relate, to evoke a cohesive feeling. The feeling here is serenity.
sampans on the blue waters
blue temple gateway
blue is the soul of serene
let it calm your restless heart
~ ~ ~
rob kistner © 2019
Through The Veil
“Infinite Instance” by: rob kistner © 1997
soon to push through
to see that which
is not shown us here
on this side
of that gossamer curtain
unable as we are
in this manifestation
to comprehend
the incomprehensible
the infinite secret
the truth that bursts to light
but when I push through
I will ride that light
in all ways through time
simultaneously at once
at the eternal instant
the open door of forever
existance will be no more
I will be absolute
indivisible from time
absorbed by all of space
a joy so profound
as to be pure energy
I was given the gift
of the briefest glimpse
beyond the veil
I was not ready
I again near the veil
I am ready now
~ ~ ~
rob kistner © 2019
Shhhh!
if so we will be leaving at first light
the need to be on time is uppermost
I want to be there settled in tonight
the party promises to be a blast
crazy friends drinks and food of ev’ry kind
these soirees have been epic in the past
if we are late we will be left behind
tomorrow it is breakfast on the beach
it’s there we meet our hostess for the week
she’ll have the masks we’ll need there’s one for each
remember after that we do not speak
then to the yacht where wondrous games are played
magic – this high seas silent masquerade
Hope
very quietly
from beneath the sheets
soiled with neglect
soaked with my nightmares
I am again awake
from another dark night
that began with fear
fear I might not survive
and ends in sorrow
realizing I did
I rise
make my way carefully
past the shallow-breathed crumple
that lay milky-eyed
in a heap on the floor
un-moving
save a twitch of the head
a head which now harbors demons
where nocturnal angels of sweet release
had lain down lush upon it
in fevered embrace
lustfully conjured
by last night’s spoon and lance
still skewered silver in the soured vein
this wreckage is my mother
I stop but for a glance
verifying life
then move on head down
angle to the bathroom
to the scum-brown bowl
to wash my face
lit sallow by the yellowed bulb
that hangs bare and lonely
strange eyes
hold me in the mirror
broken as my heart
eyes of knowing
eyes of sadness
grief courses through me
weighing upon my being
burning into my heart
I want to cry out
but there is no one here to hear me
no hero that can help me
driven by instinct to survive
by urgency to flee
I shudder away the paralyzing despair
in this dank food-less morning
in this ruined single room
in this coat-less chill of predawn
I gather up my books
step lightly through the door
down the damaged stairs
into the hostile streets
heavy with this childhood of strangled dreams
I duck and dodge
in and out of shadows
praying to once again avoid the evil
that lurks and slinks
among the garbage and graffiti
of these crumbled bricken’d canyons
that rolls slow and lethal
gripping cold blue steel
in predatory drive-by
evil
seductive as a smile
deadly as a snake
evil
which if diligence should fail
I fear will consume my soul
deliberately I continue
until at last I find my way
to the building
to the classroom
to my teacher
to my desk
to the only hope
to which I dare cling
(revision © 2019)
Had I Followed
ever onward
to where it has lead
followed its rise
its fall
in concentric circles of time
sweeping always outward
there is much I have seen
and have experienced
much I’ve missed
and never known
much I’ve stumbled upon
stumbled over
always to collect myself
and follow on
I have encountered the unknown
been confused
lost my way
suffered sorrow
I have embraced the wonder
found enlightenment
understood
known joy
but ever on
this path does lead
and I
in measured step
must ever follow
had I followed another
what then
I know now
it would be no different
for I understand
I chose the other
every time
I am not on this path
I am this path
More answers to Merril’s question, “what if?” at dVerse…