Poem For The Devil

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I’d sought quiet in this wood
pursuing poetry to no good
in solitude with my thought
trepidation is — verse is not

the darkness of this night
shrouds choking close n’tight
cold as an old tundra witch
charred as slag-sooted pitch

this foreboding icy moon
stabs a sliver of chilling gloom
through the heart of the trees
where I tremble on my knees

trapped in unanchored dreams
my forsaken soul now screams
lost in loosed untethered fears
I am adrift upon my tears

unmoored from space and time
here my soul can find no rhyme
in confusion I’m immersed
no poem of worth can here be versed

the devil has finaly had his way
no lofty verse will rise this day
no poem to save my weary soul
no clever words to pay my toll

engulfed by this emptiness
rigored by my loneliness
this void smuggles away my breath
I pray for sleep — deep as death

*
rob kistner © 2021

Poetry at: earthweal

 


Song of Solstice

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Song of Solstice

~

Solstice Blessing

we cross this solstice night
the final dying of the light
as the old year quickly wanes
seasons circle back again

life’s cycles will reprise
as a new year does arrise
may the power of light’s rebirth
bring you blessings of the earth

Solstice Cycles

we rise from this longest night
to bask in new born light
day’s warmth ever increases
night’s chill grip slowly releases

light slowly overtakes the dark
sun shifts the journey of its arc
each new day light longer burns
‘til Summer Solstice peak light returns

we then enter the realm of dimming
earth’s bounty swells to brimming
earth’s daily light grows ever less
earth’s harvest nears readiness

as the harvest cycle ends
stalks lie down in fields again
when full bounty has been reaped
earth prepares again to sleep

to cross once more this solstice night
this final dying of the light
as the old year quickly wanes
blessed seasons circle back again

~ ~ ~

rob kistner © 2018
revised © 2021

 

Creeping

crow — you are free, giving thanks for your feathers, and hollow bones,
I have neither and I cannot escape gravity
so bird, fly for us both — my heart will soar with you

 

 

Yellow dirt near the walls
where curious crows carous
they caw caw caw as they creep
then fly to gingko tree boughs

the Qin river girl is creating
beautiful brocade with her loom

the emerald yarn is mist like
the crow’s shriek hits like a fist strike
abruptly, she stops the shuttle
and sadly thinks of her long lost love

she is lonely here in her room
her tears like the rainy gloom

but alas I see you crow
in the carrion half-light
of this midnight caisson
up to which you creep
this funeral hearse
where my world
does sleep

as you cluster
with your murder
in this chilling rain
to defile the entity
drawn in this caisson

I celebrate
that you cannot

the living presence it bore
is greater than you

your gluttonness lust
might pick the meat clean
pick the bones dry
but the soul it carried
has gone its bye

yes — this being
has lived well beyond this muscle
beyond this sinew tendon and bone
these were its limits
now it is gone

now it is set free

so help yourself brother crow
sister raven
birds of black
help yourself
the spirit here
will not be back

this essence has gone beyond
far beyond
to become infinite
pure thought
unbound energy
completely free

what you pick apart
is the afterimage
of a mortal
now eternal

so take your fill crow
have your way raven
fat black bird — do your best
engorge the inglorious
the rest has left

then be gone
scatter
and far off
this caisson
has delivered its miracle

and still she mourns
she is lonely here in her room
still her tears just like the rainy gloom

*
rob kistner © 2021

Poetry at: The Sunday Muse

Poetry at: Poets & Storytellers

Poetry at: earthweal

Poetry at: mindlovesmisery

 




Thankful

 

As this year of 2021 closes, I would like to say thank you to all who visit my blog, I greatly appreciate you. And a very special thank you to all in this online writer’s community of dVerse. You are not only wonderful writers, you are also kind and generous of spirit. You’ve given this grumpy old man both joy and inspiration.

To those who found my writing enjoyable, I am pleased, that is my general intention. To those I have angered, my apologies, it was not my intention — usually. To those of you who may think I am crazy, you may well be correct, and I may in fact agree with you. To those I have made think, well, that was probably accidental. To those I have made laugh or cry, most likely also an accident. If I have made you feel, that was simply me returning the favor.

The happiest of holidays to everyone, and may the new year be a blessing for us all. I hope to be with all of you again in 2022.

My Blessings

pine boughs sparkling
yule log crackling
full hearts brimming
drawn close this night

ribbons
on bright papers
gifts bestowed
one at a time

round and round
the kindred circle
celebrating
unveiled affections

joy
love
and cheerful laughter
precious times with family

Solstice Blessing

soon we cross the solstice night
the final dying of the light
as the old year quickly wanes
seasons will circle back again

light will overtake the dark
sun shifts the journey of its arc
each new day’s light longer burns
we’ll give thanks as light returns

life’s cycles will reprise
as a new year does arrise
may the power of light’s rebirth
bring you blessings of the earth

*
rob kistner © 2021

Poetry at: dVerse

 

I adore this song! If you’ve not heard it, then it’s my gift to you. Listen loud!

Turbulasonia

Turbulasoniathe inability to turn off the voices in your head.
An “Obscure Sorrow” of my own invention.

 
Being hostage
to a hopeless din
of relentless repetition

is a most unnerving
most disturbing
endlessly cyclical condition

clarity held captive
in confusion’s
unforgiving grip

trapped in cruel cacophony
not unlike
a psychedelic trip

the chatter wells
inside my head
unbearably insistent

thoughts and plans
jumble about
quite sadly inconsistent

all this cognitive
irregularity
makes me feel craxisiant

would I could
start thinking straight
but logic seems resistant

oh — to squelch the gibberish
but my inner self
won’t listen

*
rob kistner © 2021

Poetry at: dVerse

 

Angel Baby

 

Totally gone — I am I’m sure
and I doubt that there’s a cure
from this fever of sweetest bliss
for that wasn’t simply just a kiss

will I ever waken I cannot tell
I’m caught up in your heavenly spell
this is magic — more than what it seems
I’m lost deep in a lover’s dreams

if I’m asleep then it’s just fine
these sweet dreams are quite divine
my angel baby here’s a wish I make
wooo…ooo baby — let me not awake
my golden slumbers do not forsake

*
rob kistner © 2021

Poetry at: Sunday Muse

 

This Night

As you read this Christmas poem, with its taste of bittersweetness, see it not in a dark light — embrace it as a tale of a long-awaited journey, to be with the one beloved.


digital collage entitled: “Christmas Tear” – by: rob kistner © 2011

 

B rushed my shoulder on this morning’s train
then at the market it was there again
while in line to get my breakfast tea
from our favorite table it beckoned me

in the crowd at the festive mall
glimpsed like a flicker of candle light
I swear I saw it fleeting fall
upon the gifts I did not wrap this night

upon the tree I did not decorate
the greeting cards I did not write
in frail voice I chastise fate
singing carols doesn’t feel right

this season I see it everywhere
the shadow of your love
elusive as a shopper’s smile
caught up in the crush and shove

but soon I’ll catch and hold it close
warmly to my breast
it will sweetly fill my heart
lay soft with me this midnight rest

for it returns this night each year
the same night you went away
in dreams you kiss away each tear
touch my lips that beg you stay

taken from my life in sleep
gone without a last goodbye
as we dreamed at midnight deep
each year I weep and wonder why

but this year I’ll not awaken blue
in the end an easy thing to do
this night I’ll make our dreams come true
this midnight deep I will come to you

*
rob kistner © 2011
update by rob kistner © 2021

Poetry at: dVerse

This poem originally posted 2011: at Magpie Tales

Studebaker Star

Robert E. Bourke of Loewy/Studebaker is credited with the Starliner design.

Beautiful 1953 Starliner, owned by Ian Hendry of Yorba Linda, California.

 
The american highway of ‘53
was beset with awkward
hulking bulky hunks
ungainly lunks
absent visual integrity

behemoth
style-less
detroit steel
no true soul
no genuine feel

as if gliding to earth
from a burst of stardust
graceful
and sleek
igniting our lust
came Bourke’s vision
of automotive chic

as enticing
and exciting
as a beautiful women
no american car
was minimalisticaly finer

a heavenly body
named for its celestial muse
the alluringly stunning
Starliner

gorgeous from the start
even now
a stainless steel
work of art
it heralded the future
in motor city design

from that point in time
detroit’s awkward design minds
moved steadily to refine
fresh ideas to define
a new era of mobile beauty

the classic Commander
still coveted today
even idolized

restored
rebuilt
and customized

it’s a rolling
sculptural
masterpiece

beauty to outlast history
magnificent simplicity

bravo Robert E!

*
rob kistner © 2021

Poetry at: dVerse

 

 

~ comparison below shows dramatic design difference of ‘53 Starliner ~


1953 Studebaker


1952 Studebaker


1953 Ford


1953 Plymoth


1953 Chevrolet

Ragged

Abandoned to an orphanage at birth, I could have been these children.
But the hand of fate, in the form of a loving adoptive couple, saved me.

 
Abandoned before you here
two desperate needy children
clad in the colors and worries
of their brutal lives

torn shirts
of melancholia’s hues
buttoned in the black of loss

the jackets of pain
are sorrowful blue

threadbare
wrinkled
dirty
the pants are tattered
in shades of despair
belted in the stretched leather
of struggle
buckled in the deep-scarred burnish
of hard knowing

faded and patched
seams unraveling
strained with strife

they are deeply stained
with anguished tears
and the unseen blood red
of raw violence
of heartbreak

shoes scuffed with fears
laces broken
or knotted with regret

roughcut
by the blade of burden
these are the fabrics
of their lives
blended in the palette
that defines sorrow’s essence

by these colors
and textures
you know them
raggedly sewn
with woeful tales

profoundly moved
I dress in their stories
patterned and purple
as night terrors

*
rob kistner © 2021

Poetry at: dVerse

 

This line, “I dress in their stories patterned and purple as night”, from Kimberly’s Blaeser’s poem, “When We Sing of Might”, is incorporated in my piece.

Stay

 

She is gone
she’s gone

how could she leave
why

I’m lost without her

you know
don’t you dog

I see it in your eyes
the sadness there
sadness I recognize
pressing in
so heavy on my heart

yes
she’s gone boy

lost forever
into that place
beyond us here

I’m scared boy
cold

you shiver

you feel it too
don’t you boy

I feel so alone
hurt
so sad

I hear your sorrowful whimper
guess we share that now
in our broken hearts

sorry boy
I’m no comfort here

but stay
stay here boy
I need you now

that’s a good dog

I know
I know
me too boy

me too

*
rob kistner © 2021

Poetry at: Sunday Muse

Fragments In Blue

~ comprised of random non-linear fragments of 12 sad songs ~
Conceived as a Spoken Word Performance piece.

 
Hey blue
there is a song
stabbin’ at my soul
like ink on a tattoo pin

but your heart’s
gone
dusted sapphire
drippin’ tears
caught up
in d’moon drift

like the grey-blu future I see
when I look into the night sky

like a soakin’ wet fever
in my brain
it shows me nothin’
nothin’ but a shade

like drivin’ at night
speedin’ blurred
doing 190
‘round the corners

streetlights streakin’

like a devil
in a tight blue dress

a little guy
livin’ in a blue world

some blues
are just blues

some are jack shit
nothin’ I count
to fall asleep

like the money
the money is nothin’
but I’m hooked
on that touch of zen

know it’s rude
but it’s thick
in my pocket

hear me when I say
the whiskey blues is back
wish you knew it
wish you felt its hammer
but you ain’t no count

look what you put me through
ridin’ the jellyroll line
silver’d fever
‘n a scum-brown bowl
chasin’ that pocket-thick
blue madness

you was my mountain top
thought you was the peak
thought you was everything
the sinew of my salvation

but you — just fragments
pieces of dreams
pieces of bad dreams
nightmare sorrows

riffs off key
in a blu dark night
born to a hard mornin’
noddin’ d’dawn

now
I think of you
no more

*
rob kistner © 2021

Poetry at: dVerse

 

Ever Present Threat

~ I am reprising this piece ~

38CE96C0-4CAF-4CDE-A9A7-FEB7DF386769
we must protect life
let’s not make life a dice game
COVID holds d’bones
Autumn’s leaves should be what falls
don’t gamble with the children

 
Reconsidering crowding children back into classrooms this coming new year of 2022, as the elusive DELTA VARIANT continues driving more major spikes in the current raging pandemic, spikes that are even more contagious and lethal than the original outbreak — is blatantly absurd and socially irresponsible. Our youngest are not vaccinated, and we truly do not know just how easily they may become contagious carriers, or they themselves suffer some longterm personal health issues — or worse. I am so torn knowing my grandson Alex, who comes down to visit me everyday, will be heading off to 2nd grade unprotected, on Wednesday. Love that little man so!

Adult humans do, at our best, continue to demonstrate arrogance, impatience, careless irresponsibility, and blatant ignorance in the face of this deadly scourge. Even the easiest, most basic gesture of consideration for others, wearing a mask, foolishly ignored — turning an act of public safety for the community, into some selfish statement of defiance. Humans are turning common sense into a deadly political confrontation, masqueraded as “human rights”?!

And now we are putting the health and safety of our children, as well that of our society as a whole, in mortal danger, by making them pawns in this “rush back to imagined normalcy”. Why? Because we find the necessary continued actions to effectively protect the human right to life — inconvenient, bothersome or confining. Attached to a respirator in a hospital bed, is more confining. A coffin in a grave is far more confining — permanently!

Listen, we have no idea what the “COVID surge-affect” of these massive moves away from safety, already undertaken, will ultimately cause. We do see emergency rooms being strained to breaking again. We see disease and death rates dramatically spiking again, and we see human adults acting like spoiled children, refusing to get vaccinated. Or simpler yet, to mask up! Now we are going to play Russian roulette with our children!

I hope I am just overreacting, but the evidence of the past 18 months tells me there is cause for genuine concern. Time to batten down again until we actually wipe out, or effectively contain COVID, and it’s ongoing mutations — at least to the degree we have with the flu. We still do not understand this COVID in the same way we do the flu. This is not the time to up the stakes in this gamble with the health and the lives of the human race, by rolling our innocent children out like dice!

we must protect life
let’s not make life a dice game
COVID holds d’bones
Autumn’s leaves should be what falls
don’t gamble with the children

*
rob kistner © 2021

Poetry at: dVerse