Image & Verse

Original DDE™ art: “More Than The Eye…” — by: rob kistner © 3/17/26

—-<§>—-

There was a mason in County Kerry who trusted the nature of stone, believing it settled where it meant to, given patience and a steady hand. He had built walls that held against wind, rain, and the slow persuasion of time, and he took a quiet pride in their staying.

Yet one piece refused him—not boldly, not enough to accuse—but by the smallest measure, a drift no eye could ignore once seen. It was a modest stone, unremarkable in shape or color, the sort a man might place without a second thought.

Each morning it had shifted, as if leaning in the night toward some older intention buried beneath the field. No mark of hand or weather explained it. Only that it would not quite agree.

He marked it with chalk, then scored it lightly with his chisel, thinking to catch it in the act of moving or prove himself mistaken. But the marks remained, and still the stone took its quiet liberty.

At times he thought to remove it altogether, yet something in him resisted, as though the wall itself would notice the absence. So he turned it, set it deeper, pressed it firm with all the knowledge he possessed. Still, by morning, it had chosen otherwise.

At last he left it as it lay, a flaw by craft, but a truth of another kind. And though the wall stood clean and certain to all who passed, he alone felt a hesitation in it—like a sentence that had been spoken correctly, but not honestly.

Years later, when the land was measured again and older boundaries brought to light, it was found that the wall held true in every place but one. And there, just slightly out of line, the stone had kept its own counsel all along. It had been the coner stone for the old wall…

§

…there’s a line that no mason can see
though he measures as true as can be
for the stone set askew
knows a boundary more true—
so rests where it’s chosen to be

<~>

rob kistner © 03/17/26

Poetry at: dVerse

Original DDE™ art: “Into The Earth” — by: rob kistner © 3/17/26

—-<§>—-

yes it’s true
I went away
no tears my love
I’m back today

I will likely leave again
not sure how
don’t know when

to ride this river— life
you will know joy
you’ll too know strife

with my eyes
fixed on the morning star
I fear I’ve drifted
a bit too far

there was supposed to be
a quiet ending
somewhere back there—
a special place
where this river narrowed
and slipped underground

I remember passing it—
or perhaps
it passed me

since then
life has felt slightly unreal—
like walking through a dream
after the alarm rings

the world remains
astonishingly ordinary

coffee steams in the morning…
clouds sliding past the moon…
wind nudging the branches
into slow conversation

my body has grown heavy
with memories—
good and bad—
with the long stories of time

fatige sits beside me
like an old companion

pain speaks sometimes
in low persistent syllables

yet breath continues—
patient…
rhythmic…
faithful as the tide…
sometimes not so

I watch the warm sun
return again
over rooftops—
over distant mountains

it seems unconcerned
with predictions—
with my plight

light pours itself freely
across another day—
and still another

as I sit here—
beyond the place
where my ledger first closed—
feeling less like a survivor
than a witness—

someone invited unexpectedly
to remain in the theater
after the curtain fell

watching the empty stage
fill with morning once more—
listening quietly
for my sunset bell

<~>

rob kistner © 03/7/26

Poetry at dVerse

 

Be careful what we wish for…

Original DDE™ art: “Waiting” — by: rob kistner © 3/16/26

—-<§>—-

The therapies worked. Cells renewed themselves. Organs regenerated. Memory backups lived in quiet servers beneath mountains. People stopped dying the way people once had. Time stretched outward like an endless road disappearing into desert heat.

But Elias had begun to notice something. Immortality did not feel like forever. It felt like waiting. Waiting for meaning. Waiting for the next century to feel different from the last.

He walked every morning along the ocean, watching waves repeat their ancient labor. The tide did not worry about forever. It simply arrived. Children still played in the surf, shrieking at cold water. Lovers still leaned against the railing, speaking softly as dusk gathered.

Life, he realized, had not changed. Only the fear disapated. The great human project had been to defeat ‘scary’ death. But no one had solved the quieter problem that followed. What to do with eternity.

Perhaps forever had never been the point. Perhaps the secret was what the waves had always known: that living—truly living—was not about escaping the end. It was about filling the moment so completely that forever was no longer required. He always thought eternity was the sacred goal.  What fools we humans have been

Elias picked up his journal and began writing. “Happiness — it all belies our existence; we wait, and are still denied.”

<~>

There can be moments of joy, even exhilaration.  But a true, deep, ever abiding happiness — we aren’t wired that way. All the science in this mortal world won’t change that. Go instead, for peace of mind!

<~>

rob kistner © 03/16/26

Poetry at: dVerse

 

 

Original DDE™ art: “Doubt Hovers” — by: rob kistner © 3/16/26

—-<§>—-

behind a facade of calm—
doubt hovers
like a night bird

curiosity  stirs restless

hope…
both massive and frail

…feeling fragile tonight
feeling torn

the fears hit me hard
with a bitter sting

if I strip away uncertainty
maybe I save me
from myself

<~>

rob kistner © 03/16/26

Sunday whirl

 

 

Original DDE™ art: “Ball’s In Our Hands” — by: rob kistner © 3/16/26

—-<§>—-

the forested cliffs
of the coastal northwest
rise proudly
above the powerful pacific—
massive
in their patience

ancient forests
breathing rejuvenating mist
scented with cedar
with sea salt
and rich moss

the ocean whispers
a restless
sacred hymn—
where pearl-frothed
sterling waves
comb basalt shores—
coastal sands

in ages past
we arrived
wearing a thin facade
of false certainty

now this wilderness—
all wilderness
slips beneath it

a quiet strip of doubt
opening in nature’s mind

the mountains
awaken a deeper curiosity—
stirring a tender hope
that something in us
might still listen

that the vulnerable peoples
of this planet’s
fragile ecosystem
might still hear

the lakes and rivers
feel our scalding sting
of long unchecked industry

the salmon of the northwest
flash like frail prayers upstream
as the toxic threat
streams their way

as does our reckless assault
pose critical danger
for the world’s wildlife

for all the living breathing wonders
that are the natural world—
we as well
gathered perilously
in that living fold

we — who must be mindful
stand torn
between reverence—
and appetite

between awe—
and the bitter flaw
of forgetting

one day
the truth will hit us plainly—
the truth will hit us brutally hard—

we may not survive the blow

the earth will revive
to endure—
rain…
wind…
stone…
the tides
they will recover—

they will go on…
they do not need us

while our own bright chapter
may fade

these forests…
these waters…
these winds…
ask only this—

that we remember—
remember the beauty
that raised us

before our blindness
becomes extinction

<~>

rob kistner © 03/14/26

Sunday whirl

 

Hadn’t realized it was my time — I’d missed my EXIT sign…

Original DDE™ art: “I Wonder…” — by: rob kistner © 3/6/26.

—-<§>—-

somewhere
in the journals of life
a number was written—

 was written beside my name—
a quiet prediction
made by statisticians
and the calendars of time—
my shelf life

seventy seven years…
seventy eight—
seventy nine perhaps

a tidy place for me
to fold my map—
leave—
and they close my door

but…
my door never closed—
well — never stayed closed…

instead
it reopened—
I stepped through
walking on
beneath fluorescent skies—
my breath again moving
in and out—
so I move on—
beyond my use by date

…day after day
…week after week
…month after month
…now a couple years passed by

I missed the announcement
to please exit quietly—
so I remain—
making my way…

like an old dog
that refuses to leave the porch

now
like an old dog
my bones complain
like old wood in winter

my stomach grumbles—
flatulence has become
an annoying friend

fatigue drapes itself
over my afternoons

the earth’s begun to wobble a bit
so I watch my steps—
which are fewer now

the sun still rises
with stubborn ceremony

clouds drift the same
as they did when I was twenty—
wind still moves
through the branches
high in the trees…
as if practicing nature’s musical—
birthday candles still sell—

I just sit here
wondering—
not why pain exists…
not why time carries on…
not about its heavy gravity…
not about angels on pinheads…
but why
my small flame of breath
still leans toward tomorrow

no answer arrives

only morning after morning
opening its quiet hand—
placing another hour in mine
as if it had always meant to

I feel my road should have ended—

I now travel borrowed miles

I suspect
there was once a ledger somewhere—
a neat column of years
of miles
allotted to me—
my expiration date

a careful estimate
drawn up by invisible clerks
of probability

that column must’ve ended—
but my road
has not

it keeps stretching forward—
through ordinary days…
through their fluctuating length…
through season upon season…
through rain tapping upon the roof…
through the soft blue television light
of insomnia’s  midnights

my body still carries
a caravan of complaints—
bones creak—
my recall is at times
a lost distracted child—
energy wanders off
like a tired guest

still
my heart—
that stubborn drummer—
continues its slow dirge…
sometimes in irregular rhythm
inside its quiet cavern of ribs

I walk unsteadily
very carefully now
through each morning

the air tastes the same
as it did in younger seasons—
cold…
bright…
intoxicating

birds continue crossing the sky
without consulting any statistics

light spills through windows
flooding across my floor
day after day—
increasing and decreasing
with extravagant generosity—
time continues
upon its relentless way—

but I realize
these extra miles I enjoy
are not owed to me—
they are only
borrowed distance—
in borrowed time

unexpected road…
beyond the place
where my map was meant to end—
where my journal was meant to close

so I move on—
…gently
…gratefully
…awkwardly

…and most curious—

like every human
who has ever
walked this beautiful earth—
wondering

—just how far
my road ahead
is willing to stretch—
how far the horizon
is willing
to keep stepping back—
…when does my journal finally close?

I wonder…

<~>

rob kistner © 03/7/26

Poetry at: dVerse

Original DDE™ art: “Cascades Speak” — by: rob kistner © 3/10/26

—-<§>—-

I am the young pulse
of the western Cascades—

the veins of powerful
fresh rivers thread
through my vital wilderness—
the mountains and forests

my pure wild waters
rush like red blood
through green arteries

rapids quickening
the steady beat
of my strong heart

powerful waterfalls
spill like silver breath
from my lips

crisp lakes lie deep
as quiet chambers
of a living chest

see here my fir and birch—
proud sentinels
of the rivers and streams

for ages I have nurtured
the the life giving elements
of clean rain…
fresh snowmelt…
and I have breathed
unsullied winds

then you arrived—
thin of spirit…
tired of lungs…
after long decades
among the gray arteries
of cities run rampant

you came from lands
where the pulse had weakened—

where fields and streams
once healthy and breathing…
…now wheezed beneath concrete
…now choked on industrialization
…now strangled by the grip
of over population

I felt the fatigue
inside your bones—
the slow dimming
of a spent human tide—

so I opened my wilderness to you
which you eagerly embraced
like a flagging body
welcoming oxygenation
from new blood

and my rivers entered you
like bright transfusion—
their cold clean currents
reawakened your dreams

clear waterfalls revived
your world weary heart

you drank from my mountains’
moving lifeblood—

your spirit responded
to my welcoming call

now your breath carries
the scent of fir and birch…
salt ocean air…
and intoxicating petrichor

your pulse echoes the rhythms
of my wild nature’s drums

I am the freedom of that wild
I am the power of rushing water
I am the energy of the winds

I am the Cascades

<~>

rob kistner © 3/10/26

Poetry at: dVerse

<~>

*Here are remaining 21/22 original © images I created for “The Cascades Speak”. The 22nd is above the poem:

Original DDE™ art: “Western Tanager” — by: rob kistner © 3/9/26

—-<§>—-

the breeze speaks first
then the birch answers
with a gentle wave of branches

suddenly
a restless Tanager lifts
taking flight
as if the sky had called its name

I remain below
feet rooted in gravity
studying the freedom
of that instinctive upward decision

<~>

rob kistner © 03/9/26

Poetry at: dVerse

colony / rattling / still / lose / crunch / life / fits / hunch / scan / packages / grasping / chains

Original DDE™ art: “Wobblingly Woozy” — by: rob kistner © 3/9/26

—-<§>—-

scan of my beeping phone — Amazon Fresh at 4:00 AM
text glowing — a delivery — frozen groceries on my stoop

packages under the porch light — bulging paper bags—
breathing cold air — I step softly onto my quiet deck

still — the street sleeps while my hushed door opens
my front light waking to extinguish the darkness

colony of simple shapes flank the wooden porch-planks
brown bags with handles standing patiently waiting

hunch of caution murmurs somewhere in my stomach
balance lately has not been a sure companion

lose my focus — suddenly I awkwardly fall backward
when reaching carelessly for the next grocery bag

rattling my nerves when my damned heel catches—
fridge doors are just not a soft place to land

crunch of stiff cardboard box folding underfoot
is followed by my tailbone sharply meeting tile

life compresses to a flash-bang of excruciating pain
my shrill shrieks filling the humming kitchen air

fits of unbridled expletives erupt spontaneously
indescribable pain spreads throughout my butt

grasping for counter to steady the spinning room
until the floor releases its claim to my gluteus

chains of stars still floating aloft in my head—
I try putting groceries away — wobblingly woozy

<~>

Original DDE™ art: ”Gettin’ Too Old” by: rob kistner © 3/9/26 rob kistner © 2/26/26

Poetry at: Sunday Whirl

Poetry at: dVerse

 

Original DDE™ art: “Endless Highway Blues” — by: rob kistner © 3/6/26.

—-<§>—-

cold van coughed awake outside another dim hall
for years now we been climbin’ this rock’n’roll hill

I tune my damned strings standin’ on the echoing empty stage
you sit memorizing lyrics on the dimm’d stage-front ledge

nearly 30 years now of this thunder-drummin’ big beat
our busted guitar cases betray what we’ve been about

our sweat droplets sparkle in colored gel’d stage lights
our sound climb’n in a roar into night club lofts

the magic smoke curl’n upward — crowd surges ’n shouts
sweet riffs just keep rise’n higher as the crowd-mind shifts

some nights the gig has our soul energy wildly stirrin’
some morning-mirrors return two ragged faces stare’n

your voice always softens the roar of a restless crowd
as my les paul ripps out raw with the rocker’s creed

we criss-cross this wide land tote’n battered gear
still chase’n the golden promise of the perfect gig

young bands arrive dreamin’ — bright with spunk’n’spark
we smile’n watch’em burn on — with our know’n smirk

along endless highways and in broken shabby motel rooms
the songs keep breathing hope — so the heart still roams

we carry mic chords, amps n’guitars in sore tired hands
following the siren’s echoes of our damned stardom plans

when the amps fall quiet as lights come up in the empty’n hall
…askin’ ourselves will we ever make it — believin’ we might still

<~>

My band: StoneFox and I (on left)

<~>

rob kistner © 03/5/26

Poetry at: dVerse

I added this last song because miss M makes me cry…

Original DDE™ art: “The Light We Carry – 1 & 2” — by: rob kistner © 3/4/26.

—-<§>—-

suppose one day
the people of earth awaken
and war has become
a forgotten language

museums hold rusted rifles
the way they now hold stone tools—
artifacts of an early mind
that had not yet learned
how to live together

could the earth finally learn
the long discipline of peace

imagine the planet turning
through its dark ocean of stars
with no nations sharpening steel—
no sirens climbing the night air

no young faces traded
for the arithmetic of war

cities would glow softly
like lanterns beside a river

markets would open with the sun

Original DDE™ art: “The Light We Carry – 3” by: rob kistner © 3/4/26

children would inherit a language
where the word enemy
had grown dusty with disuse

is such a world possible

or only a fragile dream
spoken by poets
and weary historians

a world
where the night skys
seems relieved—

where stars burning quietly
over a planet
that has finally lowered its fists

but peace
once found
would be fragile—
…like glass
…or frost
…or the wing of a moth

how would such a world
safely protect itself

not through power
power always hungers—
power devours

markets would open with the sun

Original DDE™ art: “The Light We Carry – 4“ by: rob kistner © 3/4/26

perhaps peace begins
much smaller than a planet

perhaps the guardians of peace
would be ordinary people
awake to their responsibility

parents teaching children
how easily anger multiplies

artists reminding nations
of their shared humanity

poets and writers
planting questions
where ill conceived certainty
once stood as the norm

peace might survive
only if earth’s citizens
learned to recognize
the first shadow of cruelty—
before it gathers weight

jnside each person
there is a small light—
not loud
not heroic—
only steady

the quiet light
that refuses cruelty

the patient light
that listens before judging

if enough of those lights
were kept alive—
…in kitchens
…in classrooms
…on sidewalks and buses—
their glow might gather

a slow constellation
rising across the human world—
a beautiful family oh peace

markets would open with the sun

Original DDE™ art: “The Light We Carry – 5“ by: rob kistner © 3/4/26

then the earth itself
might begin to shine differently

its cities bright
not with power—
but with understanding
with knowledge

yet…
if we reached such a moment
how would we guard it

peace cannot truly be locked
inside treaties

it survives only
when those inner lights
P
are tended daily—

when people remember
how easily darkness grows
in neglected corner

even in that careful world
adversaries would linger.

not a nations
not an ideologies—
something older

the restless appetite
that sometimes rises
in the human spirit—
…the desire to possess
…to dominate
…to believe one’s own story
is the center of the earth—

and even then
one truly critical danger would remain—
…not an army
…not a border
…not a cult or ism

only the old shadows
waiting in the human mind—
…envy
…fear
…the hunger for power—
…for more—

resentful covet

restless winds
chaotic winds
winds capable of
extinguishing the small lights
we carry within us

so a peaceful planet
would never be
a finished work—
impossible

Original DDE™ art: “The Light We Carry – 5“ by: rob kistner © 3/4/26

it would be a living sky
of human lights—

each person responsibleui
for keeping its heart-flame
clear

to help illuminate
this world of light—
of peace

it could become a garden
that every generation—
…tills
…tends
…and protects
with patient hands—

pulling weeds
as they learn—
…the language of forests
…the rhythm of rivers
…the pulse of nature

how its heartbeat
is like unto their own

because the ultimate danger
to a peaceful planet
will always be…

the unattended heart

<~>

rob kistner © 03/04/26

Poetry at: dVerse

Original DDE™ art: “Alone”  — by: rob kistner © 3/03/26

—-<§>—-

dawn settles softly
around her quiet chair

the sunlight
remembers her warmth

nothing moves
yet something lingers

love’s breath
held hushed in the room

I reach for a cup

I remember her hands

her hands steadied mornings

her hands soothed my longing

her hands quieted my soul

time carries her voice
like dust

like dust in a cascade sunrise

like dust visible only
if light tilts just right

light cresting mount hood

I thought sadness was absence

absence  is not sadness

sadness is a presence
without weight

sadness is an empty chair pulled close

sadness is a chair no one sits in

sadness is a lone morning mug

sadness is a heartbeat

a heartbeat felt in stillness

her laughter survives
in my habits of silence

her smile survives
in the waking sun

her soulful essence survives
in the way I pause
before speaking her name

what is gone

our dream is gone

our future is gone

what now lives
is her tenderness

her tenderness still breatths

breaths beneath everything

<~>

rob kistner © 3/03/26

Poetry at: dVerse

Original DDE™ art: “The Invisible Hand I~II” — by: rob kistner © 3/2/26.

—-<§>—-

Last night the sky over the Pacific Northwest felt unusually clear, as if the brisk night had polished it. I stepped outside with my cane and let the reach of any ambient light fall away, giving the dark its full authority. The night set its gentle embrace upon me. Above my head was a cacophony of lights.

I noticed the stars held solid in their spacing — they endured their endless rank. Somewhere beyond their patient burn, beyond even the thin milk of the visible galaxies — something held everything together. It knew perfectly this brilliant scatter. I sensed an aliveness, felt a breathing presence. I was awed by the essence of the enormity. But save an occasional perceived twinkle, or streak of shooting star, or the slow lit slip of something manmade — all was still.

In Life on Mars, Tracy K. Smith writes of dark matter — the unseen force that keeps galaxies ordered. They say most of the universe is made of what we cannot detect. As if embraced by an invisible hand. I think of the quiet forces in a life  — love, joy, sadness, anger. These are all unseen, but they add weight to life. We are held more by what we cannot see, than by what we can.

dark matter holds true
galaxies spinning in space
the unseen balance

<~>

rob kistner © 3/2/26

Poetry at: dVerse

Original DDE™ art: “Undaunted” by: rob kistner © 2/26/26

—-<§>—-

rain needles the canvas dome
each drop a small drumbeat
on the skin of air

the balloon heaves upward — stubborn
ropes creaking like old timbers
but the integrity of form holds

he stands in the wicker cradle—
bearded, bald, rainslicked
eyes narrowed against the lash of sky

lightning stitches white fire
through torn gray clouds—
threading the world to its danger

he lifts his fist into the thunder
not in wasted anger
but in absolute refusal to yield

wind shoves the craft sideways—
the burner roars back
a furnace answering the storm

below rivers and fields dissolve into shadow
roads vanish like unfinished sentences
the earth relinquishing its claim

the land breaks into rocks and black water
the far ridge an edge he must cross
no place to settle, no safe step offered

he has a critical crossing to make
a promise tied somewhere beyond
this wall of rain and noise

water drips from his glasses and beard
cold threads his jaw flesh and mouth
a line drawn firm and steady against retreat

fear moves through him like a ghost
old doubts rising from some left behind life
a scrap of doubt trying to take hold

the wicker basket shudders and trembles
the wind turns wild — chaotic
still he stands

he rises — bold as flame
carried through fracture and flash—
undaunted by the sky’s fierce argument

beyond the storm’s torn veil
somewhere past the roaring dark
the promise waits — calling him on

<~>

rob kistner © 2/26/26

Poetry at: Sunday Whirl

Poetry at: dVerse

When sanity is silent — insanity speaks…

Original DDE™ art: “Tattered & Battered” by: rob kistner © 2/26/26

—-<§>—-

the union was never iron
only threads of perspectives
pulled taut across a loom of equality

it was a highway to hope — a new future
filled with promise and possibility
stretched far out before us

but that bright promising highway
now seems shattered — damaged
deeply potholed with lies

ballots once whispered hope
like wind through tall grass—
each blade leaning toward consent

now the manipulative hands of a few
threaten the sanctity of the ballot box
trying to fold voices into silence

now a few want to violate that sanctity—
to suppress the true voice of the people
and the truth for which it stands

courthouse hold their breath—
marble pillars remember
the weight of honest footsteps

laws bend first in language—
then in practice—
finally in the quiet of fear

now our lady liberty is blinded—
who used to welcome those in need
now only those deemed appropriate

neighbors lower their flags—
not in surrender
but in frazzled uncertainty

truth is sand in the gears—
ground finer each day
by the engine of corrupt power

Original DDE™ art: “This Guy Needs A Job” by: rob kistner © 2/26/26

when the sane and the just
sadly fall quiet and complacent
the unjust ones among us will rule

still, the shredded fabric of hope listens
for the now muffled sound of the brave
crying out for freedom and justice for all

because a union survives
not in the few’s crushing grip
but in the many’s courageous hands…

that refuse to unclasp—
don’t let go of love
don’t give up!

<~>

rob kistner © 2/26/26

Poetry at: dVerse