by fantasy’s elaboration
through stars of wonder I ascend
soar in sweet hallucination
in ships of my imagination
oh, would this voyage but never end
rob kistner © 2019
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sailing on his skiff of dreams
the ferryman standing watch
soaring skyward untethered
‘mong the clouds of wonder
to magical mystical ports of call
where all imagined is in my grasp
if only I could stay the course…
but fast – daybreak approaches
and this dreamer will awaken
but caught still am I
in the final dream
conjured forth by the ferryman
spirit stirs to the distant voice
readies for the firmamental journey
one foot still in this mortal realm
soul resigned to embarkation
time folding in upon time
as slow you approach
the celestial light
rob kistner © 2019
it’s bliss al a carte
its magic imparts
a zing
I love Miro’s art
his bold color chart
pure bling
enlivens my heart
Joan Miro’s cool art
rob kistner © 2019
A vengeful maiden dressed in red
7 men lured, 7 men dead
7 men drawn to this comely miss
7 souls lost to her lethal kiss
A modern legend is Bloody Sue
Her deeds of terror are bold and true
Was she from hell or heaven’s gate
It’s certain her victims earned their fate
The first, the banker, a crooked man
Stole dreams of others with his evil plan
To own the world, to possess the lot
Now all that’s his is a dead man’s plot
Found with coins choked down his throat
Clutched in his hand a bloody note
“You greedy bastards, this could be you
Remember well!”, signed Bloody Sue
The second, the lawyer, a prideful sort
Lied and cheated to win in court
And bragged of his dishonest way
Until violence marked his final day
Found one morning with bashed-in head
A bloody gavel lay on his bed
“Bludgeoned here for his lies and scandal!”
Read Sue’s note, wrapped ’round the handle
The third, the bishop, a man of lust
Molested innocent’s, betrayed their trust
Kept a journal of his lurid deeds
A trophy to all his prurient needs
Found on his pulpit with a bloody lap
His private parts in his bishop’s cap
“Beware vile predators throughout this land!”
Sue had carved in the bishop’s hand
Fourth was the baker, a gluttoness fool
Treated his workers horribly cruel
Paid wages that left an empty plate
While he gorged himself – he ate and ate
One day at the bakery’s opening hour
He was found dead in a vat of flour
Across the vat, bold and big,
In chocolate icing, Sue wrote “pig!”
Then the lazy chief of the town’s police
Unsolved cases filled his valise
Crime and violence everywhere
While he snoozed in his office chair
One day shots rang loud and clear
Sue riddled the chief from ear to ear
“Get another chief, get this damned work done!”
Said the note from Sue, found by the gun
The office gossip, and his jealous way
Spread lies and rumors on the phone all day
His envy the ruin of many good names
Destroying lives with his vicious games
Sue used his phone to strangle him
And left a voice mail dire and grim
“To all who ruin a reputation
You too will die from strangulation!”
Last… the radio talk-show host
Spreading propaganda, coast to coast
Pawn of a racist politician
Thought he was above suspicion
Electrocuted on his live broadcast
Sue dealt justice hard and fast
She was heard to say as hot sparks flew
“Beware you haters, I’ll fry you too!”
So that’s the story of Bloody Sue
Believe it or not, that’s up to you
A brutal beauty in scarlet cape
From her vengeful hands there’s no escape
She will draw from you your final breath
If she marks you with her kiss of death
Some say a ghost who haunts this earth
Others claim an angel, of heavenly birth
But all agree there’s one thing true
If you’re a son-of-a-bitch,
She’ll come for you
grizzly
ahead
standing in the switchback
scratching on a cedar
he sees me
stops
drops to all fours
stares
I tense
he still stares
shakes his mass
snorts
chuffs
paws the path
shakes his head
chuffs again
turns…
ambles away
I exhale
shake
rob kistner © 2019
DAY 23
hope stirs
the promised breeze
begins to freshen
gathering strength
anticipation mounts
building currents
draw taut the line
heartbeat quickens
with insistent tugging
my kite fills
stands
sculpted against the frame
whoosh!
it rises
DAY 23
save to raise his hand
to brush his brow
or adjust his cap
day after day
quietly
on the same park bench
at the pond
near the same tree
same willow
you could watch him come
mid-morning
see him leave
at dinner time
day after day
sitting there
hands on his knees
quietly
same bench
same tree
one morning
as he sat there
I left my office
walked across the street
into the park
approached him
smiled
and sat down beside him
quietly
he said nothing
so we sat together
for a while
quietly on the bench
by the tree
finally I spoke up
why do you sit here old man
sit here everyday
day after day
here on this bench
quietly watching the pond
he tilts his head
speaks softly
I’ve come here for years
he says
but how can that be
I say
these office buildings
this park – they’re all new
how could you have come
to this park for years
not to this park
he says
no – not to this park
– to this tree
me and all my friends
came to willow pond
every spring
to this tree
this old willow
for years
day after day
why
I ask
why to this tree
quiet smile
we played cards
in its shade
he explains
we talked – laughed
we listened at the pond
in its wonderful shade
day after day
this wonderful willow
where are your friends
I ask
why are they not here
with you on the bench
because
he hesitates
they are gone
he says finally
quietly
gone – gone where
I ask
gone
is all he says
quietly
unmoving
hands on his knees
all gone
oh – I see
I say
do you
is all he says
so why do you sit here
day after day
I ask
he stares straight ahead
and after a bit he says
I’m listening
listening
I say
listening for what
he sits quietly for a while
then
without changing his gaze
without raising his hands
from his knees
he says haltingly
for our laughter
our beautiful laughter
I still hear it
here
on the breeze
through this willow
rob kistner © 2019
DAY 21
green leaves on blue pond
float in golden springtime sun
red bird softly sings
buds burst forth through limb
streams run fast beyond their brim
April arrives strong
rob kistner © 2019
DAY 21
Author’s note: On the Oregon Coast, about an hour west of where I lived for 25 years, is a wonderful little artist’s village called Cannon Beach. The beach is vast and rambling and features an amazing natural wonder called Haystack Rock. Its name explains its shape, but you must see it to understand its incredible mass.
Just north along the coast lies Ecola State Park, where you will find a beautiful meadow hugging the very top edge of a towering ocean cliff. From this lofty viewpoint you look over the vast ocean, waves crashing below you.
The cliffs, with slivers of white beach at their feet, stretch left and right as far as you can see – broken occasionally by a widened expanse of sand. To the left, as you face the Pacific Ocean, tucked into just such a widened expanse, is the village of Cannon Beach. To your right is Indian Beach, mildly famous as the setting for the film, Point Break, which starred Keanu Reeves and Patrick Swayze.
This cliff-top meadow’s vista is absolutely breathtaking — soul-stirring. It served as the inspiration for “Hoping To Fly”.
observing a seabird suspended in flight
aloft on the sea breeze
billowing up and wafting down the cliff
I’m mesmerized
stretching before me
undulating azure blue
falling away
over earth’s edge
into forever
unfurling below
a white ribbon of sand
fragile
pristine
a breath between eternal sea
and towering rock facades
flanking left and right
in sweeping panorama
a breeze freshens
tosses my hair
I shudder
bracing against vertigo
swept up in a feeling
oh to be un-tethered
weightless
no longer earthbound
my soul
like that seabird
takes wing
soaring skyward
the freedom of feathered wing
over hollow bone
riding the thermals
climbing ever upward
gliding
circling
then
diving earthward
wings tucked
rocketing to the sea
to sail out ‘cross wavecrest
bank left to the boulderd jetty
to flutter back in pull up
glide down silently
to land soft as a fallen leaf
atop the mighty boulders
of Indian Beach Point
beautiful
exhilarating
the true miracle of flight
my heart drifts
back to mother earth
full – intoxicated
rich with this experience
observing a seabird
suspended in flight
riding the Pacfic Ocean cliffs
DAY 19
DAY 16
evaporating skyward
penetrating the earth
we are tenacious, persistent
always seeking our natural level
breaking beyond futile bounds
returning to our azure mother – the sea
rob kistner © 2019
DAY 17
but I say
rise up now
clad in colors
of a joyful life
rebuke the strife
do not bow
tilt against convention
the prevailing norm
is a toxic storm
buck the winds of brute rebuff
stare down the face of ridicule
if buffeted by cruel
condemnation
from the foolish
sadly blown off course
refrain from force
be not inclined to fear
nor falter
choose instead
to tame the dread
to stay ones ground
leaning hard on raw conviction
steadfast bound
be anchored bold
and deeply hold
to the genuine
do not resent
remain flexible
to withstand the blows
of frightened those
who would see you swayed
and have you bent
your broken spirit
for so to savor
stand head high
back straight
don’t ever waver
be never rigid
brittle
prone to break
do not forsake
your heart song
wisdom is a supple soul
skewered through
by true enlightenment
pierced clean and strong
by wonder
bleeding hope
and justice
DAY 15
stranding at liver revel
in this amassing george
glazing upon this malificent wonderful
cut by lime and curtains
into the great cock of the girth
I marbel at the powder
at the booty
at the degeneration
of this repentantless liver
scalping this malignent worm
tumblering tumescently
in cynical charity
over bowlers and faults
ever awkward
________________
Spellcheck Gone Right
~
standing at river level
in this amazing gorge
gazing upon this magnificent waterfall
cut by time and current
into 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 boulders and falls
ever onward
DAY 14
I shot her twice
at close range
to witness
the power of life
crossing over
and
to feel her die…
cool precision
in a quiet rage
sacred act
of raw release
purity of instinct
DAY 13
morning hatch has them eager to explode
up through ripples into the morning air
from Spring’s stream so crystal clear, snow melt cold
I walk the bank alert but stay composed
searching for the best stream side view, of where
the chill of current has trout brash and bold
it’s in the brisk slack water big ones hold
ready to strike the tempting air borne fare
as Spring streams run crystal clear, snow melt cold
soon a mountain stream drama will unfold
when a mighty rainbow engulfs its prey
‘cause chill of current made it brash and bold
oh what a mighty wonder to behold
a rainbow breaking water with a flair
when Spring streams run crystal clear, snow melt cold
and chill of current makes trout brash and bold
