Heart’s Whisper


“Nature is not a place to visit. It is home.”Gary Snyder


Clackamas River — Oregon

 
~ inspired in part, by Gary Snyder’s “How Poetry Comes to Me” ~

 

Peering over cliff’s edge
into the glass-green stream
down river
from the cascading falls

I watch trout
slide in
then out
of the soft break of a bolder’s shadow

across the stone canyon
cut by this persistence of current
an Osprey alights
treetop

a focused sentinel

measuring the timing
and tactic
of his imagined next meal

drawn by this breathtaking canyon
down the steep stone face
through the White Aspen
Douglas Fir
giant Golden Chinquapin
and Oregon Madrone
I descend

keeping a steady pace
bent-knee’d and cautious

with boot tread
and leather palm
I throttle and steer
through an ample incline
of base gravel

I’m followed
by a fine dusted slide
of clattering pebbles
and dry conifer needles

down down
I come
to a stream-side grass patch

then alertly
hop — rock to rock
‘cross the dance of crystal chill stream
to a small clearing


Pearsony Falls — Oregon

in this wilderness canyon
midst the quiet rush
of the Clackamas waters
the hushed murmur
of breeze
through tall Ponderosa bough
and the ambiance
of living breathing nature

I make camp

here to rest
and meditate
in this sacred realm
of the 4 directions
mesmerized by this eden


Vale’s Bend, Clackamas River — Oregon

an unburdening begins
in commune with the 4 elements

with the forested earth
the brisk mountain air
the pure clear waters
of glacial melt

and I
have brought the fire



The Narrows, Clackamas River — Oregon

night falls
star-cast and chill

settled by this night’s fire
I sense spirits approaching
carefully

rip’ling ‘cross the crisp white water
hesitant over the moonlit boulders
staying just outside my campfire’s light
just out of clarity

my muse invites them
to come

to join
inside the ring of light

in my heart
I feel words
whispering like a song

I listen openly

carefully

peacefully surrendering
to the inspiration
for which I’ve come

I breath out
a quiet thank you

then I write
as these words
begin falling to my paper

*
rob kistner © 2022

More poetry of the elements at: dVerse

Even more poetry at: dVerse

Friday writings at: Poets & Storytellers

Still more poetry at: earthweal

 


Carousel

“ And the seasons, they go round and round, and the painted ponies go up and down — we’re captive on the carousel of time”The Circle Game, Joni Mitchell


“The Carousel” — Anne Wipf

 
Sitting, lost in a daydream, when through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings — “we’re captive on the carousel of time, we can’t return, we can only look behind…” Briefly disoriented, I remember that I’ve been listening to music, to Joni Mitchell’s live album. She is singing “Circle Game”.

I fall again, deep into thought, now contemplating my life, how the years have spun by, wild as a top — faster ever faster. It’s left its patina etched deeply into my face. I’m no longer a young man. At 75, I’ve known triumph and tragedy, both left their mark. I’ve borrowed, bought, and sold — strayed through several shades of grey. But have I leveraged away my soul, just to play this fleeting game? Is all I’ve lost worth what I gained? Am I happy? Questions begin spinning round, and round, and round.

*
rob kistner © 2022

More prosery at: dVerse

 
I never thought I would ever see this again — Joni Mitchell singing live! WOW!

https://youtu.be/b5OIlK1g3yA
https://youtu.be/lDzybU85ZXc

I love you Joni, you ARE a goddess! You are still magic! Bless you Brandi for this.

Flights’o Fancy

“It’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then”.

Through the Looking Glass — Lewis Carroll


Photo by Brooke Shaden

 
When Nancy seeks worlds fantastic
beyond wonderland she’ll go
her imagination is so elastic
her spirit so enthusiastic
she opens and lets her mindscape flow

to magical fanciful ports of call
no longer merely earthly mortal
she floats high above the dreamer’s wall
in wing-ed fantasy’s enthrall
she flits through mystery’s portal

she sees visions quite enchanted
worlds her rich dreams beget
marvels she takes not for granted
forever in her soul implanted
wonders she will not forget

*
rob kistner © 2022

More prosery at: The Sunday Muse

 

* recommend you expand to full screen for next two*

NEXT — peek inside Nancy’s mind to see…
~ Dragon’s Tail ~ a fascinating brief 5-minute fractal journey

FINALLY — join Nancy on…
A psychedelic mind-blowing 90 minute voyage into and through infinity?

Autumn Fades

“Well do (you) know what it’s like to have a graveyard as a friend,‘cos that’s where they are boy, all of them. Don’t seem likely I’ll get friends like that again”.

Talking Old Soldiers — Elton John, Bernie Taupin


“Autumn By The Lake” — Leonid Afremov

 
L ife’s too short and passes fast
we hold on tight to make it last
the ones we love leave too soon
quickly as an afternoon
of a splendid day in fall
that we struggle to recall
life’s too short and passes fast
we hold on tight to make it last

as memory grows overcast
the heart longs for the times that passed
as life’s moments fade away
sadly nothing can belay
the fog that settles with time
dulling what was once sublime
as memory grows overcast
the heart longs for the times that passed

*
rob kistner © 2022

More prosery at: dVerse

 



Final Silence

 

R econciliation
fresh start
a new beginning

our last attempt

but as too usual
tempers flare
lethal barbs are cast
emotional bloodshed

we both know the kill spots

communication careening
ruthlessly
we hit the wall
full throttle

wordless startle
confused frustration
sobering resignation
then somber silence
silence like a weight
heavy as time

midst the din
of restaurant diners
we suffocate in silence

so we just leave it
the rest unsaid

to comment further
would have been irrelevant
and we’ve grown weary
of irrelevance
so very weary

so I sit
unspeaking
as you rise from our table
no farewell’s exchanged
we both know

turning to leave
you cover the distance
to the door
in a few heartbreaking steps

you look back
I will miss you
in your eyes

you hold my gaze
as if to speak

but my eyes
cannot reach back
nothing left to say

you lower your eyes
turn your head
step through the door

and are gone
in silence

*
rob kistner © 2022

More prosery at: dVerse

 


Too Flashy

 

Z apfino’s heart is broken
helvetica is why
helv turned zap down
made poor zap cry

zap liked helv a lot
took a shot
tested fate
asked for a date
helv declined

“no way
you’re too much flashy hype
sorry zap
you’re not my type”

*
rob kistner © 2022

More prosery at: dVerse

 

~ videos have nothing to do with this poem — just thought they were fascinating ~

Blind Rev’ran


Rev Gary Davis — blind blues & gospel singer… and friend.

 

Blind rev’ran
plays the blues

he is legend

his tales of pain
of injustice
the lore of the big muddy

his eyes
earthy brown
turbulent as that river

his truth
a deep current
impossible to escape

his knowing voice
a tempered edge
honed by blues
seasoned
by a kind heart

broadleaf husky
thick as sorghum
smoooooth
as beale street bourbon

the cf martin
swings from a leathered neck
on a tattered strap
stretched and shaped
by the heft of sorrow
poured into the soundhole

marked and scarred
by years of burden
of witness

its character and patina
bear testament
to a genuine soul

from his fingerboard
roll chords of loss
under resonant notes
of struggle

a rhythmic stomp
meters stinging verse

bittersweet memories
of broken promise
failed love

of dirt field
cruel street
back alley
of harsh wisdom

they reverberate
to fill the air

to break my heart
to steal my soul

to make innocence
wanna dance

*
rob kistner © 2022

Poetry at: Sunday Muse

 


Gypsy Michal


My Gypsy Michal is Michal Elia Kamal — watch her perform below… Wow!

 

Gypsy michal plays percussion
michal loves to sing and play percussion

when michal lays hands to djembe hide
women have wept — grown men have cried

there is such fire in michal’s stroke
she turns their longing heart to smoke

when the djembe thunders and michal belts
imaginations swoon — heart strings melt

her body twists like a cobra snake
she stirs your passions wide awake

gypsy michal plays hot percussion
stone cold truth — ain’t no discussion

*
rob kistner © 2022

More poetry at: Sunday Muse

 

I love this performance, and it’s a street busk, makes it even cooler — just AMAZING!
Man, you wanna talk about soul — WOW! Absolutely transcendent.

🙂

Simmering

 

R elentless din of crawling prowling night
pours steaming through my window

midnight intrudes damp and searing
insistent
scalded air too hot and thick to breathe

the full moon — sweats
a heat to suffocate

blades beat and drone overhead
promising relief
in vain

sweltered darkness lays heavy upon me
unbearable

I toss in labored half-sleep
gasping for cool relief
restless

I inhale deep to fill my lungs
seeking satisfying breath
only to bake them in cruel heat
no relief

salted droplets trace my spine
baste my neck
pool in the hollow of my fevered chest
bloom and seep
from beneath the smother
of matted soak atop my head
to weep their way ‘cross smoldering brow
into my eyes
and sting

in this nocturnal furnace
night clings and stifles
even dreams are scorched
simmering in August

*
rob kistner © 2022

Poetry’s sweltering at: dVerse

 

Hey Junebug


”Summer Evening” by: Edward Hopper

 

Hey junebug
why so loud
why so impertinent

what’s with all this buzzing chatter
you’re bump and thump and all a’clatter
worrying with the frontporch light
steaming on this august night
such racket over a minor matter

while here below you
my heart breaks in silence

*
rob kistner © 2022

Poetry’s sweltering at: dVerse

 

Red Doors — (hot august encore)

This poem was inspired by this minimalist photo:


“Red Door Painting” by: Ben Will Studio

 

Passion —
let it flare fire red
red as the doors
of back alley Paris
that conceal the carnal
intertwined
on a star-burst night

in the velvet grip
of sweating conquest
ripe with release
coursing with hunger
for the tender flesh
of reckless youth

white hot
as a deflowered bride
burning with the lust
of an august first-night
impaled on the horn
of promise and desire

there will be no truth
in these minglings
only raw bleeding need
and the quenchless thirst
for bittersweet
forbidden nectar

so when you hear
the whispers whispered
know that it was so
and so it will remain
in the lithe loins
of the skin slaves
aflame
behind the Paris red doors

6067541A-D7EB-4E5E-B39F-6A0096A06C9C
”Harlot” by Andrew Atroshenko,

*
rob kistner © 2021

August Poems at: dVerse

Still more poetry at: dVerse

Poetry at: Poets & Storytellers


 



Starman

“The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena”Carl Sagan

 

There is a break in the tree line, behind my former home in Oregon, opening onto a secluded path, which winds up into the forested foothills of Mt Hood. I love to walk on moonlit nights, wandering up through the towering trees. About a half mile trek, along the trail, lit by moonlight, filtered dreamlike through the canopy, brings me to a hidden lake. It nestles captivatingly in a clearing, embraced by a stand of proud Ponderosa’s. Secreted loons eerily lodel. The absence of any light pollution, allows the night sky to explode brilliantly, full of stars.

I love to perch on the trunk of a downed cedar, fallen by the lake’s edge. I gaze up into the night sky, expanding out forever above me. The moon paints the intimate woodland dell in a soft sterling glow. It is a serene, almost sacred experience. And the stars, so many stars — billions and billions of stars, sparkling and spangling and glittering to eternity! It is absolutely breathtaking! And this spectacle is captured, in crystalline clarity, by the mirrored surface of the lake. Above me, below me, as far as I can see — star-clustered infinity. I’m transfixed in a dream, lost in time, mesmerized – adrift in the cosmos.

a night sky of stars
reflecting like diamonds
on a mirrored lake

*
rob kistner © 2022

Poetry’s looking up at: dVerse