Month: March 2023

Still

“For someone you love deeply, love will not end with dying, or leave with the last breath. Such love never ends.”


My wife Kathy pictured above, in the amazing garden she brought forth alone,
including the fire pit area, from our backyard patch of dead grass.

 

S till
it sits

still
atop the corner
of our garden wall
just where she left it

how many lilies
did it nourish

how many fuscia
lilac
rose
and morning glory
did it quench

it dispensed its
life giving waters
so gracefully
in her hand

such a delicate hand

gentle in its task
of planting new growth
but rugged on the weeds
that threatened her beloved garden

she was the giver of life
and the guardian
of her realm

but she could not
stop all that threatened

and I had not
her gift of life giving

and so it rests
atop the wall

no longer is it lifted
by her tender
hand of nurture

that hand for now
is still

sleep love
to heal


Kathy Kistner

*
rob kistner © 2023

Poetry at: dVerse

OLN poetry at: dVerse

 






Always

“A weed is but an unloved wildflower.” – Ella Wheeler Wilcox


 

I remember you as mad March erupts
wildflowers beauty, especially gold buttercups
winter’s made them all wait quite long enough
these gorgeous mavericks always lifted us up

I remember you loved these raucous renegades
spreading color on fields, hills, and glades
in a hundred bright hues and as many shades
even painting steep slopes in rich cascades

I remember the beauty you saw in these weeds
that indiscriminately dispersed their seeds
to grow free as were their untamed needs
for you understood how a wild heart bleeds

I remember you in our special park in May
in the cool Spring breeze at the end of day
on the silvered beach of a white-capped bay
at the mouth of that moonlit waterway

I remember you in the shady arbor park
on a soft matt of fallen aspen bark
to the Summer song of a meadow lark
on sunny days ‘til after it got dark

I remember you by the garden wall
in the dappled shade of that willow tall
on the scattered down of its leafy sprawl
on those crisp, and heady days in Fall

I remember you by the old oaken mill
‘neath autumn’s trees on that grassy hill
when we’d make sweet love in the early chill
I remember with tears, our every lover’s thrill
as free as those wildflowers, I remember you still
and ‘til my seasons all are gone, love, I always will

“Even a beautiful flower has its season.”

*
rob kistner © 2023

Poetry at: dVerse

 


Anticipation

Intoxicating memories of fishing the wild!

Flyfishing is zen on adrenaline.

 

C liff-climbing conifers stir in the brisk dawn breezes that swoop the gorge, rustling my jacket, nipping my cheeks. Across the casual rapids, near the stony shore, rainbows surface in slack water, hungrily gulping morning hatch.

A familiar warmth comforts my palm, as my fingers wrap natural cork. With index finger raised, I gauge line tension, then with learned precision, I bring the willow’d shaft high above my shoulder, the rod flexing expectantly. In a silvery spray, wetted line is stripped from the stream in front of me, where I’d floated it moments before. Silently, the slender thread peels from the current’s surface, leaving a razor crease, disappearing quickly as it comes toward me. With a knowing draw of my wrist, the line arcs backwards, increasing the pressure on my fingertip, bringing the rod to 2 PM, momentum loading for the cast. Then a fluid, unhurried, forward bend of my elbow, and flick of my wrist, rolls the arched line ahead, accelerating with tension.

Finally, with a careful pluck of my finger, like on the string of a guitar, the eager line is released. The golden-barbed feather at line’s end, sails silently into the squinting summer sun, as the glass-green fiber rolls out ahead, over azure ripples, the singing strand painting an S in the cloudless sky. Quick, smooth, and quiet, the line is re-wed to stream, the feathered morsel at the tip offered seductively, coaxing a ready trout to rise — and strike. In this moment, mind focused, breath steady, senses heightened, I pause expectantly, and reflect — magnificence!

anticipation
life’s sweetest intoxicant
rich as the reward

*
rob kistner © 2023

More poetry at: dVerse

 


~ save our world – only we can ~

Big White

 

Hear me
hear my wolf’s song
as I keen and howl
for our dying world

so too
you must howl
raise your human voices
use your words
use them now

poets raise your pens

scream of the injustice
of the real danger
the imminent danger

we must rally
to seek
and to secure
the sacred balance

hold it close
become its protector

correct your imbalance
with our mother earth

stop your human stupidity
please

I believe
with all the wildness
of my natural heart
with all the strength
of my free spirit
that some of you
want to do your part

want to join the battle

my kind
and our earth must trust
that you will
because you must

life on our earth
is dying
but it seems most humans
are just not trying

your carelessness
is killing our mother
gaia
and killing you and I
a result of your
lethal human arrogance
and this might just be
our final chance
to make it

we must take it

see me human
feel me
hear me
it’s time you start

you must listen
now

ignite your wild heart!

*
rob kistner © 2023

Poetry at: The Sunday Muse

 


Time Slip

The wise do at once what the fool does at last. — Baltasar Gracian

 

Hey crow
I see you there
I feel your stare

wondering why
I’m stooped and low
running slow
unwinding in this rockin’ chair

I am tired crow

seen too much
way too much

more that I care
to see

bent and bewildered
this is it
for me

for years these hands
swept ‘round my face
I clocked on
to keep the pace
now I’m not movin’
from this fuckin’ place

my time’s run out
I’m just so tired
crow

exhausted by foolish humans
who believed time didn’t matter
that there would always be enough

enough to turn things around
they were sure there’d always be

to make up for their disregard
for their careless mistakes
their unchecked abuse
for their terminal stupidity

no hurry
they thought

no worry
we’ll do it later
another time
it’s time we got

tomorrow
we’ll do it tomorrow
there’s always tomorrow
we can allot

they just kept watchin’ me
slippin’ slippin‘ slippin‘
away

now time enough
may be what there’s not

guess what
I’m the time they needed
and my times up

tomorrow’s here
and gone
I’m movin’ on

they’ve run out the clock

like children playing with bubbles
the recklessness didn’t stop
now the bubble’s about to pop

they should’a known
time does not stand still
I never will

but for now
I’m sittin’
gittin’ a breather

they wasted me
and I’m too spent
to help them

at this moment
I refuse

I’m squandered
they lose

what’s left
may soon be yours
to use

crow

ya’ never know

*
rob kistner © 2023

Poetry at: The Sunday Muse

 



Commiserating


 

What have I done dog
such a fool am I
fool on this hill
head lost in the sky
what have I done
I’ve let our love song die

when the fire of love
flickers dims and dies
and a shadow falls
deep in darkened eyes
hollow words of love
become but empty lies

and dog, like a fool
regrettably I have lied
watched ashamed and mute
as our love song died

what a foolish thing I’ve done
to have unsung our love song

that open door
of her tender heart
has swung quietly closed
round the fragile part

she has locked me out dog
turned her back
turned off her love-light
it’s gone brightly black

and dog — much to my sad chagrin
there seems to be no back door in

what once was sweet and effortless
can never truly again feel right
and the fall began so near unseen
as though but the passing of a night

my heart is broken dog
my worthless heart

I remember well this morning
when the chill dawn broke
not tenderness nor warmth awoke
a loneliness encircled slow
I reached for the one that I love so

but she shrunk away dog
does not want my touch

it’s true dog — sadly so
I’m lost for words to say
she is fed up with me dog
she has turned coldly away

at night she is still
within arm’s reach
but I sense the void
I feel the breach

yes, these nights
she still shares my bed
but when I roll and turn
then lift my head
to search her face
in the predawn glow
whose eyes those are
I no longer know

she sees me blankly dog
her stare is hollow

oh I wish I could unsay
the thoughtless words I said
could unsee her sorrow
as she turned away in bed
could unhear her tears
that echo in my head
hadn’t unsung our love song
but harmonized instead

dog — what a fool am I
to have let it die
I just stop trying
as love was dying

dog — I feel her tears
can’t simply run away
after all these loving years
can’t let it end this way

but love’s slowly dying
night after empty night
how can we be whole again
don’t know how to make it right

like a piercing painful clarity
I feel it dog
I see it
I know

oh
if I could but unknow

last night
as she lay next to me
sobbing soft and quietly
it was very clear to see

though
she had yet to go
I knew her heart
left long ago

*
rob kistner © 2023

More poetry at: dVerse

 





Ontario Breakfast (2023 update)

Dad was an avid fisherman. He taught me well.
He passed in’83. I think of him when fishing season opens each year.


W ith gentle nudges
dad’s hushed deep voice
urges me from the cocoon
of my toasty morning covers

“wake up Bobby”
my childhood moniker
“I’m gonna make us breakfast
then those fish better beware”

my old man’s breakfasts were amazing
so I was already salivating

peeking from under the covers
I see my father’s eyes
warm and tender
coaxing me out of bed
but I slide back under the warmth

dad was burly strong
but gentle as a lake breeze

I can hear muffled footsteps
the creak of an iron door
then a wooden — thunk … thunk
fresh kindling being loaded
into the stove’s fire chamber

then the scuffing of forged ore
as a heavy iron poker
probes the iron fire chamber
coaxing a glowing ember bed
to ignite the fresh logs
my daddy’s hands lovingly at work
nimble… and so capable

“this is gonna catch quickly
start gettin’ up son
sure hope you’re hungry”

staggered, softly percusssive
phuft phuft — phufts
announce lengths of virgin fuel
bursting to crackling flame

I poke my eager head back out
into the damp morning chill
of Ontario semi-darkness
as the big black stove
groans to full life

a welcomed burgeoning heat
begins permeating the cabin

the soft glow and muffled hiss
of dad’s Coleman lantern
clutches at the darkness
as dad clunks and shuffles
the bulky iron skillets
atop the rapidly heating stove

“breakfast is coming son”
dad proclaims
a smile in his voice
“Canadian bacon, cakes ‘n eggs”
his statement accompanied
by the sizzle and aroma
of strips crisping in the pan

hungry — I finally slide from bed
excited and shivering
imagining this day of fishing
that lies ahead

slipping on my robe
I go to the window
where the tin bowl
of kettle-warmed water
rests on a small table
waiting for me to soap
my morning face and hands

through the cabin window
I still see a myriad of stars
in the clear northern heavens
above our wilderness island

small waves lap at our stone shore
occasionally knocking our boat
laden with our fishing gear
against our weathered wooden dock

I see the Espanola sky
just beginning to lighten
and hear the pre-dawn loons
ending their nightly serenade
calling out across the misty lake
rippling in the soft early AM breeze

as I stand washing up
I continue to reflect

the love and respect of wilderness
what a beautiful gift he gave
loving father to son

how lucky I am to be here
fishing with my father
this amazing man
who adopted me
saved me

at that moment
I’m snapped from my reverie
by his kind voice…

“breakfast is ready”

*
rob kistner © 2023

Poetry OLN at: dVerse
 

”Miss you everyday Dad — forever my hero”

Be it with your son or daughter, this is what fishing really is…

A sight and sound that I cherish…

Time Court

“It is in your hands to create a better world for all who live in it.” – Nelson Mandela

Photo Manipulation — Dariusz Klimczak

 

Time lumbers ‘cross the voids
and over the barriers
aloof to what order
or chaos it might author

sweeping us helplessly along
in its relentless momentum
in a linear forward thrust

ever carrying us to our point
of involuntary final dispatch

regardless of our readiness
to declare as fully finished
what we have self-identified
as our purpose for existence


Photo Manipulation — Dariusz Klimczak

yet another held call
on time’s party line
amassing in empty space
when connected complete
will ultimatdly define us
by labeling our life’s journey

the core question
that ought be pondered
in the final analysis
of our achievement

what will in the end
be the consensus perception
of us as a human being

will we be seen as a tree
that has borne fruit
or seen instead
as a reedy barren husk

when the critical track
of our time on earth
be examined in rewind
by witness of coming time
and all future generations

will we come to be judged
as the cause and creation
of a worthwhile destiny
or simply and meaninglessly
as time’s poor random victim

it is by this pinnacle finding
we’ll be deemed either a success
or a noncontributing drain
on our planet’s valuable resources

as an elder of our human clan
I suggest we all ponder carefully

if one still enjoys time enough
and is blessed with sustained facility
one need be compelled by better judgement
to act prudently in this accord
and to do so mindfully and timely

a life of dignity and merit
leaves a positive footprint in time

…just sayin’


Photo Manipulation — Dariusz Klimczak

*
rob kistner © 2023

Poetry at: The Sunday Muse

 



Fox & Forest Goddess

When I originally wrote this last year I was in the midst of a serious health crisis.

photo by: Marketa Novak

 

There is a quiet golden
in this evening as it settles
unequaled in its beauty
by even that of precious metals

fox and goddess — in this waning hour
the forest bows gently at your feet
golden amber paints the eager land
rolling in twilight’s soothing heat

it dances in the silken air
ignites your copper hair in smolders
folds its warmth upon your bejeweled face
as foliage fondles ’round your shoulders

it spins special magic in the canopy
as though dreams are coming true
paints the forest in sensual splendor
almost as beautiful as you

sweet goddess of the forest
in this moment you catch fire
my frail heart’s a helpless tinder
sparked to flame by love’s desire

as you repose in goddess splendor
you fan further my love’s fire
your beauty touched by the divine
drives the wild flames ever higher

caught in your beauty’s reaching flame
I’m filled with passion’s yearning
my captive soul has roared ablaze
please m’lady — don’t leave me burning

before I am but all consumed
quench me with your goddess kiss
for if I am to be consumed
I pray it be by heady bliss


photo by: Marketa Novak

*
original written & posted: rob kistner © 3/2/2022
expanded edit posted: rob kistner © 3/16/2023

Another related forest poem I wrote: In The Glow

Poetry at: The Sunday Muse

More poetry at: dVerse

 

~ songs by a true goddess ~


In The Glow

“And into the forest I go, to lose my mind and find my soul.” – John Muir

 

Very deep in the ancient wood
secreted among the old-growth
nestles a serene forest clearing

soft filtered sunlight falls in rays
gently through the green canopy
enwraps golden the sacred space

a breeze stirs quietly overhead
rustling brightly in the treetops
whispering of nature’s memories

a downed Douglas Fir slumbers
snug decades in its moss blanket
wrapped in earth’s final embrace

beyond to my left a hidden path
breaks subtly through the trees
offers a glimpse of deep azure

I swoon
captivated by nature’s beauty

I’m hiking Lost Lake’s ancient forest
my footfalls drum the root chambers
of this Oregon mountain old growth

each breathtaking step is cushioned
a soft centuries-old natural carpet
needle-drop of these regal conifers

rounding a bend in the lake trail
brushing through waist-high fern
I crest a gentle knoll — and stop

mesmerized

sunlight drifts down dreamlike
filtered by the woodland canopy
settling warm and soft around me

a short distance to my left
I again catch a crisp sparkle
of serene deep azure waters

I visually drink in the exquisite
filled with a peaceful calm
quietly
I muse

suddenly
I’m startled

a beautiful young doe
bounds onto the path
just in front of me

standing
proud

golden
in the glow

she considers me briefly
then disappears

quick — as a stolen glance
quiet — as passing time
gone — as a missed chance

time suspends
the world is in balance
life aligns for a perfect moment
here in my personal utopia
 
but utopia is in danger!

*
rob kistner © 2023

More poetry at: dVerse

 




Mystery

 

“W hat do you mean”, Gwen implored, the strain obvious in her weary voice, “who exactly is pursuing Derek … and why?” The why was not so much a question, but a sigh of frustration. The answer was much too complicated to address at this hour.

She turned away from Zack, walked to the moonlit window, listening to the waves crash far below. She was trying to understand the recent events that brought her to this place in space, in time. I sit thousands of feet above the sea, she thought, but I am drowning in confusion. Her head was spinning, and she could feel the fatigue deep in her bones.

Too damned many mysteries to think about right now — better in the morning. Then, grabbing her shoulder bag with the mysterious envelope tucked safely inside, Gwen shuffled across the room, and collapsed on the bed.

*
rob kistner © 2023

More poetry at: dVerse

 

Threshold

 

L ost meditations have begun resurfacing in my waning december years. Reflections of mysteries I once pondered, of beauty beheld in the veiled truths I pursued.

In this moment, I am held suspended, in space in time. I sit thousands of feet above the sea of these mysteries, that drift before me, disturbed only by my faint breath, that beckons me inward to the bright center of joy, which wraps ‘round me.

Here, in a flutter of understanding, a flash of inner vision shudders me conscious, in shivering anticipation of discovery — an insight into awareness of a perspective which has not been glimpsed by me before.

It is of that which cannot be named, clouded in the secrets of the infinite, entwined in threads of forevermore, that bind fast my dreams — to carry them onward, effortlessly timeless. Radiant, I surrender, as these lost meditations unfold.

*
rob kistner © 2023

More poetry at: dVerse

 



So Velvet


 

SUN…

W ould I were that velvet
that she reaches for so fondly
strokes with delicate pure fingers
with soft silken hands she lingers
draped in cascades cross her bosom
its warmth like sunlight on her shoulders
as she tingles with excitement
surrendering to its touch

MOON…

w ould I were that velvet
that enfolds her lithe languid essence
that fondles her like moonlight
as she ascends the stairs each night
the plush and luscious fiber
that rises on her breasts
with each soft and subtle sigh
each deep impassioned breath

EARTH…

oh would I were that velvet
that glides her naked form
on those vivid autumn evenings
enwraps her body warm as sunlight
then chills and thrills in shivers
as she opens it ‘neath moonlight
and swoons hushed smouldered gasps
carried off in earthly pleasures

*
rob kistner © 2023

More poetry to make you gasp at: dVerse

 

Entwined

 

B eyond presence
beyond timeless
beyond the vexing
temporal fray
you are my yin
my darkling beauty
would that you be
no other way

should you bend
in threat to break
I will null
the fatal sway
I am your yang
strong and steady
every danger
I will belay

you are my yin
and I your yang
in balanced oneness
we will stay
and so it is
until forever
beyond even still
our dying day

*
rob kistner © 2023

More poetry to make you gasp at: dVerse