T oday I didn’t feel less
didn’t feel more
just clear and comfortable
and reasonably level
pale golden yellow
no small victory
*
rob kistner © 2023
Poetry at: Poets & Storytellers
Poetry at: dVerse
Light
Month: April 2023
Sweet Recall
T onight
careful hands
peel back cracked
and yellowed protectant
from dark and aging pages
of long-ignored
dusty albums
compelled in the moment
my wife is liberating memories
of other life moments
immortalized
faces and places
call from another time
a beautiful young bride
a proud new husband
our sweet children
living
and not
family and friends
here and gone
other visuals
strangely vague
yet hauntingly familiar
draw us in
spark warm recall
remembered laughter
and tears
gratefully of joy
captured images
unfold on our coffee table
like a cornucopia of time
insistent emotions
cascading one by one
and all together
time
the grand thief
thwarted by lens and film
time
who would steal
the treasures of our heart
time
who would conceal
cruely holding hostage
the moments of our journey
that unrelenting thief
is now at our door
once more
threatening to steal
what precious time
we have left
deeply moved
by our situation
we embrace
silently
deeply
tears well and glisten
stirred by heartfelt gratitude
for this proof of life before us
this proof of love
tears also of hope
for more
*
rob kistner © 2023
Poetry at: dVerse
Time In Flux
We exist
in a fragile sphere
of suppressed possibility
gripped in the freeze
of a dark time
this slag-shattered
glass of the future
moves frail and slowly
through the arc of the ages
midst those who’ve waited
and watched
at the waning of truth
‘neath the uncertain moon
of deliberated ancients
this fractured orb
revolves in the void
of lightless null
not hearing
what we knew to be
the plaintive cries
of the lost
our echoed cries
blind to the light
of the dawning
that heralds a new word
for a possible world
a new word
for this time that’s upon us
this brittle critical time
I am the bud and the blossom
I am the late-falling leaf
I am the arc fulfilled
I am the time come
come to the here
and the now
where we’re held
firm in the fire
of visions and longing
for what we were
and for all
that we are to be
here in our heart
at this moment eternal
even as
we gaze forlornly
across pooled hatred
through a divided curtain’s fall
at a fractured mirror’s reflection
a reflection of a waking nightmare
a glaring hallucination
of a polarized reality
dual worlds
close enough to touch
but too far apart to engage
dual worlds
through which truth
stumbles blind
beyond reach
or reason
no connection ’tween either
we walk as wraiths
through fevered empty streets
moving in these dual worlds
captive
to the bone-white lies
of both
mumbled
in the low voice
of dark deceit
implied in their toxic grins
of inflexible conformity
lethal tradition
revered in mindless trance
change
shackled to the instrument of fear
with grip rough as rope
change
bound at the shadowed edge
of dark and light
of plague and cure
of repression and justice
the edge of lethal ignorance
and profound knowledge
change
bruised
disillusioned
yet possible
but still seeking to flee
like a squandered teardrop
forever away from
our failing grasp
but hold fast
beckon the unfolding dawn
summon the emerging morn
herald the yellow-gold sunrise
there is far to go
and much to learn
rising from this dark night
but someone needs first
release the light
hold fast
perhaps torchbearers emerge
*
original publication: rob kistner © 02/18/21
revised publication © 04/07/23
Poetry at: dVerse
NOTE: This is the 4th and final edit of a piece I began writing on my 74th birthday, inspired by both my “Dual Worlds” piece. and my “Hold Fast” piece.
Poetiscapes
T he seed of a poem lay dormant in my heart. Mostly always true, and usually that seed is planted by something I’ve seen, maybe heard. That then sparks recall of feelings, maybe other visuals, related feelings. I string them together, editing until an emotional thread appears — then I translate that visually to a poem.
Visuals are one of my favorite inspirations. Writing to a preconceived form is repressive to me. I create visual impact to elicit emotions. Poetic forms are secondary in my writing. When chasing a form, I build a puzzle — reshaping my true poem so it fits.
My fundamental purpose for writing poetry, is the same when writing song lyrics — which for me came first, at age 16. I want people to visualize with me, to have them feel something emotionally. Joy, sorrow, love, anger, loneliness, recollection, longing, comfort — all are good.
*
rob kistner © 2023
Poetry at: dVerse
Poem Closed Down
The seed of a poem lay dormant in my heart. When the lads planted it, weeds overgrew it — the damn city closed it.
SORRY — UNDER RENNOVATION
We must take it slow.
Don’t want any injuries to occur during the rebuild.
DEEMED FAULTY METER
By order of the city.
And the city are real sticklers,
so we are going to error on the side of caution.
STRUCTURAL PROBLEMS.
This has been a real damed bugaboo right from the start.
I feel the foundations might require examination.
We plan to move carefully.
DANGEROUSLY CLUTTERED WITH ADJECTIVES.
Some poor fool got in here with a thesaurus
and did a real number.
CONFUSINGLY REPETITIVE.
Nothing to add here.
OVERALL — NOT VERY COHESIVE
Need to tie up loose ends.
Hope To Upgrade & Reopen This Poem — Very 😉 Soon…
maybe?
See you when…
144 words
*
rob kistner © 2023
Poetry at: dVerse
Of This Time
DIGITAL ART — “Folding Time” by: rob kistner © 2007
W e cannot hide
from the great orb
of unquestioning fate
that spins in the spaces
of destiny’s light and dark
we cannot avoid
the days of falter and fear
held in this approaching void
that moves unsteady
in the fog
of unquenchable doubt
this
your mind must conceal
in a spirit of forgiveness
and joy
for that which is pure
tested by time
and the wanting hands
of the waiting
who cower
yet smile
singing truth
through the hail and barrage
‘cross the bow mast
of freedom
they
who seek broad measure
and fair berth
as all that you dream and desire
seems slipping slowly away
like rain through a downspout
and nightmares plumb deep
the sea of black dreams
as the fragile sphere of possibility
is gripped in the freeze of time
compressed and cracked
this slag-shattered
glass of the future
moves frail and slowly
through the arc of the ages
who’ve waited and watched
at the waning of truth
‘neath the brittled moon
of deliberated ancients
this fractured orb
that revolves in the void
of the others not hearing
what we knew to be
the plaintive cries
of the lost
blind to the light of the dawning
that heralds the new word
of this time that’s upon us
of this critical time
I am the bud and the blossom
I am the late-falling leaf
I am the arc fulfilled
I am the time come
of the here
and the now
where we’re held
firm in the fire
of visions and longing
for what we were
and for all that we are to be
here in our heart
of this moment eternal
even as
we gaze forlornly
across pooled hatred
‘tween a diseased curtain’s fall
at a fractured mirror’s reflection
of a waking nightmare
a glaring hallucination
a pulsing passion play
of a polarized reality
dual worlds
close enough to touch
but too far apart to engage
through which truth
stumbles blind
beyond reach
or reason
or connection with either
we walk as wraiths
through fevered empty streets
moving in these worlds
captive to the bone-white lies of both
implicit in their toxic grins
of inflexible conformity
lethal tradition
revered in mindless trance
change
shackled to the stone of fear
with a grip rough as rope
change
bound at the shadowed edge
of dark and light
plague and cure
repression and justice
ignorance and knowledge
change
bruised
disillusioned
but possible
yet still seeking to flee
like a squandered teardrop
forever away from
our failing grasp
but hold fast
beckon the dawn
summon the morn
there is far to go
and much to learn
rising from this dark night
someone needs first
release the light
hold fast
perhaps torchbearers emerge
*
original publication: rob kistner © 02/18/21
revised publication © 04/07/23
Poetry at: dVerse
NOTE: This is the final edit of the complete work, written on my 74th birthday, that inspired both my “Dual Worlds” piece. and my “Hold Fast” piece.
I Will Return
When the last tree is cut down, the last fish caught, and the last stream poisoned, you will realize that you cannot eat money. — Cree Indians
All scenes above from my Oregon
W hen
in the spring of my life
I called to the wilderness
to the forests
to the rivers
to the lakes
and later
to the mountains
and to the high cliff’d
remote ocean shores
they always answered
they came to know me well
as my friends
they welcomed me eagerly
invigorating my spirit
soothing my mind
warming my soul
they shared their beauty
and their bounty
generously with me
I so love my forests
my mountains
my rivers and lakes
my high cliff’d
ocean shores
I praise their majesty
their power to transform
for my soul
these are my home
the wilderness became
the blood of my life…
top — Oregon Coast
middle — Oregon Sockeye Salmon
bottom — Oregon Black Tail Doe
…but now
in the winter of my days
they no longer
seem to know me
they do not seem
as welcoming
not as welcoming
to wander and roam
to hike
to camp
to fish
to just be
in their embrace
drinking of their energy
awed by their magic
this change of relationdhip
it saddens me greatly
I do not condemn the wild
for it is I
who have spoiled the connection
the deep friendship
that is to say
my age
and failing health
have made me too awkward
too uncomfortable
too infirm and absent
it is definitely I
who changed
but not my love
for the enduring beauty
and profound majesty
of the natural world
I pray human stupidity
human careless arrogance
does not ruin this
amazing miracle
because someday soon
I will return again
carried by my son
he will carry me home
to be forever joined
with this wilderness I love
*
rob kistner © 2023
More poetry at: dVerse
* This is a new style of poetry I created as a derivative of the Contrapuntal style. I call it the VERTICAL POLARPUNTAL style, in which the first half and second half of the poem each deal with the same multiple points of the same subject matter, but the tone reverses from positive to negative – or – negative to positive, yet reads as a single poem.
Tears Like Rain
Dean Koontz
G athered by the stoney wall
the ever curious crows carous
they bob and caw as they creep
then fly up to birch tree boughs
nearby a young girl sits quiet
by the open window of her room
distracted by this crowish riot
she’s weaving grief with her loom
the silken yarn ensnares her dreams
she stops the shuttle’s pull and shove
the crow’s shriek in pitiful screams
as she cries thinking of her lost love
she is so lonely here in her room
tears like rain fall in the gloom
be gone now noisy birds of black
clustered in this chilling rain
her lover’s never coming back
her broken heart is drenched in pain
be gone crows you’re causing sorrow
with your heartless crazy clatter
she knows her love has no tomorrow
as she’s feeling her world shatter
she mourns here in her lonely room
her tears like rain in heavy gloom
*
rob kistner © 2023
Poetry at: dVerse
The lady dropped the gaga schtick here as Stefani Germanotta sang from her heart…
…Magnificently!
Zoominator
A starletically fine mirrormiz
with softical smile
swings a steply swell stutlybounce
in rare girlygood style
zoomening sultrification
that erosinates awhile
but I won’t slobbernly droolenate
on her poutifuss chubens
nor tenderliciously ogglenate
her mygodli bububbin
cause it’s time to upenleavenate
the husbandalical‘s comin’
*
rob kistner © 2023
Poetry at: dVerse
Zoomzooming
“Descent Into Madness” by: Rob Kistner
D arkness traps
my drumthrummed head
in this black nocturnal nest
this perversely born fantazury
midnight’s mad menagerie’s
zoomzooming in
this blueblack world
disgusting curiosities
bruteflung to hideousity
perverted serendipity
swarms in crazed horrorifity
mind ghouls shake
and shiver me
oh gentle morne
deliver me
*
rob kistner © 2023
Poetry at: dVerse
So Cold
B eware this lethal beauty
the bewitching queen of ice
she may once bestow her charms
but it will not happen twice
her chill lure is deadly
she’s feared in all the land
the finest poets of the realm
tell her tale in lyrics grand
she seduces her victims
with an ice-hot pout
once inside her chamber
they never again come out
this icy queen is killer cunning
her victims never see her coming
she has a sweet magic apple
even the wisest cannot resist
one bite of the tender part
willpower ceases to exist
you become her spineless puppet
to do with exactly what she will
to freeze your beating heart
this is ice queen’s biggest thrill
abandoned at the altar
on a frozen winter day
since that cold betrayal
she lashes out this brutal way
this icy queen is killer cunning
her victims never see her coming
*
rob kistner © 2023
Poetry at: The Sunday Muse
Soaring Silken
”Poppies fuel the flight of dreams” — John Keats
tosses my hair
brushes soft my cheek
flutters my dress
hope gently stirs
a promising breeze
blackspot fragrant
begins to freshen
headily potent
it wafts
and builds
gathers strength
heartbeat quickens
anticipation
spirals anew
the building currents
fill flush my wings
then
an urgent lurch
as the moment arrives
my wings fill
then billow out
sculpted taut
caught full
by this mounting gust
it lifts with grace
rises with purpose
carrying me gently aloft
into a sky of dreams
I grip firm
with deft hands
then
with crystalline eye
I guide my crimson
sendal wedge
safely airborne
sailing upwardly loosed
untethered
of earth’s constraints
further
faster
ever higher I ascend
I can see
for miles
and miles
far as
the fires
of the future
close as
the frozen
furthermores
my visions
carried skyward
on sweetest drafts
empowered
by bolstering
winds of fair fortune
this day my silken span
has taken flight
boldly aloft
into the clear bright sky
with an uplifting wind
my craft
of red red wings
— fragile as a fantasy
soars strong
and steady
a sudden gust
I am jostled
but my nimble grasp
keeps my scarlet glider
on the rise
ever skyward
should winds
like fortune
turn
and the sky grow still
my silken wings
in the faces of fate
will falter
weather
like life
makes no guarantee
but such is the thrill
and wild abandon
of soaring
*
rob kistner © 2023
Poetry at: The Sunday Muse