Month: November 2024

Matter o’Balance


Original digital surreal art: “Matter o’Balance” by: rob kistner © 11/24/24

 
Far if not near
if there not here
one is not
without the other

so is up to down
and on to off
in to out
as hard to soft

it’s good or bad
happy sad
young or old
if hot not cold

it’s stop to go
either yes or no
as is likewise
fast to slow

even if not
yes or no
then maybe so
maybe is balance

dark and light
as in day and night
the quintessential
he and she

it is the two
defines the dance
opposites aren’t chance
they’re a matter of balance

*
rob kistner © 2024

Poetry at: Poets & Storytellers

 

Sir DaVied & The White Dragon

  • In memory of my friend, “piano man” David Dominy, who passed 03/05/2005. This is presented in fairy tale form, partly fact and partly fiction — but no happy ending. It is based on a brother musician, with whom I made music, and whom I loved. He was taken down by the evil, insistent white dragon. He would have been 74 Saturday. Tuesday’s dragon prompt called my attention to this older piece.


    • Original digital surreal art: “The White Dragon” by: rob kistner © 11/20/24

     

    He had such a great laugh
    and talent 100 fold

    he was a keyboard wizard
    who conjured hard won magic
    on a daily basis

    riding persistent sentry
    over his mighty
    sleeping white dragon

    keeping it at bay

    protecting himself
    and loved ones
    from its ravaging fire

    the white dragon had held him captive
    for over seven years
    having overtaken him one day
    in a careless moment of weakness
    when this wizard had been foolish
    and let down his guard

    but the brave wizard
    Sir DaVied as he was known
    had again found his courage
    and fought back the white dragon
    driving it into submission
    difficult and tentative as it was

    sadly though
    the cunning dragon
    would not be held down
    and in a moment
    when the wizard’s vigilence
    had sadly waned
    the white dragon pulled Sir DaVied
    once more under his evil spell

    on this fateful day
    the wizard’s infectious laughter
    had become infected lunacy

    his beautiful dreams
    had again become dread

    as the nightmares returned
    the evil white dragon
    imprisoned the wizard
    in its dark and haunted lair

    it was reported
    Sir DaVied’s rants
    could be clearly heard
    above the bustle
    of the homeward privileged
    that passed unaware
    of the wizard’s dilemma

    the battle had raged long

    coarse rants and ramblings
    rose from the rancid shadows
    until in final desperation
    fetid hands lit the fateful fire
    that brought to boil
    the white magic potion
    of the wizard’s deliverance

    he’d slipped the cold steel
    into the froth of sweet promise
    still warm with transformation
    and drew the white magic potion
    into the glassen’d vessel
    of ultimate escape

    tied and tapped into submission
    distraught from battle
    this magical musical wizard
    impaled his demons
    with the white dragon’s dagger
    hoping the potion
    would drive back the monster

    saving himself yet again

    but not this time
    no deliverance this time

    the cunning white dragon
    broke down the wizard’s defense
    and claimed the brave wizard
    as silver-white sleep
    carried him away

    the wizard was gone

    gone on his silver steed
    for his final ride
    to the realm of no return

    now the wizard’s castle
    is in abandoned disarray

    no lights to stave off darkness

    the piano is broken-keyed
    caked with time and neglect

    no more does the wizard
    descend the marble stairs
    and glide back
    the black lacquered bench

    nor lay hands
    on the polished ivory
    to control the mighty Steinway

    no more does he confidently caress
    and coax those keys to his commands

    no more do the beautiful strains
    of the gold-framed
    spiral-string soundboard
    waft tenderly up the staircase

    nor ring gently
    in the empty atrium

    no — the wizard DaVied
    has passed

    but in my soul
    in my heart
    his spirit
    his music
    (((echoes on…)))


    Photograph by Romain Thiery

    *
    rob kistner © 2021
    revision © 2024

    Poetry at: Sunday Muse

    Poetry at: dVerse

     

    A Dragon Rises

    3660A7A7-96B9-4916-BB9F-4D03D0C5E926
    Original digital surreal art: “Evil Incarnate” by: rob kistner © 11/29/24

     

    When the most diabolical
    believe they have risen above
    the blood, the shit, the afterbirth
    of their human origin

    when in their reflection
    they see perverse transcendence
    towards entitlement
    in which no allegiance
    or kinship of nature
    binds them to their center

    nor founds them in the
    fevered fumbling fury
    of the frightened flesh parade
    in which they lock step
    flailing for survival

    when their insanity of arrogance
    so distorts their vision of history
    of time
    of the ancient

    of the sweating
    bone-broken reality
    of human swill and wallow
    through which they likewise trudge

    shiny shoes or no

    when they blatantly begin
    to eat their own
    while copulating with false gods
    on forsaken gilded altars
    of greed
    of megalomania
    of perjured horrors

    then the hour of the beast
    is certainly at hand
    and the terror of the dragon nature
    will rise up
    in unbridled evil
    attempting to impose
    to dominate

    if we do not slay this dragon
    we will all become
    the hulking mass
    of the apocalypse
    deserving to be struck down

    and our fool’s hearts
    torn out and severed
    by the self-inflicted rapier
    of raw ignorance
    of lethal indifference

    and our empty husks
    immolated
    on the pyre of gullibility
    in the flames of banished
    abandoned truth

    and cowardice

    the decision turns
    the direction is poised

    that moment is here

    *
    rob kistner © 2024

    Poetry at: dVerse

     

    The Brin

    “This is a long-form, free-verse, sci-fi poem.”

    B4EEDAD2-4F0F-4624-9FE1-CD4ACE26076E
    Terraformed Earth after the Brin invasion.

     
    The Brin

    ~

    the new sun
    still crisp and bright
    warms me as I journey

    it paints the strange landscape
    in a vivid foreign luminescence

    since the Brin arrived
    placed their electro-sun in orbit
    and terraformed earth
    this has become a startling alien world

    the Brin are a beautiful species
    but ruthlessly predatory

    most of humanity
    has been captured or killed
    I am a surviving fugitive
    hiding in an ancient fallout shelter

    I embarked at midday
    senses alive and alert
    hoping I would make contact
    with other fugitive humans
    survivors of the invasion

    they exist
    I’ve observed evidence

    but it is day’s end
    the Brin sun is slowly setting
    moonlight will soon bathe
    this exotic terrain

    our moon still orbits
    compatible with their terraforming

    early shadows fall across my face
    a foreboding settles upon me

    there are many shadows now
    odd shadows
    disturbing specters
    that disrupt my nights
    disquiet my soul
    steal my peace

    they come unannounced
    almost imperceptible

    but no time for worry
    there is still far to go
    yet here I still stand

    captivated

    by the haunting
    yet terrifying beauty
    that is our altered planet

    I shudder and sober
    turn into the evening breeze
    and venture onward
    immersed in the eerie blue glow
    of the now dimming Brin sun

    I am eager to move
    drawn by the need to reach my shelter
    to reach safety

    there are other shelters
    so I continue my search
    for others still alive
    as is now my daily routine
    which includes hunting for fuel
    used to heat and cook

    I burn a pulpy Brin plant
    which they call Griscalka
    now plentiful on earth

    I hunt the Masocca
    a Brin wild animal
    which I discovered is edible

    I scrounge for water
    unfortunately not plentiful
    but it is part of the Brin ecosystem

    in this moment
    exhausted
    feelings of loss sweep over me
    clouding briefly my focus

    then they waft
    I see across the darkening valley
    my shelter
    my safety

    I’m caught
    by a thought

    our ancient ancestors
    built these fallout shelters
    to protect human life

    but they never imagined
    it would be the remaining few
    of all humanity
    they’d protect
    from predatory extraterrestrials

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2019u

     

    Brin Primest Elite – male 087C8556-DF39-4ECD-A747-D776BAF8E6BF
    Brin Queen8A62E9B3-04F7-4312-B689-E401F70F97C2


    Original digital surreal art: “Brin Mothership” by: rob kistner © 11/18/24

    9272C11D-31F8-4CF9-9E49-036963C3CDC4
    Original digital surreal art: “Brin Troop Assault Vehicle” by: rob kistner © 11/18/24


    Original digital surreal art: “Terraformer Venicle” by: rob kistner © 11/18/24


    Original digital surreal art: “Rapid Ship to Surface Shuttle” by: rob kistner © 11/18/24

     
    TO POSSIBLY BE CONTINUED…
    This poem was my way of allowing earth, with outside help from the Brin, to strike back and wake we humans up to how we have mistreated our mother Gia. I took my vision of this piece much further in my mind. In the scenario I had imagined, this was several hundred years in the future and there had been a second phase of higher tech shelters built and concealed worldwide, around the year 2100, in response to another wave of significant global conflict, among the people of earth — long before there was even any awareness of the Brin, or that any other extraterrestrials existed. So if the few survivors of the Brin invasion made it to the shelters around the globe — then it would depend on how well the world fared against the Brin. I haven’t yet thought what the number of human survivors might be though. Remember, a number of survivors have been captured and enslaved by the Brin, so there is a potential of more humans escaping into the landscape as well. I would say a total of 20-25% of the world population survived the initial Brin onslaught. Some now imprisoned, some now on the run as fugitives around the globe — not sure right now how those two groups would break down in number. Also, here is a critical point impacting the taking of this story forward. The human communication grid on the earth’s surface is destroyed. However, there is still one communication satellite remaining in orbit, there’s just no way to link to it. Or, might that be painstakingly possible, with major effort by the right faction of fugitives (maybe even some Brin sympathizers)? Hmmmm… One final fact perhaps to consider — the Brin may have enemies out in the universe, capable of space travel. — — Anyway… That is the likely overall situation in which this story could continue?

     

  • Click to check out more ”Fallout” poems at Toads 
  • Click below to read poems at dVerse:
    https://dversepoets.com/2019/09/19/ever-been-close-to-a-whale/

    • Captured Light


    Original digital surreal art: “Path of Captured Light” by: rob kistner © 11/18/24

     
    We’ve watched golden fire clouds, hanging in the bright cerulean skies, here over the azure seas of our Toluras home. We have walked to anointment here, on the sacred Path of Captured Light. We’ve seen the copper leaves of the Parmus fronds, flashing from our Indigo Mountains, in the crisp crystal Gemin mists.

    We have strolled quietly, hand in hand, in the lush emerald meadows of Telma, sharing its golden Angel Fruit, sweet as our stolen kisses. We’ve heard the haunting call of the coral winged Lellurt, in Droon’s violet skies, over teal Darpin Bay.

    We have beheld exquisite beauty in our rich, full life — but none so breathtaking, my love, as your eyes tonight. Now fate deems I must go. If you find yourself lonely, missing me, look into the night sky. The eternal splendor it holds is our everlasting love.

    so please, once more love
    come look at the stars with me
    they are beautiful

    *
    rob kistner © 11/18/24
    Poetry at: dVerse

     

    Fiddler’s Green

    ~ Sometimes, the storm is not out there, but within us. ~


    Original DDE™ surrealistic art: “Storm Tossed” by: rob kistner © 11/14/23
     
    ~ A SEA SHANTY ~

    —< § >—

    Loved my life — yet life felt empty
    was then I looked the water’s way
    a racing sailor’s life for me

    a solo skiff to set me free
    a schooner for a crewing day
    a racing sailor’s life for me

    I sailed with speed to victory
    this racing life blew me away
    a racing sailor’s life for me

    sometimes the sea roared angrily
    sometimes a peaceful rocking sway
    a racing sailor’s life for me

    I raced no fear relentlessly
    and lived my dream life ev’ry’day
    a racing sailor’s life for me

    weather harsh or weather kindly
    in gratitude I’d always pray
    a racing sailor’s life for me

    the oceans roll and trade winds blow
    I now ride heaven’s ebb and flow

    *
    rob kistner © 2024

    Poetry at: dVerse

     

    Southern Cross — a constellation used for navigation in the southern oceans.

    Fiddler’s Green — a sailor’s heaven for those lost at sea.

    Fragile

    MY INSPIRATIONS FOR THIS PIECE: “ i imagine that yes is the only living thing and i imagine that hope is the only stopping place.” — e e cummings


    ——-——<§>——-——

    The fragile, unpredictable, but often surprising power of hope! Never give up!


    Original DDE™ surrealistic art: “Fragile & Vulnerable” by: rob kistner © 11/12/23

     
    Making a gaudy show of leaving
    hoping she would turn and stop him
    walking out the door – he’s hoping
    always looking back and hoping
    wondering her change o’season
    hoping it would matter to her
    hoping that an empty place
    would open in her heart
    that only he could fill
    he’s hurt and fragile
    hoping his leaving
    left such a void
    hoping deeply
    ever hoping
    a lost leaf
    blowing
    away
    sad
    so
    §
    as
    a lone
    brittle leaf
    lost n’stranded on
    life’s hardened highway
    can be so easily crushed
    by apathy’s traffic
    so sadly hope
    can too
    be

    but so too can be the surprising power of hope ~ if one strives !

    *
    rob kistner © 2024

    Poetry at: dVerse

     

    What the…

    Trying to find even a small smile midst these tears of horror!


    Original DDE™ surrealistic art: “Oh Horrors” by: rob kistner © 11/8/24

     
    What the…
    how’d this happen again

    the fascist megalomaniac’s back
    spewing his racist
    misogynistic
    shit

    he ain’t morally fit

    the jerk-wad’s a criminal
    his message ain’t subliminal

    it’s right there in your face
    he’s a damned disgrace

    the 3%’s in luck

    rest’o’us…
    we’re fucked!
    *
    rob kistner © 2024

    Poetry at: dVerse

     


    The Cruel Sun

    The evil glare of Trump’s cruel sun scorches decency…
    he should never have been allowed to rise again.
    And yet we, as a supposed decent people, have failed again — unimaginably!
    The war to dismantle America began without a single shot — and we’re losing.


    Original DDE™ surrealistic art: “Cruel Sun” by: rob kistner © 2/15/24
     

    Vivid

    in this waking dream
    this nightmare
    I see shapes of faces
    scabbed unsmiling lips

    their void curve
    denounce this time

    they’re escaping the scald
    fleeing the cruel sun
    as fate is dancin’
    broken in the moonlight

    the victimized
    yet unseen
    blackened and charred
    by the agenda
    of this abomination
    this cruel sun

    they bemoan
    their soul’s duality

    realizing
    the divergent reality
    through which
    their truth
    stumbles blind

    to move in the world
    rough as a rope
    taut as every false promise made

    frayed as feigned wisdom
    leaned in
    whispered from behind
    obscured by the backhand

    I reach
    to grab at time
    like dropped money

    ever more precious

    doing so
    I feel the shiver
    the sad imbalance

    it’s a confliction
    in the omnisoul
    in my soul

    so
    I’ll practice non-attachment
    because I can

    knowing
    I must
    in this time

    and observe
    the lonely lost
    who’ve trapped their truth
    in dreams
    locked in a wired cage


    Original DDE™ surrealistic art: “Caged Dreams”
    by: rob kistner © 2/15/24

    wholly removed
    indifferent

    but still
    pieces of me
    of my sorrow
    stick to them

    to whomever
    gets too close

    you may have seen me
    sobbing

    silhouetted against the sky
    that coldest night in November
    cowering
    under the frozen moon

    then that moon and I
    sought to escape
    running down corridors of time

    from genuine memory
    through illusion
    hiding from the devious
    cruel sun

    the whole world
    close enough to touch

    yet distant
    distracted

    past false truth
    past illusion
    past hypocrisy
    past monomaniacal delusion

    heaped and layered
    thick and deep

    oh please
    peel back
    these poisoned layers

    peel them away
    to clear the way
    for a clean
    quivering soul

    uncertain
    but imbued with
    curiosity for possibility

    because these stale
    cutting thoughts
    infect my thoughts
    making them too pressing
    too heavy to hold

    or chew
    or swallow
    or lug
    in this massive bag
    of regret

    my thoughts
    my madness

    spawned in the bone-white lies
    of morality plays
    immorality plays
    mortality plays

    I will play a dirge
    sing a bittersweet song
    as we come together
    as we join
    to peel back
    all these noxious layers

    these brackish
    thought
    layers

    held fast and firm
    by this oppressive
    cruel sun


    Original DDE™ surrealistic art: “Oh Horrors”
    by: rob kistner © 11/8/24

    seared into my soul
    by that caustic smile
    that baboonish grin
    that devious faux smile
    that sours to bitter
    in the brittle grey
    that settles
    like a shroud
    through the overcast
    in these dark days

    a brandished
    weaponized smile
    a lethal smile

    his radar eyes
    scan the forgotten creases
    and clandestine getaways
    in our minds

    squelching our truth

    standing over
    he looks down
    icy eye’d

    he sees my scabbed lips
    cracked and dry
    “cruel sun gotcha”
    he smirks
    with lethal contempt

    let us all cry out
    “no more”

    let us rip away
    this venom
    this lethal virus
    this heartless evil
    so that a new dawn
    a new sun will rise
    spread its light
    and warm our hearts
    with the radiance of rebirth

    let enlightenment rain
    let love pour down
    drown this cruel sun
    and rekindle the flame of hope

    or perhaps a brave savior
    wielding the lightning
    to solve this blight


    Original DDE™ surrealistic art: “Flame of Hope”
    by: rob kistner © 2/15/24

    *
    rob kistner © 2021-2024

    Poetry at: dVerse

     

    A dramatic shift in how conflicts now unfold has successfully occurred. Rather than relying on traditional military might, nations and groups now effectively leverage the power of information, ideas, and technology to shape public opinion, influence political outcomes, and create division. This type of conflict—often described as “information warfare”—involves the strategic use of propaganda, misinformation, and blatant lies, supported by clever cyber tactics to undermine traditionally strong societies from within.

    In an interconnected world where people get their information online, the battle for hearts and minds now takes place in virtual spaces. Cyber attacks, disinformation campaigns, and the manipulation of social media to stir mistrust and dread, while disrupting economies, weakening trust in institutions, and sowing discord among citizens. These tools are as powerful as, if not more so than, physical weapons, especially when they influence the very fabric of a society’s beliefs and values. World War III is upon us, being waged with weapons more devious and destructive than military. WAKE UP!


    Joy Rises

    Inspired by my ongoing fantasy of flying.


    Original DDE™ surrealistic art: “Low Altitude Space-Glider” by: rob kistner © 11/5/24

     
    Joy rises
    over the earth today
    as the thermals
    ‘neath my wings
    lift them to soaring

    it’s off into space
    my dreams I’m exploring

    lifting me aloft
    in free floating flight
    my spirit’s alive
    in this sacred delight

    left to my heart’s abandon
    my destination random

    I hear the earth’s whisper
    the breeze’s sigh

    they say
    this is how it feels to fly

    the soft sounds waft
    lilting into the sky

    I’m lifting
    drifting
    as high
    and far
    as thermals will permit

    my searching soul
    eager to submit
    as I feel the winds
    take me

    soaring high
    into a brilliant sky

    leaving the clouds
    far below
    like ever rolling
    pillow‘d snow

    until all I hear
    murmuring in my ear
    is the voice
    of the breeze
    and the song
    in my soul

    watching the world
    bend away
    over the infinite horizon

    I see life
    from a new perspective

    seeking clarity
    my new-found objective


    Original DDE™ surrealistic art: “Child’s Flight’o’Fancy”
    by: rob kistner © 11/5/24

    my dream since a child
    to soar the blue heaven’s wild

    that my young prayer be heard
    to fly like a bird

    now is when
    I at last begin
    the revealing journey
    far out and deep in

    swept up
    and away
    in ever-climbing rise
    ascending today
    with wide open eyes

    high above this world of ours
    the tiny blue planet
    among the vast stars

    into low altitude
    outer-space
    a child’s smile
    upon my face

    silently upward
    as joy rises

    *
    rob kistner © 2024

    More Poetry at: d’Verse

     

    River of Time

    “Time does not pass, it continues — with or without us.”


    Original DDE™ surrealistic art: “River of Time” by: rob kistner © 11/4/24

     
    A traveler on this river called time, it ever flows within my mind. It rolls onward, I ride its tide. Much I’ve seen, much I’ve experienced, much I’ve missed, much left behind. Yet I carry on, to seek, to find. I grip tightly to this strand continuum, doing so mindfully.

    I’ve encountered the unknown, lost my way and suffered sorrow. I’ve embraced such wonder, finding enlightenment, a newborne tomorrow. I’ve understood and known joy. Losing confidence, I’ve acted coy. Misunderstood and known tears. Been overwhelmed and known fears. But ever on this river rushes, and I will ever flow.

    I will follow the changing moon, out of the ninth-month midnight, through December’s cold, to the warmth of June. Through time’s extremes, to hold the dreams I embrace as mine. To live in the elusive now, the held breath in the current of time.

    *
    rob kistner © 2024

    Poetry at: dVerse