Steak’n M’claim


Original DDE™ surreal triptych: “Soupersational” by: rob kistner © 10/10/23

 
Vegetable soup — a tasty treat
good for you delicious to eat
onions and beans of every kind
guaranteed to blow yer mind

add some chunked potatoes too
that’s the very next thing to do
add carrots now to make it great
smells fabulous — I can’t wait

put in a bit of chopped celery
and a zesty pepper just for me
then diced tomatoes rich’n’red
this soup’s gonna knock’m dead

wonderful as this soup may be
something’s missing here to me
my culinary heart would break
should this meal be absent steak


Original DDE™ surreal art: “Juicy Joy”
by: rob kistner © 10/10/23

*
rob kistner © 10/10/2020
Poems at: dVerse

 

Let’em Eat Soup

~ A bit’o tongue in cheek from a place of love. ~


Original DDE™ surreal triptych: “Grilltastical Fantasy” by: rob kistner © 10/10/23

 
T hese people

that begrudge me my juicy burgers
or my rare filet mignon

that look down their nose
at my slathered baby backs

or sneer with disdain
as I tear into a buttery veal chop

these people

their cutting condemnation
because I’m devouring
a cut of impeccably seasoned loin
like it’s some violation of nature

think about it

if this were’t the natural way
there wouldn’t be A1 sauce

and you’re going to tell me
Mr. Weber had zucchini on his mind
when he created his charcoal grill

I mean — please

these people

let’em eat soup


Original DDE™ surreal art: “Andy Can”
by: rob kistner © 10/10/23

*
rob kistner © 10/10/2020
Poems at: dVerse

 




 

  • Incidentally, my lovely wife is a vegetarian, and loves soup…
  • To Dream To Fish


    Original DDE™ surreal art: “To Dream To Fish” by: rob kistner © 10/10/23

     
    T he fat-bellied black iron stove delivered its amazing breakfast. Shivering a smile, midst the damp Ontario predawn, I’m led by the hissing Coleman’s light, down to dad’s docked fishing boat. You cannot pluck moonlight to bring in your pocket Bobby, he’d say, so it’ll be lantern magic. Gripping cold aluminum hull, I climb aboard, bundled as a bear, including life jacket. That moonlit water’s freezing.

    My heart soars as I hear my dad tug on the starter rope, bringing the Evinrude to spark, then roar, readying it to propel us into the dawn that would soon slowly roll over the chop-water. I lovingly grip the cork handle of my favorite pole, as I feel the mist of hull-spray light on my cheeks. Another slight shiver brings me full awake, but not from the chill. This one is pure excitement… today I fish with Dad!

    *
    rob kistner © 10/10/2020
    Poems at: dVerse

     



    Time Of Endings


    Original DDE™ art: “The Old Mill” by: rob kistner © 10/7/23

    In this moment, cloaked in early evening of waning October, as autumn tumbles towards winter, one knows the melancholy of the losing of the light. One feels the press of ever growing darkness, the solemnity of the advancing cold.

    This is the time of endings, when the land falls dormant. This is the emptiness of harvest completed. This is death’s due vigil, when the realm is a’dance with specters, aglow with jack-o-lanterns. A reflective time when hearts hold fast to the sustaining hope of rebirth.

    There settles an all-embracing quiet. From this deep silence rises an almost imperceptible murmur, like a breathless whisper. A hushed prayer of gratitude, in thanks for the harvest’s bounty, a prayer to humbly petition, with the eventual return of the light, the blessing of fruitful new life upon the now fallow land. We pray for the rebirth.

    autumn settles hushed
    nature slumbers patiently
    listening for spring
    listening for the heartbeat
    of new life resurrected


    Original DDE™ surreal art: “The Time of Endings”
    by: rob kistner © 10/7/23

    *
    La Tieke © 10/26/2020
    La Tieke © 10/7/2023
    October Poems at: Poets & Storytellers

     



    Greyest Grief

     


    Original DDE™ surreal art: “October Moon” by: rob kistner © 10/7/23
     

    In a shroud of darkness october wanes
    sorrow celebrates the vanishing light
    winter smothers autumn’s last refrains
    once brightest day now bleakest night

    greyest grief stirs in the advancing cold
    ghostly mists steal color from our sight
    on such a night lost souls are sold
    frozen hearts barren as the blight

    while slowly rolling in a chromium fog
    hawk moon hangs heavy in this black sky
    this place forbidding as a sucking bog
    this is the hour for dreams to die


    Original DDE™ surreal art: “Cave of Lost Souls”
    by: rob kistner © 10/7/23

    *
    rob kistner © 10/6/2020
    October Poems at: Poets & Storytellers

     

    Beautiful Assassin

    This response is to “Caged Bird”, by Maya Angelou.


    Original DDE™ surreal art: “Hunting On The Wing” by: rob kistner © 10/4/23

     
    Osprey calling above the forest nearby
    eyes focused sharp on the stream below
    should he spy trout — he’ll tuck and dive
    smooth cunning predator — he fishes solo
    takes his victim quick — rocketing in low

    talons like knives — he’s a lethal machine
    wounds deep and deadly — delivers clean
    with stunning precision, power, and pace
    his attack instincts are impeccably keen
    proud noble bird — pure speed and grace

    his call is defiant — listen, you can hear it
    that piercing scream — his unique battle cry
    independent — you’ll not restrain his spirit
    he is swift and agile gliding across the sky
    beautiful assassin — stalking from on high

    *
    rob kistner © 10/3/23
    Poetry at: dVerse

     

    As It Is

    My response to Dylan Thomas’s “Once It Was The Colour Of Saying”.
    This is about the failure of education, the loss of compassion, and the death of integrity.


    Original digital surreal art: “Futility Of Caring” by: rob kistner © 10/3/23

     
    Our hunger for green knowledge
    starved bone brittle by hollow echoes
    slap sided on dead end chalk boards
    askew in silent black-roofed facades
    screams into a cold shadowed void
    as once it was the colour of saying

    now the great roaring unclean
    surge and swindle

    dumbly blank

    whispering in tangled tongues
    of forfeit’s hard foolishness

    as the liars rise up to backslide
    over taunted poison waterfalls
    on revved up motors of ridicule
    burning the fuel of unrefined truth

    now the gentle seaslides of saying
    I must undo
    with fist and swift

    seeing one-eyed blind
    through the exasperation
    of sullen box-bound broke light
    to the heart meat of slain freedom

    families bury safety and sanity
    in fields of concrete and clay

    as dangerous lovers
    in the dirt of their leafy beds
    hide and huddle

    concealing the sly reasons
    for held secrets
    and unsung songs

    spinning wild fiction
    in whirlpools of deafening chaos
    and dead flowers

    now my saying shall be my undoing
    knowing the bloodied futility
    of the toxic dull-ached search

    because veracity is soul-orphaned
    pronounced grey-bluingly dead…
    …no longer green


    Original digital surreal art: “Death of Truth”
    by: rob kistner © 10/3/23

    *
    rob kistner © 10/3/23
    Poetry at: dVerse

     

    Femme Magique



    Original digital surreal triptych: “Temptresses” by: rob kistner © 10/2/23

     
    M ysterious lady in blackened silk
    dark beauty as to mesmerize
    a vision painted by a wizard’s brush
    seductively she’ll hypnotize
    wilding stare of icy blue
    floats above a blood-red pout
    spellbound by her magic eyes
    once she grips your soul
    there’s no way out


    Original digital surreal art: “Hypnotique”
    by: rob kistner © 10/2/23

    *
    rob kistner © 10/2/23
    Poetry at: dVerse

     

    Evening Window

    I wrote the rough ‘bones’ of this poem in 1991, the year after we moved to Oregon.


    Original digital surreal art: “Chubby Chickaree” by: rob kistner © 9/28/23

     
    Outside my Oregon window
    here in the Cascade foothills
    late afternoon celebrates

    alive with September sun
    and the scurry of small things
    warmed by Summer’s soft surrender

    post-equinox nature
    awaits Autumn’s dressing
    in splendid voice

    the chuff of tree’d red squirrel
    the American Red Squirrel

    Tamiasciurus Hudsonicus

    referred to by many
    as the chickaree
    or even pine squirrel

    these chattery little bandits
    prefer the higher-elevation
    coniferous forests of Oregon

    they blend their chittered bursts
    with the songs
    chirps
    and trills of birds

    chickadee
    goldfinch
    western bluebird
    northern flicker
    western tanager

    and high airborne
    osprey
    hawk
    and eagle

    so many others
    that fly
    flutter
    and flit
    through the intoxicating
    PAC Northwest mountain air

    all the while
    quick little chickaree

    in lightning-fast raiding parties
    are stealing
    cracking
    and eating
    the black-oil sunflower seeds
    that they effortlessly spill
    from my
    “strategically placed”
    squirrel-proof
    bird feeders

    yeah / right!

    nothing is safe
    from these scampering
    bushy-tailed brigands

    they can climb straight up
    an extremely slippery
    pencil-thin
    6’ tall black metal pole

    utterly amazing

    I watch it
    still don’t believe it

    cute as they are
    they’re exasperating

    these seed raids go on
    under the patient eye
    of a wise Red-Tailed Hawk

    also with a mind on dinner


    Original digital surreal art: “Patience”
    by: rob kistner © 9/28/23

    casually calling
    from the very top
    of a Sitka spruce
    swaying in the crisp gilding sky

    he watches

    woven into this sonic tapestry
    the sweet muffled belling
    of a White Tailed deer
    wandering in the safety of old-growth
    whispering in these foothills

    the quiet bark of a neighbor’s dog
    echoes through the basin
    up along the stream
    signaling its curiosity

    reminding me fondly
    we have dear friends nearby

    the soothing rustle of leaves
    large and small
    stirred by the breezes
    waft through this valley

    scented by bark
    loam
    and moss

    by foothill wildflowers

    the fragrances of living earth

    as I swoon
    my reverie is smartly punctuated
    by the staccato of conifer cones
    that fall from time to time

    wrested free by pine squirrel
    and chipmunk
    conversing boisterously
    high in the Douglas Fir
    busy with their forage

    wap! wap! wap!

    cones strike the ground
    and bounce off our roof

    closely followed
    by the flurry of their liberators
    crunching their way
    to the heart-meat of the cone

    the delicacy
    that elicits
    this furious industry

    some they hide away
    for a later treat

    I exhale softly
    seated by my evening window
    with tea
    and fascination

    mesmerized by all I behold

    my spirit full
    I am profoundly aware
    of how blessed I am

    how very precious
    these moments are

    and

    that they will not last
    forever


    Original digital surreal art: “Evening Window”
    by: rob kistner © 9/28/23

    *
    rob kistner © 9/28/23
    Poetry at: dVerse

     

    A Singular Bliss


    Original digital surreal art: “Eden Immersion” by: rob kistner © 9/15/23

     
    Evelyn thought — no
    then Evelyn thought again
    behold this paradise

    yes

    as the ‘s’
    curled at the tip
    then rolled slippery
    off her tongue
    a golden current
    coursed along her spine

    then tingled
    down her inner thighs

    then with a shiver
    to her feet
    causing her toes
    to curl

    so slightly


    Original digital surreal art: “Evelyn”
    by: rob kistner © 9/15/23

    her body was charged
    electric
    all powerful

    the power
    of anticipation

    a pure pleasure
    pulsing to unleash

    no restraints

    the pulse
    of the moon at its fullest
    of the sun at its hottest

    the wonderful chaos
    of the universe

    yes
    oh yes


    Original digital surreal art: “Bridge of Desire”
    by: rob kistner © 9/26/23

    she would cross this bridge
    this bridge of desire
    this bridge of mystery
    this bridge of sighs

    his bridge

    she would enter this realm
    his realm
    to his sky castle
    his pleasure palace
    sanctuary of sated fantasies

    his Xanadu

    she would acquiesce

    what wonders she imagined
    Arbre Blanc du Plaisir
    what wonders she desired

    she felt the mounting thrill
    of pending surrender
    raw freedom

    the heat
    at the white hot core
    of lust


    Original digital surreal art: “Arbre Blanc du Plaisir”
    by: rob kistner © 9/26/23

    so she released
    utterly
    totally
    to the manifestation
    of a singular bliss

    her essence
    ran molten

    it was the flow
    of liquid need

    she was his focus
    his purpose
    his hunger

    she was his instrument
    his joy

    he
    was her maestro
    was her obsession
    he was her madness


    Original digital surreal art: “Such Beautiful Music”
    by: rob kistner © 9/15/23

    *
    rob kistner © 9/26/23
    Poetry at: dVerse

     




    ~ a bit of ONJ for some light distraction ~

    Changing Weather

    “Life’s not about waiting for the storm to pass…
    It’s about learning to dance in the rain.”

    Vivian Greene


    Original digital surreal art: “Not Quite Rain” by: rob kistner © 9/21/23

     
    M oments of not-quite-rain
    approach easy and still
    a gentle breeze blows
    wafting sweet petrichor
    tantalizes the nose

    but should bad weather come
    and there be not-quite-love
    tears will cloud your eyes
    turbulence dash your heart
    as storm clouds split ink skies


    Original digital surreal art: “Sky Fury”
    by: rob kistner © 9/21/23

    *
    rob kistner © 9/19/23

    Poetry at: dVerse

    Poetry at: Poets & Storytellers



    This next song, “Bad Weather”, was written by Paul Cotton. Paul was initially a member of Illinois Speed Press. Paul then moved on to Poco to replace Jim Messina, who had left to join Kenny Loggins in Loggins & Messina. Both versions of his wonderful song follow here:

    Here he is, Mr. Mojo Risin’ — the Lizard King…

    Defiled


    Original digital surreal art: “Moon Child” by: rob kistner © 9/19/23

     
    B eauty filled the heart of moon child
    wondrous earth set her dreams in motion
    sunny beachs were one reason she smiled
    as was moonlight on the sand by the ocean


    Original digital surreal art: “Sand Castle Magic”
    by: rob kistner © 9/19/23

    sand castle’s magic, the gift of moon child
    creating her sand castles left her beguiled
    her vivid imagination was amazingly wild


    Original digital surreal art: “A Child’s Trust”
    by: rob kistner © 9/19/23

    but now she, as do I, find it quite tragic
    the way earth’s oceans have been defiled
    her dreams have sadly lost their magic
    broken, is the pure heart of moon child


    Original digital surreal art: “But Why?”
    by: rob kistner © 9/19/23

    *
    rob kistner © 9/19/23
    Poetry at: dVerse

     

    Mano a Mano


    Original digital surreal art: “Mano a Mano” by: rob kistner © 9/18/23

     
    T he broken shutter
    swung ungainly askew
    in a sad sag

    thumping ugly
    with an awkward thunkity-thunk

    walloping
    with a wind-driven wack-bang
    and troubling
    thud-thud bothersome bumping

    but the buzz-buzzing
    the fucking buzz-buzzing
    that was driving me mad

    before that bastard could buzz again…

    Smash!


    Original digital surreal art: “Battle Ready Squadron”
    by: rob kistner © 9/18/23

    *
    rob kistner © 9/18/23
    Poetry at: dVerse

     

    Now’s Elusivity

    ~ To be read slowly, in rhythm with your breathing. ~


    Original digital surreal art: “The Machine of Time” by: rob kistner © 9/14/23

     
    E ver accelerating
    a spiral linearity

    time

    escaping into the future
    tethered to the past

    unfolding towards…
    unreeling from…
    …the elusive now

    that eternal moment
    moving forever away
    yet always just behind
    ever out of reach

    the thing that — is
    to then be — not

    the restless essence
    one cannot hold
    but in each moment
    one must behold

    I have followed
    this path of time
    ever onward
    as it’s led

    been carried
    on its tide

    followed its rise
    and its fall
    in concentric circles
    sweeping always outward

    there is much I have seen
    much I have experienced

    much I’ve missed
    lost
    and left behind

    much I’ve stumbled upon
    stumbled over
    always to collect myself
    to quiet my mind

    to follow on
    the strand continuum
    but to do so mindfully


    Original digital surreal art: “Time’s Strand Continuum” by: rob kistner © 9/14/23

    I’ve encountered the unknown
    lost my way
    and suffered sorrow

    I have embraced the wonder
    found enlightenment
    a newborne tomorrow

    I have understood
    and known joy

    losing confidence
    I’ve acted coy

    misunderstood
    and known tears

    been overwhelmed
    and known fears

    but ever on
    this path does lead
    and I
    in measured step
    must ever follow

    pure time
    unfolding
    yet withholding

    but — I know the mystery
    I know the lie

    I am not on
    this path of time
    the path is I

    time resides
    within my mind
    perception’s gilded cage

    it is herein
    my truth of time
    I’ll find

    and as it slips away
    its herein
    I know the rage

    so I will ride
    the changing moon
    from December’s cold
    to the warmth of June

    through time’s extremes
    to seek the dreams
    I embrace as mine

    to ever seek
    the elusive now
    the held breath
    in the folds of time


    Original digital surreal art: “Portal of the Elusive Now”
    by: rob kistner © 9/14/23

    *
    rob kistner © 9/14/23
    Poetry at: dVerse

     




    https://youtu.be/9rMdEDZULbc?si=k9AS6TF8kY0XNMUE

    This final version of this gorgeous haunring song I offer, features Sandy Denny, the woman who wrote the song. Ironically, Sandy didn’t get much time. She died at age 31,
    just as her career was beginning.

    Beaurêvé


    Original digital surreal art: “Beaurêvé” by: rob kistner © 9/12/23

     
    R eal
    yes
    I know this is real
    and I know
    I have been here
    many times

    I think

    no
    this is more than a thought
    much more
    I’m certain

    yes
    I have been here
    my mind’s now clear
    gone
    the foggy curtain

    this is a place I’ve been
    and I am here again

    it captivates me
    tugging at me
    drawing me in

    this night
    I cannot shake its pull
    it fills my writer’s soul
    to full

    I know this place
    known it all my life
    foresaw this moment
    would come in my time
    this was my mystery to find
    dreams of my youth were filled
    with the recurring signs

    but does this place
    truly exist
    or does it exist
    only in my mind

    do I know it
    only as a memory
    of a memory

    or do I know it
    as a memory
    of a place

    a place I have been

    a place
    whose red soil
    I have trod

    whose sun
    so rich and golden
    it could be spent
    like money

    a place whose air
    wafts of cinnamon
    and honey

    whose slick shale mountains
    cut dramatic silhouettes
    into the alien sky

    whose ground cover
    the leaves of which
    are the sweet taste
    of finest licorice

    and the berries
    are as sweet
    and as tart
    as the ripest pomegranate

    this is
    a most wondrous planet


    Original digital surreal art: “ Pájaröné Mating Birds”
    by: rob kistner © 9/12/23

    a place
    whose beautiful black birds
    accented crimson and sable
    are known as Pájaröné

    they fly in pairs
    never alone

    when in flight
    they bell gently
    blending as one

    not unlike the call
    of the white-tailed deer
    of my enchanted Oregon

    ”gentle bird on the wing
    it’s to my very heart you sing
    it’s to my captive soul you call
    my very essence you enthrall”

    I swoon in reverie
    when I hear the Pájaröné

    oh this place
    whose crystal waters
    effervesce
    in cordovan river beds

    whose sparsely limbed
    ebony trees
    the Nêra’elbéro
    shimmer coralesque


    Original digital surreal art: “Nêra’elbéro Tree”
    by: rob kistner © 9/12/23

    the bark of which
    tears easily away
    to expose sweet under-bark

    breadlike
    delicately delicious
    remarkably nutritious

    also
    heavy laden
    nut bushes abound

    ripened nuts fall
    cluttering the ground

    everywhere edibles
    can be found

    ever surprising
    this exotic place

    a place of contrasts
    and contradictions

    a place which
    at first glance
    seems almost baron
    even hostile
    but its eerie magic
    does soon beguile

    it stirs my soul
    accelerates my heartbeat
    fascinates my mind

    it can spark my apprehension
    and demands my utmost attention
    to survive

    a place quite harsh
    so bizarrely otherworld-like
    so unsettlingly foreign
    that it’s magnificently strange
    breathtakingly beautiful

    a place from which
    you cannot look away
    whose extreme environment
    presents a challenge everyday

    still
    you do not want to leave

    yet here I am
    back on Gaia Neuvo
    new mother earth
    with no useful recall
    of when
    nor how I returned


    Original digital surreal art: “Space Orbs Return to Gaia Neuvo”
    by: rob kistner © 9/12/23

    but it feels
    so much I’ve learned

    is this just a memory
    of a memory
    a fantastical fictional creation
    of my mind

    or an amazing journey
    prophetically foretold
    in the dreams
    of a clairvoyant 12-year-old

    dreams of this place
    called Beaurêvé

    or is it in fact
    not just a dream
    but rather
    a vivid memory of a place

    a place
    I realize I have been

    and in my soul
    so much
    want to go again

    to once more
    marvel at the amazing
    to seek wild adventure
    embracing the vast unknown
    trekking its landscape
    wonderfully alone
    awestruck
    by the unbelievable

    a phantasmagoric odyssey
    that may be
    for me
    quite possibly
    achievable

    afterall — I am a writer


    Original digital surreal art: “LaTieke the Celestial Poet”
    by: rob kistner © 9/12/23

    *
    rob kistner © 9/12/23
    Poetry at: dVerse