Fueled by the freedom of the open road
racing away from routine’s grasp
leaning tightly into curves
wind whip’n long hair
the knees tucked
head bent low
motorcycle
rockets
loving youthful revolution
living in the moment
not counting time
not worrying
just being
free
¥
*
rob kistner © 2023
Poetry at: dVerse
The 4 motorcycles I have owned & the 1 Moped.
I’m the lizard king
born of Texas
and the big beat
the big heat
I am the changeling
the back door man
the wild child
from love street
takin’ the crystal ship
on a moonlight drive
gonna break on through
to the other side
waiting for the sun
with riders on the storm
we’re no ship of fool
beat the roadhouse blues
at the end of the night
when the music’s over
gonna light my fire
like a devil’s pyre
you know the music
is our special friend
we’ll dance on that fire
just as it intends
fire on the river
yes the river told me
then very softly
I want you to hold me
sweet Maggie M’Gill
I want you badly
I love you madly
and always will
be my wild love
rock my world
love me two times girl
five times crazy
we gonna do
a love crash dive
five to one babe
no one gets out alive
*
rob kistner © 2023
Poetry at: The Sunday Muse
“We all shine on, like the moon, and the stars, and the sun.”
John Lennon
John Lennon by: Shen
I’ll not listen
not be shackled
not be handled
not be ruled
I’ll not be managed
nor be played
manipulated
or be fooled
you sure as hell
will not tell me
who
what
where
when
how
or why
what you offer
I’m not taking
your extended hand
I am not shaking
the world I walk
is of my making
and
I will not have it
any other way
your iron fist
I destroyed it
your sage advice
I avoid it
you can
rant
rave
condemn
and preach
your approval
I do not beseech
I seek only
my good counsel
I’ll not succumb
to might
or muscle
not be swayed
by your slick hustle
I’m calling out for peace
you’re sending in police
how much gotta burn
before fools eva’ learn
I am a man
of my own mind
and I will live
as my own man
this is all
I want to be
well-heard
loved
and free
*
rob kistner © 2023
Poetry at: The Sunday Muse
Below here is considered the very first on-air report of John Lennon’s murder.
click on: * LISTEN IN BROWSER *
Your clarity
blazed bright
a flame of logic
a vivid light
pierced the darkness
of ignorance
its radiance
sparked inquiry
your blazing light
turned to ember
then fell to ashen
but you still ignite
those who remember
your philosopher’s passion
we stir to fire
your dark wisdom’s desire
you’re moved on now
but you’re not gone now
you’ve taken manhattan
you’re no longer
the bird on the wire
but your true soul
was not extinguished
on your funeral pyre
those who heard you
we now bear you on
you’ll never be gone
*
rob kistner © 2023
Poetry at: The Sunday Muse
L ady blue is musical magic
her songs possess timeless wisdom
illuminating those who truly listen
they are truth — even when tragic
a poet deeply in touch with her soul
keenly aware of her frail humanity
pursues honesty and societal sanity
paints herself in a story teller’s role
she shares valuable lessons of life
yet reflects moments of indecision
but her self awareness and vision
offers hope midst the daily strife
“Drive your bargains,
push your papers,
win your medals,
fuck your strangers,
don’t it leave you on the empty side?”
Joni Mitchell
*
rob kistner © 2023
Poetry at: The Sunday Muse
Day 22 at: NaPoWriMo 2023
I remember you, as the spring blooms erupt
you felt winter, made them wait long enough
those gorgeous mavericks, always lifted us
new wildflowers, crazy colors blowin’ up
I remember the beauty, you saw in those weeds
for you understood, how a wild heart bleeds
to grow free, but as were their untamed needs
indiscriminately, they dispersed their wilding seeds
I remember wildflowers, embracin’ hills n’glades
hundreds o’brightly hues, and many stunning shades
n’painting steepen’d slopes, in color rich cascades
I remember you so loved, those raucous renegades
I remember you, in our special park in May
in the cool Spring breeze, at the end of day
on the silvered beach, of the white-capped bay
ever so especially, along our moonlit waterways
I remember sunny days, as it was growing dark
reclined on the soft matt, of fallen aspen bark
to the day’s final song, of the lilting meadow lark
oh — I remember you, in that wonderful arbor park
I remember you my love, by the ivy’d garden wall
on those crisp and heady days, of the waning fall
laying languidly embraced, on a golden leafy sprawl
in the dappled shade, of that weeping willow tall
I remember you, sitting by the old oaken mill
‘neath autumn’s changing trees, high on that grassy hill
when we would make sweet love, in the early morning chill
I remember with joyful tears, our wild lover’s thrill
how we’d embrace, and laughing, run wildly downhill
free as those wildflowers, I remember you still
your bright eyes flashing, as tears of joy spill
even as I leave you love, you know I always will
~ Last Lines ~
New wildflowers, crazy colors blowin’ up
indiscriminately, they dispersed their wilding seeds
I remember you so loved, these raucous renegades
ever so especially, along our moonlit waterways
oh — I remember you, in that wonderful arbor park
in the dappled shade, of that weeping willow tall
I remember with joyful tears, our wild lover’s thrill
even as I leave you love — you know I always will
*
rob kistner © 2023
Poetry at: dVerse
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
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
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.
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
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
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
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
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.
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!
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