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
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
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
“For someone you love deeply, love will not end with dying, or leave with the last breath. Such love never ends.”
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
T he garment of demands
in which we are dressed
when we are young
is often most awkward
as it’s poorly fitted
but the self-tailored cloak
of expectation
we put on
when we are grown
can be more difficult
to wear
as it’s pressure fit
*
rob kistner © 2023
Poetry at: dVerse
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
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!
*
rob kistner © 2023
More poetry at: dVerse
~ save our world – only we can ~
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
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
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
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…
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
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 ~
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
“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.
More poetry at: dVerse