Author: Rob Kistner

Emerald & Gold



Cascade Mountain Larches — by: Craig Smith

Autumn here in the Pacific Northwestern United States is the season of emeralds and gold. The emeralds emanate from the many types of conifers that grow tall and plentiful here in this beautiful region, staying brilliant shades of green year-round. But the gold, that is the magic, and it’s a fleeting wonder that happens only in the Fall season. The source of this prestidigital marvel of nature is a geographically limited pine tree known as the Larch.

Larches are like a pot of gold here in the Fall hiking season. Their flaming yellow needles turn a Cascade Mountain landscape into something ethereal and otherworldly. The few short weeks, during mid-Autumn when the larches’ needles turn golden, make them all the more precious to spot. We call it the season of “Larch Madness.”

As splendrous as gold
cascade mountain larches make
autumn spellbinding


There are two Larches native to this region: the taller Western Larch, and the shorter, higher altitude Subalpine Larch. My personal favorite is the Western Larch, with its triangular shape and narrow crown. They grow up to 170 feet tall here in the Pacific Northwest, on north-facing mountain slopes, at 2,000 to 5,500 feet elevation.

Their needles grow in small clumps, turning a brilliant gold in Autumn, falling off in the winter. They then grow new, yellow-green needles in spring, that again turn a breathtaking golden-amber in the Fall. In addition to their deciduous needles, Larches have conspicuous cones, with smaller, sharper needles, that stick out like a porcupine’s quills between the cones’ layers.

If you don’t happen to live in the realm where Larches grow, a trip to experience the glory of these marvels in their full Autumn color, is well worth the effort.

Atumn alchemy
turn the larch pine wonderland
a splendid pure gold



Leprechaun Lake, Washington — by: Joshua Stern

*
rob kistner © 2022

Poetry at: dVerse

 


Moon in Periwinkle


 

That golden’d moon
and her
then a child
held eternity’s promise
in share

colorful pails on the ocean’s beach
festooned in starfish and octopus

jelly and jam
on crustless bread

amber-gold campfire’s
‘neath a silvery canopy
of forever stars

and s’mores
scrumptious s’mores

lipstick
smeared on a giddy grin
the world of dress up
and pretend
so eager to grow up

the strum of imagination
that brings song
to the young heart

the thrill of dance
that moves a child’s feet
like god’s marionette

that drives away
the limp of sorrow

but now
summer’s gone
carried off by time

robbed is the color
from the day

as she walks
she remembers
the reds
oranges
blues
the violets and periwinkles
so as never to forget

ever keeping hope
that the joy will return
to massage the rigid cold
to warmth again

the sun
to re-torch the heavens
re-fire life’s hues

as a child
she first saw the gray descend

the twisted labyrinth

the mesmerizing maze

the gapes
and gaps

the lever of lies
that loose the holds
that confined the fear
and pain

she felt the slippage
the hole in the universe
the backward motion
the clickity clack

as all things gentle
got sucked in
blown away

gray had overcome the landscape
gray was in the house
gray was at the dining table
black waited in the chamber

when no one sober
roamed those rooms

and no one safe
was she
that child

balancing precariously
on fate’s highwire

when wrong things burned
bitter as paregoric

the way jugged
johnny walker whiskey
burns the throat

that burned that skin
like bare knee
on rough rug

like pumice
on raw flesh

that winter’d touch
that chilled her heart

when laughter bowed out
and lies and hurt
bowed in

like the poison
in a lizard’s wattle

when denied was that promise
of violet and periwinkle
oranges
blues
reds

only gray

with black always waiting
at the fringe
with a talon’s piercing sting
silent and swift
as wing’ed night

and the startled bruise
that began the tome
of her life as a child

innocence disappeared
like smoke up a charred chimney

her child’s smile
now safely stowed away

kept protected
for a new time
of that moon
and that promise

and now she walks
a young woman
on a starry’d night

wandering back
towards that golden’d moon

curious as a child
and hopeful

wondering
if the periwinkle
might someday return

*
rob kistner © 2022

Poetry at: The Sunday Muse

 



Dream Lovers

INSCRIPTION: To Mark — Let the poetic sound of moons and stars invade your night thoughts, to give you sweet dreams always, for in your dreams lies the happiness you truly want — hope you enjoy the book, Michelle

Sparked by Michelle’s inscription, Mark reveals his true heart, and replies to Michelle with a poem, vulnerably baring his soul, sharing his sensual dreams of her.


“Dream Lovers” — by: Oleg Zhivetin

 
I dream I take you under the stars in May
in a Spring night’s breeze in the marram’s sway
on the silvered beach of a white-capped bay
near the mouth of a moonlit waterway

I dream I take you in a tree-filled park
on a matt of fallen aspen bark
to the Summer song of a meadow lark
on a sunny day until it grows dark

I dream I take you by the garden wall
in the dappled shade of a willow tall
on the scattered down of its leafy sprawl
on a crisp, and heady day in Fall

I dream I take you by the oaken mill
‘neath an autumn tree on a grassy hill
I will take you in the early chill
when our Winter comes — I will take you still

Michelle my love I dream of only you
under the moon — under the stars — all year through
here I share these dreams — that they come true
sweeping us away in passion’s sweet taboo

*
rob kistner © 2022

Poetry at: dVerse

 



Fallen (2022)

Author’s note: The inspiration for this poem came when I discovered a giant redwood tree, nearly 300 feet tall, that had fallen in the forest near Eureka, California. It was 1994 and I had been hiking with my 21-year-old daughter Jennifer, my 17-year-old son Aaron, and my 16-year-old son Justin. I was so moved upon seeing the giant down that I wrote the first draft of ideas that evening.

That was a magic time with my kids. Aaron, jumping and waving in his bright red hiking jacket, was the flailing fleck of color in the poem. Less than a year later Aaron was tragically killed. “Fallen” now has deep meaning for me on several levels.

NOTE: I have written an adendum, this day, Wednesday, November 16th, 2022.


Not personal photos. Used to show scale of naturally fallen redwoods.

 

My god

big as a house

great redwood
broken in repose

tangled root like tentacled mouth
ripped raw from breast of mother earth

massive girth
even prone
you still stand tall

and look there
look
way down there

my son
shoulder high to me
scaled
then strode your mammoth length
now at rest on this forest floor

he’s but a flailing fleck of color now

so small
so far away
yet still astride your hulking mass

mighty redwood
giant in a land of giants
soaring through the great canopy
of this majestic forest

thrusting skyward in your day,

and yet you’ve fallen

shallow rooted I observe
but deep enough to proudly stand
this thousand years

you did not fall unnoticed
in your thunderous final bow

so sad
your end

though all around you
new life
sprouting even from your fallen form


Not a personal photo. Used to show scale.

in this lush calm green
of nature’s vast cathedral
the eternal pulse of life goes on

not unaware of your misfortune
but certainly undaunted

yes
you have fallen

spire becomes spawn
and life goes on

(addendum)

but not for those of you
clearcut maliciously
victims of perpetrated
corporate fallacy

slain by human greed
taken solely for profit
masqueraded as need

such ignorant arrogance
brutality of no defense

foolish humans
spoiling the environment

robbing our atmosphere
of your valuable cleansing
of the greenhouse gases
we’re carelessly dispensing

we puke it daily into our skies
as the environment suffocates
and continually dies
that we can manage your regrowth
lumbering guilty lies

we stifle the oxygen
you so effectively provide
as we rip you clean
from every mountain side
until it’s too damned late
and humankind has died

once piercing the clouds
in towering mighty stands
you’re now the sadly fallen
taken by human hands

it is for you
I weep most bitterly

and for us
the fools unwittingly

blind to your miracles
quite utterly

as slowly
we kill ourselves



Not personal photos. Used to show devastation of human clearcutting.

*
original poem: rob kistner © 1994
addendum: rob kistner © 2022

environmental poetry at: earthweal

 


No Need

 

T urning to leave
she covers the distance
to the door
in a few sorrowful strides

she looks back
finds my gaze
as if to speak

in that fading moment
nothing is said
no need

she lowers her eyes
turns her head
steps through the door
into the November rain

and is gone

*
rob kistner © 2022

Poetry at: dVerse

 



…and for a possibly different perspective on my poem:

Perception’s Threshold

“If the doors of perception were cleansed, everything would appear as it is – infinite.”
— William Blake


“Open Doors” — by: Christa Taylor

 

We are infinite beings
standing at perception’s threshold
eager to find the truth

here we find ourselves
awaking slowly
from some infinite place

our coming to be
unknown to us as any mystery
our essence is an enigma

learned in stories
in evolving relationships
gradually we open to our identity

slowly — awareness dawns
like the rising of a newborn sun
breaking on our doorway of perception

we feel the draw of its warmth
and flow effortlessly into timelessness
as though immortal in the evermoment

we see — not over the horizon
for we perceive no horizon at all
there is but limitless eternal possibility

we comprehend no end — no beginning
immersed only in the perfect now
embodied wholly of our origin

it is therein exists the miracle of life
we are infinite beings — in this moment
dreaming to sustain this infinite moment

the struggles and limitations of time and reality
are not their truth — but our perception
so let go into the flow — let time carry you

*
rob kistner © 2022

Poetry at: The Sunday Muse

 



Memphis Red

 

For today’s dVerse OLN, I have posted a live, Spoken Word Performance, I did in 1999, of my original poem, “Memphis Red”, written in 1987. In 2001 I created a brief multi-media A/V movie to accompany my live reading. I invite you to relax, then click the white arrow in the red box below, to watch and listen to “Memphis Red”. Please enjoy! 🙂

*
rob kistner © 1987, 1999, 2001, 2022

Open Link Night Poetry at: dVerse


** If you would like to read my poem “Little Death”, which I read on November 10th, for the dVerse Open Link Night (OLN): CLICK HERE

Scattered Poems

Photography by: Pedro Wroclaw

Here, in the street of the sky, night walks scattering poems. These poems are inspired dreams of truth, but the fabric of these dreams can be pierced by spires of human fear and insecurity. The clarity of these inspired dreams are sometimes clouded by the dire deeds and distorted dialogue of disingenuous demagogs, who deem only to dominate and destroy the dreams of those who dare think differently.

But still night presents the poems, the dreams, with unclenched open hands of truth, hoping the winds of change catch them this night, lifting them fully promised.

These are poems produced by a clear, open mind, meant to inspire all who hear, to be more. So listen, and think differently, as the hours rise up putting off stars — and it is dawn. Awake now, as into the street of the sky light walks scattering poems anew.

*
rob kistner © 2022

Poetry at: dVerse

 


Age Of Radio

 

Like a broken actor
fading in the cameras’ lens
his final performance
in stage chambers
dark and dusky

his pummeled ego
fragile as eggshell

here mingled midst
a failed feast
of footlight flunkies
who hiss and howl
at his presumptive intrusion
into their vacuum-tubed world

these toothless lions
these shunned voice-overs
of the b-movie universe
draped in panic

a parade of fading phantoms
lost in the age of radio
each an empty sound-booth soul

he — and these embittered strangers
stuffed full of their soured sorrow
step to their carbon-grained mics
as movingly vocabular as a cadaver

each dumbed to wordlessness
spirits deathly cold

they weep

*
rob kistner © 2022

Poetry at: Shay’s Word Garden

 


Mysterium

~ glimpsing the ecstatic ~

 
*To watch me read “Mysterium”: CLICK HERE
 

From the spark of cognizance
at the dawn of awareness
through the eons of fire and conflict

forward past the dark times
advancing through the ages of change
traversing the renaissance
moving in the era of enlightenment
into these centuries of new growth
they have kept it

locked in their hearts
burning in their souls

the keepers of the keys
protecting the sacred secret

and now
on the threshold of actualization
realizations unfold

its safeguard is the catalyst
driving time and space
ensuring the ultimate balance

the locks must never be loosed
it must never be told
never unveiled
eternal must be the search

the truth inherent
beyond comprehension

that which is
is
because it must
ever be

perfecta mysterium
ad infinitum

*
rob kistner © 2022

Poetry at: The Sunday Muse

 

I Was The Singer

~ my 60/70’s rock band — Stone Fox ~

Photography by: Andy Apperson © 1969

Gene was my drummer
his rhythms were tight
a wizard with sticks
he kept us rockin’ together

jay was the string strummer
bass and guitar magician
he played mind-bending licks
his fingers light as a feather

brian joined in the summer
a sax man with no equal
with reeds he did tricks
he blew hot as the weather

keyboard dave was the newcomer
my lead vocals finished the mix

*
rob kistner © 2022

Poetry at: dVerse

 



Fly Angel Fly

Oh my son, I miss you everyday Aaron. You died in your 18th year, just prior to entering college to study music. You were a very handsome, kind, gentle, and caring young man – great football player, marathon runner, fabulous singer, and beloved youth pastor. You made me laugh so often. So bright — a humor… witty, warm, and wonderful. I miss you so. I ache to hold you just once more — to hear your beautiful voice, to laugh at one of your spontaneous jokes. I wrote this poem to remember you, beautiful boy.

In loving memory of my son, Aaron Robert Kistner: 11/4/76 – 7/3/95

 
This is my favorite picture of you son
the one I treasure most
since your passing

a simple snapshot
taken at the airport
upon your return
from having successfully run
the New York City Marathon

a gentle
triumphant smile

eyes beaming
behind those ‘cool’ shades
Ray-Ban RB3025 aviators
you called this your top gun look

jacket sleeves always rolled
so casually hip

bag gripped
firm and steady
in your left hand

your marathon medal
dangling proudly
from your strong neck
we celebrate you

the victor

humorous
gentle
kind
cool
hip
proud
carefree
and so strong

!fiercely handsome!

scorpio
you were born this month
four days in

how profound
this captured moment

taken just before the finish line
of your 18 years

it said it all

your race is run
your bag is packed
your reward’s in hand
run run racer across the sky

…and now too Aaron
you can fly
so son…
Fly my sweet angel – fly!

 
*
rob kistner © 2022

Poetry at: dVerse

Night Madness

My poetic expression, in image and verse, of the traumatic “night terrors”, I’ve experienced all my life, along with over four million other adults. It manifests itself for me as imageless nightmares, that fill me with such deep dread that I’m often awakened moaning loudly, sometimes screaming! It is a type of nocturnal torment from which I awaken disoriented, and unwilling to return to sleep. I am 75, and the idea of falling asleep is still extremely unsettling. Often awake ‘til thoroughly exhausted, I require prescription sleep meds nightly. Cause unknown, symptoms in adults can include a sudden awakening from sleep fully or partially, thrashing, screaming, intense fear and terror of an unknown reason, rapid heartbeat, rapid breathing, increased blood pressure, dilated pupils and wide eyes, sweating, increased muscle rigidity, inability to return to sleep.

IMG_8630
“Descent Into Night Madness” by: Rob Kistner © 1992

 
Evil’s blackest nocturnal nest
perversely born fantazury
midnight’s mad-menagerie

zoom-zooming
this blue-black world
disgusting hideousities

death scratch-scratching
doomsday’s door
swarming crazed horrorifity
scare
ensnare
then traumatize me

flaying bone-toed my synapses
hell’s hounds devour my peace
mind-ghouls shake’n’shiver me

oh gentle morne — deliver me

*
rob kistner © 2022

Poetry at: dVerse

 


Flyin’ The Coop

 

You smile so sweetly as you break my heart
then you kiss my lips, set my soul aglow
with a promise that we will never part
saying you’ll never leave — then off you go
can I trust you, love, I just do not know

you say “I’m back my love”, so sincere
but the evidence points the other way
your credibility is very weak my dear
and you lie with much of what you say
I’ve had it — I’m flyin’ the coop today

*
rob kistner © 2022

Poetry at: The Sunday Muse