Author: Rob Kistner

Jelly Beans


P hineas Morton is not a happy guy
that’s not to say he’s sad
he just decided long ago
not to live life on the extremes
so he would describe himself as
well
as centered
Phineas Morton is a centered guy

I’m Mortimore Magee
his best friend
and frequent visitor

Phineas lives
in the abandoned hull
of an old
yellow
school bus
which he’s fixed up to be
”just fine”
he assures
”lotta make-do, bit’a magic”

he was left there
by his parents
when he was 12
as they went off to find

well
“to find happiness”
he bemoans

this situation may also account
for his less than enthusiastic embrace
of the whole concept of happiness

Phineas dreams of
someday doing something
well
”something interesting”

shunning the extreme nature
of great
he is not really interested
in doing something great
interesting will do just fine

Phineas has a girlfriend
well
“sort of a girlfriend”
he says
“more like a girl acquaintance
sounds less all in”
he explains
which suits his centeredness
just fine

her name is Flo
Flo Humpledorf
though she has come to spell it
P-h-l-o
as an expression
of her affinity for Phineas
you know
Phineas and Phlo

well anyway
Phineas wants everyone to know
that while he waits
for his interesting life to begin
he can be found
”out by ole’ Doc Patterson’s pond”
in his shell of a bus

“you’re more than welcome to come by”
he says

just between you and me
if you do
don’t act too happy
if you know what I mean
it doesn’t sit well with the lad

also
if you decide to come by
bring some jelly beans
red jelly beans

why

because I love red jelly beans
and I really am there
a lot!

*
rob kistner © 2021

Poetry at: dVerse

 

https://youtu.be/bl9bvuAV-Ao

Equilibre


C arefully I walk this edge
balancing eternally between
my sacred nurturing soul
and my burning hearts’s needs

know I will not be confined
staying always in motion
an eternal ebb and flow
perpetual like the seas

my spirit is amorphous
bathed in the rays of change
expanding unrestrained
seeking purpose and freedom

I will not be defined
my nature is fluid
my essence is turbulent
deep and ever changing

my heart in constant surge
ignores the prevailing winds
seeking balance that is mine
to change at need — at will

you need not seek me
for I am always here
but do not name me
I will not be yours

*
rob kistner © 2021

Poetry at: Sunday Muse

 

Collecting


 
O nce I have
all I can get
I’ll still want more
and more

and yet

the stuff I have
I must ignore
to have the time
to find some more

to stash
what it is I got
so there’ll be nothing
I have not

and when I have
all that there is
I’ll sit back
and say

gee wiz

I’m not certain
this is all
there is

limited space
no way
no way
I can fit more in
today

I may be nuts
or maybe not
but gotta have more
than what I got

I’m on the verge
of losing it
but I believe
more will fit

we’re near full
for sure
for sure
but I can still
fit a bit more

I can always
fit a bit more

though what I have
is gathering dust
and some perhaps
is gathering rust
though the walls
are ‘bout to bust
I’ll stuff in more
because
I must

I simply
must


*

rob kistner © 2021
 
Poetry at: Poets & Storytellers

 

Little tune about too much of too much!

Bridge of Truth

The music is a key element of my expression here…

FE6468E4-DB21-4AC2-AE47-A151350888DD

 

P ossessed of all it is I am
I sigh a sigh of longing
I feel empty sad and very old
I seek to fill my barren soul

~across the bridge of truth~

I seek not a kingly right
nor scepter gold to rule a realm
worldly wealth I do not need
love’s enlightenment I seek

 

IMG_8645

 
*
rob kistner © 2021

Poetry at: dVerse

 



https://youtu.be/cpPSBzGEklE

~ A live bonus from Pauly! ~

Folly Divine

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“Folding Time” by: rob kistner

 
P lease permit me to present two concepts for your consideration. One is time, the other is keeping in the present moment — a place in which we seem relentlessly encouraged, cajoled, even badgered to remain. First of all, time is relative, a fleeting thing, constantly evolving. It is transitory and non-substantive.

So how does one keep in the present moment? As a general definition, “keep” means to hold, or maintain something in your possession or control. A moment is an ever-changing, elusive, arbitrary piece of this relative thing called time. So it would appear, given the ethereal, amorphous nature of time, that one cannot “keep” any aspect of time — one of which being a moment.

Therefore, with time being the core component of a moment, and time unable to be, by definition, “kept”, the logical deduction is that a moment, present or not, is therefore unable to be ‘kept’. Moments are a flow continuum, so ride it mindfully and alert. Besides, in the pursuit of things relative, fleeting, ethereal, and uncertain — love is a far more glorious pursuit than a “present moment”.

love is elusive
a mystery of the heart
a folly divine

*
rob kistner © 2021

Poetry at: dVerse


 

Heady April

 

P otent spring can make one
act quite the lovesick fool
heady with anticipation
desires sparkle like a jewel

april’s wine is intoxicating
as winter’s pale heart yearns
to feel spring’s grand unfolding
as nature’s palette slowly turns

this sweet inebriation
of april’s longing soul
can bring forth act’s impulsive
and draw one to the jester’s role

so be wary – for when one’s
caught in this season’s swoon
the better judgements of january
dissolve under april’s moon

the elixir of a world in bloom
is to the lusting lovelorn
a most dangerous of potions
risky randy thoughts are born

so remember and be warned
under passion’s frenzied rule
april can easily make one
act quite the splendid fool

*
rob kistner © 2021

Poetry at: Poets & Storytellers

 



https://youtu.be/-GdJ_HOjtew

Maybe

…nature always finds a way…


 
L ifting myself quietly
from beneath the sheets
soaked with last night
I slump
another nightmare

unfortunately
I’ve again awakened

another hard night
now
another shit day

I rise
make my way carefully
moving head down
shufflin’ to the bathroom
to wash my face

it’s reflected sallow
in the yellowed wash
of feeble incandescence

strange tired eyes
hold me in the mirror
broken as my spirit

eyes of knowing
eyes of disappoint
eyes of sadness

the look burns through me
weighing upon my being

I want to scream
but no one’s here to hear me
in this cluttered two-room flat

morning maintenance done
I grab a cold bagel
gather up my stuff
trudge out the front door
down the rickety wood stairs
into the oblivious streets
that echo my strangled dreams

I duck and dodge
in and out
of early morning shadows
past the garbage and graffiti
of these dirty bricken’d canyons

they vibrate with the rush and chaos
of synapse and sinew
the hum of networked urgency
data outdistancing comprehension
can — beyond the reach of — should

monoliths of human avarice
cold and indifferent
clad in stainless
stone
and such

a halogen and neon blaze
they surge with manipulation
and greed

in varying shape and differing size
they flank in concrete corridors
that criss and cross
blink and beep and ring
they buzz and hiss
and stink

thoughts flood in a torrent
souring my head

I’m now rushing
unseeing
seething with anger
and exasperation
when suddenly
I stumble

a crack in the sidewalk
this fuckin’ city!

then I look down
startled

what the hell
a flower
really
no shit!

in that moment
flabbergasted
I unspring my tension

exhaling
I pause

I’ll be damned
caught in a flash
of wonder
I muse

maybe

maybe dreams
actually do survive
somewhere

in this concrete hell-hole

*
rob kistner © 2021

Poetry at: Sunday Muse

 



Dreams

This is Seussian Tetrameter…


 
I am high on romance
cause I’m caught in your trance
cannot breath cannot think
my poor mind’s on the blink

I am gone this I’m sure
and I doubt there’s a cure
is this joy is this bliss
was that simply a kiss

will I wake I can’t tell
I am under your spell
is this all what it seems
am I lost in my dreams

if it’s true then it’s fine
these sweet dreams are divine
here’s a wish I now make
hope I never awake
 

*

rob kistner © 2010

More tetrameter poetry at: dVerse

Open Link Night at: dVerse

 



~ A live bonus from Brandi! ~

Brandi


I greatly admire this fellow Washingtonian.

 
She is bold she is fierce
it’s her depth that appeals
ev’ry song that she sings
are the thoughts that she feels

while her heart she emotes
it’s her soul she reveals
she brings tears to my eyes
while my logic she steels

speaking truth she stirs hope
shattered dreams so to heal
and she gives of her self
her love rolls like a wheel

she is grit she is style
she is humble and real
she is Brandi Carlile
and she lives her ideals

 

Hanseroth twins: key to Brandi’s sound & success.
 

rob kistner © 2010

More poetry at: dVerse

 

I cordially invite you to experience here, this master at her craft.
Especially if you appreciate a heartfelt cry.

…and for a two-song encore…


Li bai Reimagined

1.) “Crows Calling at Night” by: Li bai
Yellow clouds beside the walls; crows roosting near.
Flying back, they caw, caw; calling in the boughs.
In the loom she weaves brocade, the Qin river girl.
Made of emerald yarn like mist, the window hides her words.
She stops the shuttle, sorrowful, and thinks of the distant man.
She stays alone in the lonely room, her tears just like the rain.

2.) Reinterpretation of “Crows Calling at Night” by: Li bai
Yellow clouds near the walls where crows are roosting.
They are cawing as they fly into gingko tree boughs.
The Qin river girl is creating brocade with her loom.
The emerald yarn is mist like, the window hides her words.
Sadly, she stops the shuttle, and thinks of her far off love.
She is lonely here in her room, her tears just like the rain.

_______________________________

3.) A fully original poem inspired by Li bai’s “Crows Calling at Night”
 

 

A Crystal Tear

 
Sun-gold clouds fade in dimming cerulean
a lone raven’s black eyes stare steadily
loudly cawing, he effortlessly alights
perched in the striking autumn yellow
of the ginkgo’s lovely fanned petals

a lonely woman works in deft rhythm
rich silk gleams taut in her drawloom
she carefully raises the brocade patterns
learned as a child in her Shanxi province
sure hands pull the fine emerald threads

prayer on her lips — she stares far off
a closed window holds fast her whispers
sadly she falls quiet — pauses the shuttle
thinking longingly of her distant lover
wondering — will their lips again touch

she sits alone — unmoving — head turned
a crystal tear falls like a first rain drop

 

rob kistner © 2010

More poetry at: dVerse

 

Time Master


 
Hidden deep
in the darkest recesses
of my infinite mind
my spiral synapses
like resonant bells
ring with perfect clarity
calling forth enlightenment
revealing the secrets of eternity

on this black velvet night
my brilliance shines
like crazy diamonds

hidden thoughts
soar untethered
ignited
to shine on brightly
illuminating the darkling
mysteries of time

I am the time master
I fold reality


rob kistner © 2021

Poetry at: Sunday Muse

Day 18 poetry at: NaPoWriMo 2021

Poetry at: Poets & Storytellers

 

Salmon Fishing


Nice catch!

The great wheel of time
turns ever slow and steadily
its ponderous mass unstoppable
relentless as a steady bear
prowling the forest
or stationed patiently
in a chill mountain stream
ready to snatch a salmon

the prowling
is familiar to me
I understand
the continuous hunt

but patience
that too often
escapes my grasp
as do many salmon
elude the mighty bear

but still
he stays his task
relentlessly

in my imperfect way
I feel I understand
this relentlessness

we both
ride the great wheel
‘round and ’round we go
the bear and I
uncertain in our quests

yet still he flashes his paw
at the ever-leaping prey
in his relentless hope
to finally snag a salmon

so too have I reached out
time and again
with the relentless hope
to grasp the ultimate answer
verifiable evidence
to finally solve
my lifelong mystery

just who am I
how did I get here
where did I come from
who were my birth parents

none easily answered

in our ongoing endeavors
success is not guaranteed
for the bear
nor I

and yet
we both continue fishing


rob kistner © 2010

More poetry at: dVerse


 
N.B. Still waiting final verification, but it seems my birth mother is Evelyn Tieke and my birth father is Joseph Perrmann. The name first given me is Lawrence Tieke. After 74 years of wondering, and frequently searching unsuccessfully, my daughter solved the mystery last month. Awaiting certification of my original birth certificate.