Rob Kistner – Page 53 – Image & Verse

Why Poet

Certainly one of my most favorite poets is Gary Snyder. He has inspired me for years to write about the natural wilderness, an endeavor that sparks the ecstatic in me. This short poem of his that follows in parenthesis, “How Poetry Comes To Me”, directly inspired me to write the poem that follows further below, “Why Poet”. I had been in discussion with members of a poetry group years ago. We were talking about where and how we find our muse. Holding in mind this poem by Gary, I wrote the first draft of “Why Poet”. I wrote this revision found here for this prompt.

It comes blundering over the
Boulders at night, it stays
Frightened outside the
Range of my campfire
I go to meet it at the
Edge of the light

<=|=>

Why Poet

damaged in my special way
I like the path unclear
the route unmarked

fond of stumbling in
fumbling through
finding the way that’s mine

seduced by the clue
drawn to the fog
I seek the wonder
it withholds

my ears prick
to the distant sound
that calls
just beyond clarity

it is to this
my soul is pulled

because

down that path
around a curve
over a crest
hidden away

the truth dwells

~ ~ ~

To check out more poems at dVerse: CLICK HERE

Resilient

~

This is the era of COVID-19. A horrific experience like none in my life. It has shocked, terrified, and killed. My fear for my family has permeated my daily life. I am old and not wishing to die, but certainly accepting of its inevitability. My life has been full.

But my adult son and daughter have much life still to live. Watching the challenges they continue to encounter, fills me with much concern. However, seeing them embrace the ongoing changes so brilliantly, fills me with much hope. My 7-year-old grandson Alex, my son’s boy, while mildly confused by it all, and ready with questions, is maneuvering this new normal — resiliently.

I worry for his education, but he assures me he finds school online with his friends, “kinda fun PaPa!” He answers the zoom “school bell” on his laptop every morning with a smile. He is bursting with learning, always proud to share with me what new he knows today! He, with great support and nurturing from his father and mother, have shown PaPa — love finds a way.

grandson in zoom class
young voice reading warms my heart
fresh snow falls like joy

~ ~ ~

To check out more poems at dVerse: CLICK HERE

Songstress

Songstress

and so songstress
I think of you
and wonder

what was the fire
that burned so bright
and raged so fierce
as to consume complete

that in its heat
and ferocity
could not sustain
your tenderness of youth
until it became
much too much
for you to bear

yet still I hear
your silken voice
rising
to joy
to freedom
to love

to lust and longing
to heartache
to impatience
to immortality

your soulful siren sound
calling from the rooftops
over new york city

so seductive
the breathless passion
the bliss
and sorrow
of bittersweet innocence

when your wonder
stirred to every mystery
and your spirit lit
to every spark
igniting the fury in your soul

so brightly it burned
filled with red yellow honey
sassafras and moonshine
in a roaring sweet blindness
an inferno of creativity

ultimately
to leave you spent
at the stony end

and so
crying angel
I think of you
sweet songstress

remembering

~ ~ ~

To check out more poems at The Sunday Muse: CLICK HERE

to me the most beautiful song Laura wrote

No Need

No Need

the dream broke
like a prodigal sun
on a startled winter evening
causing him to squint
blinking away happiness
like sand in the eyes of love

you were there
the dismissive femme fatale
in this final edit

you took his cues
took his keys
took his shoes
took his leave
took his heart…

…took him apart

you took him for a fool

it wasn’t you didn’t want him
you said
you simply saw yourself
in a different movie
with a different ending

one that saw you
leave quietlyy alone
through the garden
alive with the fragrance of roses
and the joys of the lilly

and you said “I’d like, too,
to plant the sweet alyssum
that smells like honey
and peace”

and in this peaceful quiet
there would be
no long farewells
no broken hearts
at least
not yours

and the abandoned man
in the leather chair
had my face

had no expectations
made no demands
held you responsible
for nothing
nothing

and the night lark sang
and a silver tear
fell hard as steel
from his crystal’d cheek
which you collected in a sterling box
to toss into the freezing sea
for you had no need for tears
no need

you’d rolled the dice
but the bones was loaded

and you left the table
cashed in your winnings
climbed the winding stairs
silk purse in hand
his heart in your pocket
to place it at midnight
on your balcony rail
to watch it wither in the moonlight

he had no need for it
now
nor did you
anymore

nor most certainly
did you

no need

~ ~ ~

To check out more poems at dVerse: CLICK HERE

ALL WOULD ENVY
~
old enough to be her dad
but the young men were just mad
they nursed their grievances
and she was flattered by his charm
it wouldn’t do her any harm
they all had their chances
he sent her flowers and limousines
she was treated like a queen
anything she ever wanted
it was no problem for a man like him
and everyone expected soon
that she could ask him for the moon
if she would wear his ring
knowing glances from his friends
in the homes at the weekends of high society
but he didn’t give a damn
he never felt more like a man
and all the time the clock was ticking
and all would envy
the older man and his beautiful young wife
yes all would envy
in a house upon a hill
she was there with time to kill
she lived a life she’d only dreamed
the life was never what it seemed
to all her friends that she’d ignored
she denied that she was bored
she had no time for dancing
– no time for dancing
but the clock upon the wall
that was ticking in the hall always reminded her
that life was going on elsewhere
but she was happy and she whould swear
she wouldn’t change a thing
and all would envy
the older man and his beautiful young wife
yes all would envy
now its five o’clock am
she must have spent the night again
with that old friend of hers
she loves to dance
she’s missing more and more these days
but he’s still stuck in his old ways
perhaps she needs a little more romance
but the clock upon the wall
is still ticking in the hall
she must be home soon – soon
where a younger man would weep
he takes a pill and goes to sleep
now who would envy
the older man and his beautiful young wife?
who would envy? who would envy?
~ ~ ~
gordon sumner © 2001

Rage

Rage

as I cautiously round the bend
and pass beyond the eerie marsh
I catch my first sight of it
the cursed final destination
of my long treacherous journey
the castle of Zwénne the Lesser
once my home, now foreign to me

this castle is most ominous
since becoming Overlord of the Realm
Zwénne has rejected our father’s example
as our father rejected him and his ways
no joy warms the hallways, or towers
this long proud and mighty old structure
now a soulless abode of dark magic

it has become cold and foreboding
a nest for perverse wing’d changlings
rumored deadly for those that dare enter
but I know they are not just rumors
there is undoubtedly a murderous evil
that dwells within its walls
raging jealousy — seething and vicious

since conjuring the spirit
of Döxys, the blood beast
and having been thus possessed
Zwénne has become bloodthirsty
mindlessly violent and cruel
now a ruthless predator
whom I have come to slay

would that this task were not mine
but I have been charged herewith
by the supreme council of wizards
Zwénne is my fallen elder brother
and by decree, under this 3rd moon
in the presence of his perverse court
by my hand alone, he must die

no turning back now, this must be done
and I must do it, but I am terrified
I hesitate at the heavy castle door
attempting to gain much needed composure
I slow my heartbeat, steady my breathing
I lift the iron latch, the lock clicks
the massive door unseats inwardly

this is it, fate has dealt the cards
I am both prisoner and executioner
trapped hopelessly in this horrible plot
I search my soul to find the courage
to take the life of my own flesh & blood
I swing the door open ever so gradually
eyes darting, mind racing, heart pounding

I step in…

~ ~ ~

To check out more poems at dVerse: CLICK HERE

The Guest

The Guest

~
the sun through my window
sits low on the horizon

the hall clock chimes
it’s the hour of twilight

the chill of night settles

I sit warm in my inglenook
serene in the solitude
for I’m not alone

your sweet memory’s
come to visit

~ ~ ~

To check out more poems at dVerse: CLICK HERE

Fae Lauma

Fae Lauma

across the chasm of time
and great distance
memories unfold
like elaborate origami sculptures

I see soaring ramparts
of sky-piercing mountains
forested tier upon tier
with enormous sitka spruce

scattered brewers
known as the weeping spruce
the most beautiful of the conifer
whose branches in summer
display sunlight
as a jeweler’s velvet
showcases a gem

and always beautiful fae Lauma
the earthen forest spirit
clad benevolent in glorious old growth
conifer robe — rich and regal green

she whispers
in wind-stirred
lawson cypress
towering ponderosa pine
and douglas fir

her enchantment
wafts down emerald climbs
to brush softly my cheek
in brisk spritely breeze

a heady fresh bouquet
of invigorating conifer
dashed tantalizingly
with tangerine-scented white fir

a fragrance rivaled only
by the loamy sweet spice
of the rough-tufted red cedar

and eternal the forest fae Lauma
clad benevolent in glorious old growth
conifer robe — rich and regal green
hair of silken white-spun cloud

the dogwood’s brilliant leaves
big-leaf maples
pendulous western maples
tight ranks of dark-green sadler oak

the golden shimmer
and crisp crackle
of white-barked aspen

these are the mountains
and forests of my oregon home
where I will someday return

to dance with the bewitching fae Lauma
eyes blue-green as the realm she dwells
clad benevolent in glorious old growth
conifer robe — rich and regal green
to share whispers of the mighty wood
and reclaim my high-mountain heart

now I have only
sweet recall

even in the faded light
of distant memory
these visions leave me breathless

~ ~ ~

To check out more poems at The Sunday Muse: CLICK HERE

Song of the Waters

To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.
(Kahlil Gibran)

Lost Lake, Oregon

Song of the Waters

~
should you encounter me wandering lost
my countenance brittle withered and drawn
know that my soul seeks the song of the waters
my aching heart needs be soothed in their arms

so deliver me to snow-melt high-mountain waters
sweep me away in their crystal’d blue streams
tumble me joyous in their rolling white rapids
sail me over a waterfall grand as my dreams

now I’ve grown weary — my leave I will take
to rest in the peace of a deep mountain lake

Willamette Falls, Oregon

Mckensie River, Oregon

Mckensie River – BluE Pool, Oregon

~ ~ ~

To check out more poems at dVerse: CLICK HERE

This is Jimi Hendrix’s haunting “waterfall” song.

Nourishing Waters

Our hearts irrigate the earth. We are fields before each other.
(Thomas Aquinas)

sculpture by Rose Bean Simpson

Nourishing Waters

there is a needing and a caring
a taking and a giving

pieces of one’s soul
peeled away
for the sake of the cherished

a duality of dark and light
positive and negative
that haunts the reaching out
and clutch of profaned hands
which inflict raw wounds

that also blesses the sacred touch
to sooth the burning bruise
and heal the unseen damage

a rootedness in the need to nurture

in the looking one-eyed blind
to see that which is not visible
to the unfocused seer

madness engulfs the heart
of the flat-light sighted
obscuring truth

the radiance of clarity
envelopes the sainted
illuminating the wondrous

voids of spirit
marked and remembered
are besought in the leaving time
at the crossing over
to the dream
or hard justice

I am here but for you
until all that remains are bones
taken up to strike down menace
that which means you harm

devour me complete
in validation of my path
consummation of my holy fate

I am your nourishing waters
I am your vessel of deliverance
I am your song of ascension

~ ~ ~

To check out more poems at dVerse: CLICK HERE

The Truth

The Truth

I’m awake here late this Christmas Eve, wrestling hard with what I believe is bunk about this Santa Claus thing, and here’s the evidence that I bring.

It’s said his reindeer all can fly, but did you ever see them in the sky? So he makes all the gifts just with elfs. Then what’s the stuff in stores on shelfs? And he lands his sleigh atop our roofs! Gotta’ ask you now — heard any hoofs? They insist, he’s down the chimney into the fireplace! He’s so rotund he wouldn’t fit that space. And, oh yeah, all year long he knows how I act? Sorry, but I overwhelmingly dispute this fact.

Regarding the truth of Santa Claus, all of this proof is full of flaws. Reading what I have just written, I now believe I know what’s true. Santa Claus lives in me and you.

~ ~ ~

To check out more poems at dVerse: CLICK HERE

My wife and I as “singing” Santa and Mrs Clause. Before my failed health, we would visit several families each year at Christmas as a special surprise for the children. I miss it so! (real beard 🙂 )

Time’s Window

Time’s Window

~
I remember it so well
the moment he rescued me
from the orphanage
to change my life forever
offering a life of love
and a wonderful love-worn home

approaching my new home
it was the first thing I noticed
the fasciating weathered old window

time after time
I watched through that window
as dad returned home from work
his face chill from a winter evening
or warm from the setting sun
always wonderfully gritty

day’s end stubble
would scrub my cheeks
as he’d gather me in his arms
coming through the door
factory permeating his khaki shirt

I love that puzzlingly pleasing smell

soon as he was in the house
he’d grab me up
tumble me to the floor
lift me high in the air
to fly
right out that magical window

I could always fly with my dad’s support

and the time he shielded me
behind his strong legs
as the neighbor’s rabid collie
came at me so suddenly
snarling at me through that old window

I was frightened but felt so safe

and those magical moments
as a child
every christmas eve
dad would take me by the hand
and walk me uptown
into our little burg
through the brisk air
under the bright lights of the season
and into each cozy store

everyone was celebrating
shop owners heaping candy
and assorted goodies on me

then we’d head back home
as we approached
I saw our christmas tree
somehow magically decorated
sparkling through that window

it was a christmas miracle
every year

santa had come
while we were gone

I was always confused
by the multiple santas
we would encounter on our little walk

but I was never confused
about my father’s love

then there’s the time
he introduced me to hardball
broke a pane in that old window

his rubbing away the tears
first time
I was hit by a pitch

and when he taught me to catch
then throw a football

the moment he handed me the keys
to his classic Chrysler
parked right outside that window
shiny — and now mine

when he cried at my graduation
and again at my marriage
and still again
at the birth
of each of his three grandchildren

I see so many incredible memories
floating toward and past me
gazing out that window

so many

a lifetime of love
captured and framed
by that weathered old window

dad lies quietly in bed now
under that worn old window
love folds frail on his timeworn face
and gentle tears

I add mine
falling
mixing with his
as I stand over him
leaning down to kiss his cheek
helpless
watching him go

sun embracing softly on his weary form
through that old window

I linger to kiss his stubbled face
one last time

“goodbye dad, you saved my life!”

~ ~ ~

To check out more poems at The Sunday Muse: CLICK HERE

This Wilderness

This Wilderness
TRAVELING IN THE WILDERNESS

this afternoon’s sun is crisp and bright
enfolding my walking stride in warmth
I’m surrounded by a vivid presence
the world fetching fresh and fascinating

I have set out now past noonday
the joy of discovery always palpable
when traveling in the wilderness
my senses saturated and alive

there falls a deep satisfaction
that permeates this afternoon
my soul is full my mind is clear
my heart bursts — overflowing

I journey until dusk descends
heady with wondrous expectation
my stride is smooth and steady
into the golden downing sun

early shadows fall soft upon me
as vesper’s velvet blanket
drapes ’round my shoulders
splendid calm envelops me

yet there are other shadows
strange distractions
that disrupt my moments
they come quite unannounced

with still far to go
I am eager to journey
drawn by the beauty
the rising moon in sunset

into the evening breeze
I venture onward
vivid ambers and corals
spread across the horizon

again the shadows shift
dull confusion finds me
I lose my pace and focus
to draw up momentarily

nagging concern
disquiets me
a stab of panic
pierces my solace

bewilderment grips
holds me
uncomfortably
I must return home

a cloud of frustration
sweeps over me
obscuring briefly
my destination

then the fog wafts
and again I see
across the veiled valley
my hearth & home

but I wander
again I lose the path
as the mist settles
like a shroud

twilight is coming
much too quickly
and my concern
mounts gravely

a gathering fear
gnaws inside
I’ll not make home
before this night

I am afraid
to lose this light
I am afraid
to lose my way
I am afraid
this wilderness

I am afraid

~ ~ ~

To check out more poems at dVerse: CLICK HERE

………………………..

I wrote this piece to reflect the very early stages of Alzheimer’s, when the individual is not certain what is happening, and has not yet been diagnosed – but is beginning to become concerned, and the fear begins to rise. In some ways, this is the disease at its most devious. It is manipulating the person, yet they’re not aware what evil is overtaking them.

This piece seeks to emphasize that devious nature. Alzheimer’s is a sneak thief that subtly begins to disrupt our daily life, and steal pieces of time, creating a fractured reality — that gradually grows more and more unsettling. It then begins to rob us of our life-learned skills, our talent, our grace, and our dignity. Finally it kidnaps our memories, our loved ones — and then takes our life.

The stanzas here gradually diminish in size to reflect the diminishing nature of this killer. Bless all those stricken with this monster.

We Abide

We Abide

shrouded by evening in waning november
we’ve gathered close in deep reflection
as our days tumble towards winter
we abide the losing of the light
this ever growing darkness
the advance of the cold
this time of endings
on barren land
we’ll abide
hopeful
…
|
*

~ ~ ~

To check out more poems at dVerse: CLICK HERE

Ghosts

An old man remebering his days of young love.

— Summer of 1963 —

Author’s Note:
My inspiration for writing “Ghosts” was drawn from my youth, as represented by the images at the top. Also, strangely enough, from a wonderful novel by Peter Heller entitled “The Dog Stars”. It was reinforced by my awoken curiosity, which found me sampling the top 100 hits of 1963, which was the soundtrack for the summer of my 16th year. This was the summer of my ’57 Chevy Bel Air, of my ‘63 Triumph 650 Bonneville motorcycle, the summer of my first rock and roll band, and my first “girl”. This entire journey back in time was initially prompted by my stumbling upon an old picture of that Chevy.

Looking back at my early teen years, those years when I was waiting for my life to begin, I flashed on my memories of young love. The intensity of that tender pure unrealistic infatuation could perhaps have happened only then, in those times – in that summer of 1963. Before assasinations, collapsing economies, open social unrest, Viet Nam, before AIDS, COVID-19, rampant drugs, criminal presidents – the year of the Beatles on the Ed Sullivan Show, the Beach Boys took the world surfing, Annette Funicello playing beach blanket bingo, red Chevy ragtops, Triumph Bonnevilles, OpArt, and President Kennedy challenging us to go to the moon. This was a time, maybe the last time, when teens were truly naive and innocent.

I don’t know why that feels true. Perhaps it’s because we were so naive and so unsure as teens, in that post WWll, white-picket-fence, father-knows-best, american-dream, faux-utopia. We were tentative and waiting, wondering. It’s like love imagined that innocent needed that much room, that much “open” mental space, that much emotional “safety”, that much unbridled belief, for it to take root, and to bloom – even if but for a brief moment in time.

The not knowing anything really for certain, but hoping, with aching faith in the possibility of pure true love, was both thrilling and unsettling. It was a love full of passion and devotion, but scary. We were not completely certain how to navigate such an emotion, not really, so we left it alone, tried to let it unfold lightly, terrified we would lose it. And if it did manifest, it felt so big and beautiful, and unbelievable! It was most often short-lived, owing to our immaturity – but what intoxicating joy, such heady exhileration! Those were the times when the apparitional wings of young love did fly to the moon, and carried us along. Here is “Ghosts”…

Ghosts

strong slender legs
carry firm eager bodies
perfumed and cologne’d
around and across the dance floor
pulses racing

electrified — entwined — excited

young groping lust
craving
yet hesitant

swept up in innocent bliss
shadowed near the band shell
beyond the glow of incandescence

throbbing with the big beat
of scorching rock & roll

smoldering for some
longing for more
confusing for most

a pubescent play
beneath a high starry sky
sparking with carnal fantasies

humid as our urgent embraces
hot as our stolen kisses
as forever as our promised love
in that distant
sizzling
teenage midnight…

…sweet ghosts of my youth
haunt from long ago

~ ~ ~

— Me in 1963 —

— Like my car in 1963 —

Six of Seven

The Pleiades (1885) by Elihu Vedder

Six Of Seven

Perpetually six of seven
Linked in the deep night sky
Ethereally beautiful sisters
Incredible mythical maidens
Alluring in their mystery
Dispersed across the heavens
Evermost in their separation
Six less the mortal-bound seventh

~ ~ ~

To check out more poems at dVerse: CLICK HERE

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