Steer steady this night’s sky
Straight to the heart of love
rob kistner © 2020
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I remember well, the times we walked our favorite old growth. Most especially that perfect June morning, we trekked deep into that ancient wood, to our favorite spot — our secret clearing. The morning sun filtered softly through the canopy, drifting golden into our sacred space, setting your handsome face aglow. A breeze rustled the treetops, whispering of eternity, casting a spell.
Awed by the splendor, we talked quietly, leaning on the downed Douglas that slumbers there, perhaps centuries, peaceful in its earthen repose. You were eighteen, off to college soon, so excited! I was so in awe of you son.
In that moment, time suspended, life aligned for a perfect memory — my very last of you. Three weeks later you were tragically killed. This memory is left here under the forest canopy, in our clearing, where my heart still journeys — to talk with you.
rob kistner © 2020
* This month is my son Aaron’s birth month. He has been vividly on my mind.
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over this horizon of death
to kiss your lips once more
and tell you the 10,000 things
I said too seldom in my life
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— REPOSE —
— REBIRTH —
life’s cycles will reprise
a fertile new year will arise
may the power of light’s rebirth
bring bounty’s blessings to the earth
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makes his way carefully
past the shallow-breathed crumple
that lay milky-eyed in a heap
un-moving on the floor
save a twitch of the sodden head
this wreckage is his mother
why do you just lie there mother
my head is full of demons son
the response only imagined
she remains slack and death-like
where nocturne angels of sweet release
had laid down lush upon her
in fevered embrace
lustfully conjured
by last night’s spoon and lance
still skewered silver in the soured vein
mother — why do you want to die
the return is only silence
he lingers but a moment
verifying life
then moves on
head down
trying to remember
his mother’s eyes
he angles to the bathroom
to the scum-brown bowl
to wash his face
a face lit sallow by the yellowed bulb
that hangs bare and lonely
eyes of knowing
eyes of sadness
stare into the mirror
broken as his heart
then close
your eyes hold a story my son
will you tell me your story
yes mother
if you really want to hear it
if you really could
rob kistner © 2020
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trapped for the moment
isolated from the waters of earth
it gentles its way to the stream
in search of mother sea
this day begins
dewy and crisp
bird songs lilt
‘cross the sunrise lane
lover and beloved
we sit by the morning window
with tea
and curiosity.
we talk
in this moment
our souls spill
one into the other
until I am distracted
your lips continue sculpting words
but I’ve fallen deep
aswim in your cerulean eyes
~ ~ ~
rob kistner © 2020
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quick twist of my wrist
the rod arcs forward
increasing the pressure
on my fingertip
it whips ahead
urgently
demanding release
with precise pluck
like a string
on a guitar
lure’s launched
eagerly seeking possibility
rob kistner © 2020
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~
several observation platforms
at different landings
as you climb the stairs
that zig zag
into the forest canopy
* motorized lift optional
a three-story stilt-house
by a rippled cerulean mountain lake
huge wrap around porches
on each floor
the top level
a place I could write
create my mixed-media art
one huge open room
where my wife too
could have her fiberart studio
her prep and assembly tables
and her big Toika loom
the roof — one big deck
from which to see
far as the eye could see
so very liberating
exhilarating
riding out big storms
like flying
but anchored secure
our stilt-house made of wood
recycled planked woods
redwood
maple
teak
and anodized aluminums
leathers
stones
lots of tempered crystal-clear acrylic
we’d feed all things that fly
eagles
osprey
hawks
birds
a place high up
in the sun-dappled canopy
where we’d live — work — laugh
crank up our music and dance
all in the nude
if we wanted
make love
windows wide open
hearts wide open
minds wide open
the sun and breeze
dreams and worries
free to come and go
I want to live free
high among the redwood trees
where we could both truly be
above it all
rob kistner © 2020
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~
rob kistner © 2020
To check out more poems at dVerse: CLICK HERE
A Child’s Reply
~
A father passed his son’s room, and glanced in to see the boy sitting on the floor, seemingly staring at the wall. The father thought he might step in to the room to see why his son had his gaze fixed so intently on the far wall. Reconsidering, he walked on to the kitchen, thinking it better not to disturb the child.
Passing his son’s door again, he noticed the boy had not moved. This time the father stepped in to inquire what was going on. “What are you doing son?” Without turning, the son replied, “I’m listening.” The father marveled, “Listening to what son? There is nothing behind the wall except a space where the wind whistles”
Slowly turning to look at his father, the boy quietly said, “no dad, you’re wrong. When I close my eyes, I can hear the whole world.”
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Just Gone
~
No warning, they were just gone. We were left to wonder, “what’s going on.” The entire family strangely disappeared, no clue what happened. Truly very weird.
Taken in an instant, to where, we may never know. Midst this kitchen clutter, it all abruptly ended. Was their mortal life forfeit, or was time within these walls, ominously suspended?
“Highly suspicious”, thought the detective. “People don’t simply vanish.” So he began an intensive investigation. Searched each room, the attic, the garage outside — he searched it all. Lastly even the hollow of the cookstove wall.
Finally he concluded, “there is nothing behind the wall, except a space where the wind whistles.” Yet, muffled by that wind, come inaudible cries — there is no doubt. “Oh please! Please hear our bloody fingers, scratching to get out!”
rob kistner © 2020
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~
furtive angel nonpareil
lolled lush upon vermilion leather
coral goblet of mimosan nectar
fondled to saffron velvet bodice
now supple breast, soft loin and limbs
stand aglow in emerald sweet seduction
magenta lace teases from turquoise silk
ignites violet lust’s combusted indigo
silvered undulation in a mirror mist
of moonlight promise in a cerulean fog
beckons aureate midst dewy dripping ferns
to stir lucid languid cerisean joy
~ ~ ~
rob kistner © 2020
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twilight having receded
moonlight labors hard
slowly shouldering its way
through the thickening shroud
gnarled shape of leaf-dead trees
their spindly spiked branches
thrust skyward knobbed and twisted
their trunks bent threateningly.
muffled deep within my soul
a chaotic chill of seeming voices
shiver a darkly indecipherable
no no novemburrr
— QUADRILLE —
giving up
is giving in
grip letting go of dreams
frozen is the frightened man
withered in a worried cage
happy is a voting man
a hero heard and heeded
stopping is no option
for the times
they are a’changin’
rob kistner © 2020
— COMPLETE VERSION —
* Watch me read Frozen Man complete version: CLICK HERE
to lose the way is to keep going
keep moving forward
lest one atrophies
rigid with despair
paralyzed with doubt
locked in hopelessness
bound by fear
the giving up
is the giving in
is the rot that sets
with the loss of wonder
when grip lets go of dreams
loss of faith debilitates the soul
cripples the manifest light
that shines so bright
at the leap into sacred uncertainty
so bright
as to boldly illuminate truth
frozen is the frightened man
withered in a worried cage
terrified of the wrong step
of the journey all in
of daring the way unmarked
wounded by fear
bleeding out the color of life
hemorrhaging joy
exsanguinating possibility
a cold brittled husk
mired in regret
for never having shone so brightly
as to blind the eyes of death
as to light the way of truth
valiant is a voting man
a hero heard and heeded
a cry of dissatisfaction
a voice of change
a stand for defiance
stopping is no option
so senators and congressmen
you best heed the call
don’t stand in the doorway
don’t block up the hall
for they that will lose
will be they who have stalled
so brothers and sisters
raise up your hand
let it be known
throughout the land
if we want change
we must take a stand
NO
stopping is no option
for the times
they are a-changin’
https://youtu.be/wZ9drv78dCQ
NOTE: To read more about folly: CLICK HERE
NOTE: To watch me read The change: CLICK HERE
edges crisp
form parched and mottled
the brittled leaf yields
gone ablaze
it detaches
drifts down dizzied
as autumn descends
rich rustled russets
musk of downed leaves
textured carpet
crunching
under goblin’s feet
horse’s hooves
wagon wheels
the fragrance of straw
spiced cider
hollowed gourds
heady pumpkin pie
summer’s ebbed
this night’s sky
embraces the blue
of the full moon
iridescing the earth
painting october roads
chill cerulean
I feel the change
rob kistner © 2020
AUTUMN LEAVES COME FALLIN’ Down — Van Morrison
JONI JONI JONI