”Autumn Breath” by: Jason Limberg
The past few Christmas seasons there’s been evidence of some unhappy reindeer. Jolly old St. Nick’s been hittin’ the rich creamy egg nog hard. This was overheard at reindeer preseason camp.
rob kistner © 2019
I suspected this possibility
thankfully
I was prepared for the moment
that moment
that horrific moment
forever dividing then
from now
then
comfortably alone
walking my property line
along the azure waters
of the clear mountain stream
that rolled towards me
crisp and pure
then
in an instant
the startling sound
the strange light
soaring above the douglas firs
that stand proudly
at the river’s edge
sentries for centuries
protecting this northern boundary
of my lands
steady
enduring
supple in the winds
that waft and quicken
breathing life
whispering their secrets
now
two years on
since that ominous moment
the bone chill
the penetrating feeling
of fear
now
I am alone again
but now
quite absolutely
no evidence of survivors
my beloved wife
did not make it
the global communication grid
totally destroyed
too long
since I have seen
another’s eyes
or heard another’s voice
now
I ramble this valley
wade this stream
in my hazmat suit
mumbling quietly
to no one
rations are running out
water
food
I am at the ragged edge
of coherence
of sanity
I cling to the hope
for a sign of life
someday
any life
but they are all gone
every — last — one
gone
can I last
have I that patience
how long can I hold center
how long
until my fragile psyche unravels
if I could just remove this helmet
breathe fresh air again
feel the breeze on my face
while the trees are fine
carcasses are everywhere
animals
fish
birds
insects
I fear the air is toxic
deadly
will it ever be safe
how can I know
wait
what’s this
“Hey, hi little fella!”
rob kistner © 2019
I’m with a girl
someone I recently met
I offered to do the dishes
so out of character
but I wanted to impress
as she invited me over for dinner
great meal
great evening
great face
great smile
been several decades
since I’ve been a teenager in love
but I am smitten again
I recognize the giddy feeling
I plunge into the suds
searching the hot water
for another plate
we are deep in conversation
I love talking with her
love hearing her laugh
love her great green eyes
love her velvet skin
I love her
it’s true
I’m falling in love
like some school kid
and at my age
but the feeling is intoxicating
how nice it is again
to feel this fresh
this innocent
this energized
so taken by another
just then
her voice calls from the other room
lifts me from my daydream
I am still at the sink
my hands in hot water
but now
in our home of many years
I look through the archway
to where she sits on our sofa
I hear the tv
she’s watching “Blade Runner”
I hear Deckard’s voice
“I don’t know why he saved my life.
Maybe in those last moments
he loved life
more than he ever had before.”
I certainly love life
and I love her
her skin
not quite velvet any longer
but her smile
still captivating
I’m still soothed by her voice
still love spending time with her
even now
how much time
do we have left together
who knows
but certainly time enough
to finish these dishes
and then
who knows…
rob kistner © 2019
In this moment, shrouded by evening in waning October, as autumn tumbles towards winter, one knows acutely the sorrow in the losing of the light. One feels the pressing weight of the ever growing darkness, the stir of grief occasioned by the advancing cold.
There settles an all-consuming quiet, an absolute stillness. From this deep silence rises an almost imperceptible murmur, like a breathless whisper, as a hushed wind scours ghost-like across the arid, fallow ground. It is the sound of loss and longing.
This is a somber time, a time of endings, when the land has fallen dormant, empty. This is the barrenness of harvest or pestilence. This is death’s due vigil, when the realm is a’dance with specters.
rob kistner © 2019
In this moment, shrouded by evening in waning October, as autumn tumbles towards winter, one knows acutely the sorrow in the losing of the light. One feels the pressing weight of the ever growing darkness, the stir of grief occasioned by the advancing cold.
This is the time of endings, when the land falls dormant, empty. This is the barrenness of harvest or pestilence. This is death’s due vigil, when the realm is a’dance with specters. A reflective time when hearts long, with guarded hope, for rebirth.
There settles an all-consuming quiet, an absolute stillness. From this deep silence rises an almost imperceptible murmur, like a breathless whisper. A hushed prayer of gratitude, to give thanks for the harvest’s bounty, and a prayer to humbly petition, with the eventual return of the light, the blessing of fruitful new life upon the now fallow land.
rob kistner © 2019
thinking thoughts
that tear at me
for the things
I failed to be
how I do desire
the damp dreary days
of february
when my forlorned
fallen face
is commonplace
when no one intrudes
to question
what’s the matter
when they see
the tears I cry
no one asks me why
because all around
are caught up in the blues
oh if only
you could find it
in your heart
to forgive
this sadly lost
and broken man
who much too late
understands
he was a fool
and in his sorrow
understands
why you refuse
but how I wish
ill-tempered weather
would ensue
to drive the joyful
all around me
to indoor spaces
so I’d be spared
the pain
of smiling faces
and the bitter
bitter memory
of losing you
promise me the world is ours
that this perfect moment’s endless
lift me up on rapture’s cloud
make melody set soar our souls
fill our hearts with passion’s fire
smother me in scorched caresses
kiss me kisses like honeyed cream
that quench my quivering naked lips
as they softly smoulder golden
come to me and take me timeless
enfold me in your deepest dreams
carry me off to ecstasy
rob kistner © 2019
in the throes
of sweating conquest
ripe with release
coursing with hunger
for the tender flesh
of reckless youth
white hot
as a deflowered bride
burning with the lust
of an august first-night
impaled on the horn
of promise and desire
there will be no truth
in these minglings
only raw bleeding need
and the quenchless thirst
for bittersweet
forbidden nectar
when you hear
the whispers whispered
know that it was so
and so it will remain
in the lithe loins
of the skin slaves
aflame under red roofs
rob kistner © 2019
I am sustained
by this damp pall
that descends upon me
this season of growing darkness
that wraps ’round
my vile countenance
fevered with your fatigue
twisted with your despair
drawn forth yearly
at this feast of death
I stumble
damaged by your sin
unleashed now
upon a broken world
corrupted by illusion
spoiled by arrogance
a world in chaos
as darkness deepens
this nocturne
I return
with this ruin-riddled
bloody horde
of dying dreams
violated innocence
merciless destruction
of horrific death
of guilt
of shame
and so
I stumble on
bent by the weight of your evil
drowned in drenching sorrow
I slink angry
into this coming night
and
the next night
and
the night that follows
that always follows
captive
of your horrendous nightmare
of unbridled brutality
always your prisoner
in this forlorn world
seeking vengeance
rob kistner © 2019
do they forget about the snow
that the cold cold wind’ll blow
perhaps they keep imagining
a warmer place that they might go
maybe dreamin’ they will run
down to the land of surf and sun
but they just can’t escape their roots
a brutal challenge for everyone
rob kistner © 2019
so who’s to say that I can’t fly
and whose right is it to question why
I wear my trousers inside out
it keeps the pockets dry
I see you smirking at my hat
it’s aluminum foil — imagine that
it helps with my cell phone reception
and fascinates my cat
yes I do lose track of time
days and weeks — is that a crime
life is all just one’s perspective
and I’m always changing mine
rob kistner © 2019
the shuffle of feet
with their different sounds
according to their shoes
the divergent realities
through which truth stumbles frayed
to move in the world
rough as rope
knotted as every quivered promise
rob kistner © 2019
aroused
you gently lay your desired
upon your bed of fire
heat consumes
senses stir
hunger mounts
juices flow
you quiver uncontrollably
eager for the ultimate pleasure
that is the perfect burger
~ ~ ~
rob kistner © 2019
it is to harden against the magic
of our childhood dreams
but if by chance
we can hold tight to just one
of those wonderful foolishnesses
perhaps we can hold on
to our precious sense of wonder
rob kistner © 2019
Autumn is ending soon. As we close this season, nature’s rest and replenishment here in the Pacific Northwest begins, the cycle of renewal. The summer’s dry period has long ended, and too, agricultural irrigation. Harvesting explodes in October and now will continue into November, including the grape harvest in our many vineyards.
The fruit and nut trees, the vines in the vineyards, and the crop fields, once harvested, will soon begin the slow period of winter revitalization, in anticipation of the growing seasons to come in the new year. Soon this will be a peaceful time of rest and restoration here in this breathtakingly beautiful region.
As this season turns, a regenerative calm lies upon this lush land, waiting for the time of sky-water to arrive, to quench nature’s thirst, and revivify her energies in this utopia. The Great Mandala of life turns steady.
~ ~ ~
rob kistner © 2018
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