firing our passions
igniting our emotions
embracing us in love
soothing us in sadness
consoling us in grief
and when extinction seemed inevitable
like the phoenix, again rose the *LP
rob kistner © 2019
rob kistner © 2019
hold in concert
dreams of the future
colorful pails on the ocean’s beach
festooned in starfish and octopus
jelly and jam
on crustless bread
lipstick smeared
on a giddy grin
two outs two strikes
bottom of the ninth
lost to the world
of pretend
a campfire
shared with friends
‘neath a canopy of forever stars
the strum of imagination
that brings song
to the young heart
that elevates
the courage of youth
the rhythm of spirit
that brings the thrill of dance
to young feet
that drives away
the limp of sadness
the hands of time
that will carry the dreams
into the future
toward the doors
opening on possibility
but now
that moon child
is alight with anticipation
waiting
wondering
wishing
looking to that miracle
that is tomorrow
rob kistner © 2019
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=-NjdfOoPK9c
Last time you flew to visit, son, we walked our favorite woods. We both love its magic. That perfect June morning, we journeyed deep into that ancient wood, to our favorite spot — our secreted old-growth clearing.
The morning sun softly filtered through the forest 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’s slumbered there, perhaps centuries, peaceful in its earthen repose. You were eighteen, off to college soon, so excited — I was beaming pride.
In that moment, time suspended, life aligned for a perfect memory — my very last of many I treasure of you. Three weeks later you were tragically killed. These memories were left here with the trees, in our clearing, where we talk — still.
rob kistner © 2019
The fog rolled ‘cross the lowlands, a smothering damp and languid chill, dense with dread — ominous and threatening. Twilight having receded, moonlight labored hard, shouldering its way through the thickening shroud.
The gnarled shape of leaf-dead trees, with their spindly spiked branches, thrust skyward, knobbed and twisted. Their trunks bending and swaying threateningly.
Muffled deep within the gloom of the grove, a throbbing drone of seeming voices rose in dark entangled chant. A menacing disembodied presence spoke, “this night you will experience memories of glory, memories of wealth and memories of conquests, lustful memories of sensuous willing lovers, and memories of powerful magic, conjured by deft hands.”
“But these memories were left here with the trees, forever concealed by your ancestors. You may desire to possess these seductive memories, but any such wish will drive you mad. Understand, these memories can never be yours!”
rob kistner © 2019
primo riffin’
shreddin’ sacred
glorified ‘n sanctified
fused
bruised
and overused
our axes jumpin’
power pumpin’
entire joint
was thunder thumpin’
licks was rollin’
fingers swollen
we’s all lubed ‘n locked
‘n strike’n light’nin
we was cookin’
skirts was lookin’
smokin’ hot
‘n on the trot
shakin’ bakin’
out for makin’
scene was flippin’
cra’cra’crazy
off the hinge
to the fringe
hot slammin’
jammin’
vibe was goovy
skins was raucous
reeds was rippin’
playa’s trippin’
sanity slippin’
blood ‘n bone on broken tusk
brass ‘n balls to the bell-tone edge
soul elation
elevation
cruzin’ smooooooth
to devastation
upright
‘n bottom tight
we wrecked the house
this velvet night
rob kistner © 2019
unreal
unfathomable images
the graceful glide
engulfed by the spire
in a roar of golden orange
horribly beautiful
perversely mesmerizing
obscene
devastating images
of madness
torrents of humanity
raining down
desperation their only escape
masses of humanity
racing
to outrun the unbelievable
praying
to be delivered
from the inconceivable
traumatic images
shrines of free commerce
consumed
by the unbearable weight
of their fragile significance
plummeting to earth
in a cloud of self-destruction
heartbreaking images
screaming
dazed
terrified souls
consumed
by the unbearable weight of the moment
staggering onward
to outdistance the surging roll
of all-engulfing
pulverized aftermath
courageous images
battered
determined
tireless heroes
those who were called
who served unselfishly
some
who gave the ultimate service
haunting images
color
gender
ethnicity
wiped away
from the ashen-grey faces
of the traumatized throngs
now just masks of calamity
all made equal
by horror and grief
one nation
under siege
inconsolable
with tragedy and sorrow
for all
unforgettable images
burned into our hearts
rob kistner © 2019
just beyond
the big roan
rustles in his stall
as the faded red slats
of the weathered horse barn
creak in the gentle zephyr
inside
at the green oaken table
we sit with dinner
and complacency
there is little resonance
we care for one another
our love goes without saying
meal finished
we clear the table
to the clinks and clanks
of porcelain dishes
and sterling silverware
being rinsed and placed
in the stainless steel sink
we converse very little
no need
we know each other
we know without saying
task done
we part quietly
me
to my rosewood desk
to my keyboard
you
to your tan leather chair
to your book
outside
sunset softly shades golden
the side deck
as come easy sounds
of settling horses
content from final feeding
tubular bells lilt quietly
in gathering twilight
inside a shadow of indifference
blankets subtle electronic ticks
as I type in silence
I think about the times we’ve hurt each other
caused each other thoughtless pain
but that carelessness has been forgiven
we are bound
one to the other
a bond that goes without saying
outside
a brisking wind greets day’s end
chimes vigorously keep pace
inside
a turbulent uncertainty
begins to stir
as the more I type
I wonder
are we really happy
surely we are happy
that goes without saying
that must go without saying
doesn’t it
but why is it we do not say
we wear these masks of coy silence
to hide the vulnerable face of love
how dangerously foolish we’ve become
it’s then
my heart wants to call out
to reach across the soundlessness
to rouse you from your pulp and plot
talk with me
I lift my mask
see me now
see me new
talk with me
I can still surprise
let us speak
what is not spoken
unmask what lies within our hearts
unmask
and talk
before our love is gone
without ever saying
outside
copper chimes
ring out in the darkness
inside
steel silence
sounds aloud
rob kistner © 2019
“This is my poetic expression of what the “night terrors”, I have experienced all my life, feel like to me. My “night terrors” are actually traumatic, ‘imageless’ dreams, that fill me with so much deep dread that I often wake up moaning loudly. It is a type of nocturnal madness from which I wake completely disoriented and terrified. Once awake and composed, I am usually unwilling to attempt to quickly return to sleep. It seriously scares my wife when they happen to me.”
Scream-bringing hoard of twisted truth,
zoom-zooming in this blue-black world,
called forth to gorge in ghastly feast,
first stir, they roust — then gore the beast.
Dark distressing visions overflow,
madness stabbing with a brain-jolt pierce,
disgusting curiosities,
brute-flung to hideousity.
Jerk and lunge these soul-cleaved demons,
death scratch-scratching through doomsday’s door.
Perverted serendipity,
they swarm in crazed horrorifity.
Flaying bone-toed my synapses,
hell’s fleshless hounds devour my peace.
Mind-ghouls shake and shiver me.
Oh gentle morne, deliver me.
rob kistner © 2019
there is no shame
being a traveler slowed
wisdom grows
to match the nicks
of years and miles
the virtue of sacrifice
begets the courage
to best the journey
that remains
rob kistner © 2019
3 IGWRT words: shame, virtue, sacrifice
rob kistner © 2019
I’ll not be defined
my nature’s fluid
my essence — turbulent
reach not for me
I will not be held
do not name me
I will not be yours
rob kistner © 2019
“The leaf of the gingko tree is found in fossils dating back 270 million years. Native to China, the tree is said to possess biological properties effective in the treatment of memory disorders, such as dementia.”
by the golden gingko leaf
since the ancient times
rob kistner © 2019
quiet is the blue forest
seek there your calm mind
rob kistner © 2019
falling leaf asks of the oak
— to your destiny
rob kistner © 2019