Author: Rob Kistner

Champion

Offered in response to prompt #138 at One Single Impression.




Champion

•

search not in the bright lights
that illuminate the field of glory
nor midst the din of exaltation
if you seek a hero’s story

look instead outside the glare
in the quiet place beyond
where no accolades are strewn
and no ivy laurels donned

where daily life is hard
and the living less than grand
where the strength to persevere
depends on the extended hand

where the poor struggle without
the weak endeavor day to day
it’s here by selfless sweat of brow
the brave endure to find a way

willing to give all they’ve got
to daily do what must be done
to share when even they have not
to face their fear not turn and run

to reach and help the one’s in need
to fight the fight that must be fought
more than the words — to do the deed
to stand and smile not shrink distraught

it’s among these who seldom win
yet rise each day and strive again
it’s here your search should begin
it’s here you’ll find your champion

• • •


Champion

(tanka)

•

kind words quell salt tears

strong hand steadies unsure step

warm smile calms heart’s fear

no praise sought or expected

quiet humble champion

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

Un-Lonely

This poem is offered in response to prompt #236 at Sunday Scribblings,
and in response to prompt #137 at One Single Impression.

Un-Lonely

•

the depth of a verse
the resonance of a chord
the warmth of breath
the softness of flesh
the effervescence of laughter
the brilliance of love

…complete me

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

Baby Cakes

This poem is offered in response to prompt #22 at We Write Poems.

Baby Cakes

•

crave the taste
of my baby cakes
seven minutes
is all it takes

gotta whip ‘em up
nice and creamy
mouthwaterin’
moist and steamy

oh do not rush
you better not
gotta get that
little oven hot

spread ‘em thick
but not too quick
steady stirrin’
will do the trick

ease ’em in
slide ’em out
hot buttered lovin’
fresh from the oven

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

No First Ink

Offered in response to prompt #136 at One Single Impression,
and in response to prompt #73 on Carry On Tuesday,
also in response to prompt #189 at Three Word Wednesday.




No First Ink

•

I lean upon my folded fist
cool against my temple
elbow solid on my cluttered desk

eyes droop and flicker
aflame with spoiled sleep

face slacked
head now dropped
held in my hands
heavy with confusion

skull upon the finger bones
in weighted indecision
procrastination presses down

where art thou muse
I seek weightless inspiration
to be lifted up by you

instead
the hum of cooling bytes
drones relentless in my ears
impossible to ignore
no matter how I try

thoughts like digits on a dollar slot
spin unsettled in my mind
they neither click nor lock in place
they tumble in a jumble
to roll and blur just out of focus
lost in mental fog

sunken in my writer’s chair
I remain immobile
paralyzed by perplexity
imprisoned by the chaos
awhirl in my mind

the freedom of decision
impossible to manage

I fear nothing will be writ
no first ink will be shed this day

• • •

rob kistner © 2010


To Soar

This poem is offered in response to prompt #23 for 2010 at Writer’s Island,
the Ginsberg ‘american sentence’ is offered in response to prompt #136 at One Single Impression.

To Soar

•

to feel the warmth of early spring sun
to wander through old growth
to see the sunset into the pacific
to breath in the fragrance of summer
to see joy in another’s eyes
to hear my child’s laughter
to be breath-taken by art
to be dazzled by autumn’s palette
to taste the richness of chocolate
to immerse in the rhythms of music
to see the morning dew sparkle
to hear the sweet lilt of a thrush
to know the quiet of snowfall
to raise my voice in song
to drift on a clear mountain lake
to get lost in poetry
to feel your gentle touch

…is to soar

• • •

to just try to fly is to fall short, one must expect to soar, then leap

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

Kisses Crimson-Gold

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Kisses Crimson-Gold

~

the stir of autumn
enwraps my heart
as summer slowly wanes
riding the early fallen leaves
on the current of october waters
whirling and bobbing on crystal ripples
round and past the river rocks
over rip rap in the stream bed
carried vividly away
into the setting sun

days shorten
shadows lengthen
a quiet melancholy
settles upon the valley
as nature prepares itself
for the slumber of renewal

but not before the crackling
joyous dance of harvest
and a crisp crimson-gold
kiss goodnight

~ ~ ~

rob kistner © 2010

__________________

Brightly coloured fall leaves in a forest stream

Deep Azure

This poem is offered in response to prompt #21 at We Write Poems.

Deep Azure

•

on the boulevard below
last night’s rain puddles
midst the chaos of metro-clutter

as if abandoned by the waters of earth
it shoulders its way through the culverts
in search of mother sea

this day begins golden and crisp

bird songs echo empty sunrise streets

lover and beloved
we sit by the morning window
with tea and curiosity

we talk

for this moment
our souls spill one into the other
until I am distracted

your lips continue sculpting words
but I’ve fallen into your deep azure eyes

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

Over The Edge

This piece is offered in response to visual prompt Mag 33 at Magpie Tales seen at bottom of post,
also prompt 22 at Writer’s Island,
and prompt #135 at One Single Impression.

Over The Edge

•

From down there, down there,
it’s coming from down there.
From where — down there?
Yes Sis, I swear!

That horrible smell
that’s filling the air,
the one that’s most certainly
impossible to bear,
is coming from that women
with the massive blue hair
sitting alone on the patio chair,
on the deck of the house,
that’s below us — right there!

What a putrid aroma,
you’d think that she’d care.
There are simply some things
that one never should share,
like the stink that is rising
from that patio chair,
on the deck of the house
that’s below us down there.

And the hideous color
of that mountain of hair —
I can’t help it, can’t help it,
I can’t help but stare.

It’s a tangled and horrible monument to
a disgusting and eye-blinding
shade of bright blue —
and it’s causing a feeling of nausea too!

I must look away my heads starting to whirl,
and I feel that my toes are beginning to curl,
I fear over the edge here I’m going to hurl —
and I don’t want to do that in front of a girl.

Maybe I’m wrong
but I would assume,
if one’s going to bathe
in a noxious perfume,
they’d at least have the manners
to exhibit some pride,
and not foul the ozone,
instead — stay inside.

Not to be the forecaster
of gloom and of doom,
but keep the eco-disaster
contained to one room.

And if you’re chromatically challenged my friend,
consider the others that you might offend.
A monumentally grotesque rat’s nest of blue,
is not something I care to look at on you!

• • •

rob kistner © 2010


Mag 33

The Taste

This type of poem is known as a haibun, and combines prose with haiku. It is offered in response to the September 20th prompt at Big Tent Poetry.

The Taste

•

It was an embrace I’d wished had been endless, at our tearful farewell – your body supple and warm, pulsing with life.

lips lush as cognac
open softly to kisses
urgently linger

I passed through security, turned and fixed on your gaze – prayed it was not the last time I’d look into your eyes. I wandered dazed down the ramp, to the jet that would take me to the fury of hell. I locked your face of love deep in my heart.

That cherished image proved my grasp on sanity through two years of horror – through the sting of separation, the bitter taste of war, the foul stench of death.

I return this day, facing reality at 30,000 feet, the salt of sadness on my lips. I am ashamed, frightened to see and touch you again, but I burn to do so.

so different now
my hands angry with bloodshed
innocence is lost

I fear a kiss from my killer’s mouth, will forever defile your precious lips – lush as sweet cognac, that day we parted.

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

NOTE: this piece is by no means a condemnation of the men and women who are sent into the teeth of hell to fight, suffer, and sometimes die. Rather, it is an expression of my deep respect for what they endure, and a quiet tear for what is so often sadly lost in so doing.

On Friendship

When I sat down late last night (actually early morning hours today) I had glanced at the words from 3WW, and decided to write something primarily for We Write Poem’s prompt #20, to simply write a stream-of-consciousness piece. What you see here is an unpolished first essential draft of what came forth. I chose not to touch it any further, or dress it, but to let it be, fundamentally unembellished, just as it came. It disturbs me, and that compels me to share it. I am calling it:

On Friendship

(be advised, this is raw on several levels)

•

a grey malaise settles round
shrouds right down to the ground

to face myself in this
cuts deep and jagged
bloody to the bone

I am not one
not a good one

oh I celebrated the sap of youth
in the gaggle of my buds
In the band of my salt brothers

we laughed and surged
with lust for the ladies

straddled us a few
when we weren’t thrown over
the heat and steel
of our low-slung two-wheeled cocks

all combustin’ in a hammer thrash
rollin’ in a roar and frenzy
4-cycle sex rockets
and how the ladies liked to ride

they’d get right down
and squeeze it with their thighs
wrapped snug
painted in denim
to feel it pulse and throb
then explode down the asphalt
their asses clenched to hang on tight
to feel the rush
the tease of the G’s

made them weak in their knees
wet as a summer downpour
ready as a bimbo-slut

but I was seldom really there
for them

I took more than my fair share
my gait was bold and brash

with but a nudge
took gladly more than my share
proudly present – but not there
for anyone

not for my gang of guys

I loved them for what they were
for me
not for who they were

I was never one
just my way of brooding lonely
without being alone

my youth was my show
my production
with an ever-evolving cast
little more than familiar extras
important in that I needed them
to flesh out my soft parade

cause I was never really one

I was there for me
and my loins
and my needs
and my fears
and my insecurities
and my my my

I just was never one

I broke the rules
I fucked the rules completely
playin’ out my sad control game
terrified of letting go

playin’ hard on their needs
to wrap up tight
inside their fear and joy
to make it mine

to take it down inside my darkness
and hunker over ‘til it cooled
then scrubble out to grab some more

I wrapped them in my clever ways
and bundled them in laughter

I was good at laughter

dispensed it freely
but never gave it away

it was my tool
my hook
my way of hangin’ on
steerin’ the procession
takin’ in and hoardin’

I was the cutting clown
laughter by cutting down
on those that gathered ‘round
to watch me dance
to sing and prance
to celebrate my “specialness”
my talents and great gifts

my illusions

but I was never really there
not to elevate them
because I wasn’t one

I dealt with them
and rushed it through
to get back to me
never did do “you” — that well

I just wasn’t one

never knew how
never trusted

emotionally scarred
mentally brutalized as a child
by trust
until I abandoned trust
never gave it
never honored it
never believed it was real
too frightened to trust trust
still a scared little boy
I broke all the rules
of friendship

shattered them

and now I regret it so

I am in the shadow of my death
my body lays siege to my life
my heart is final stage failure
and now I need
what I never gave
never really understood

true friendship

gave acquaintance on a grand scale
but not friendship

not as a young man
when the seeds of such
are fresh to plant
to take the long and lasting root
and ripen through the years

I missed the season

to quote the Floyd
the race has run
I missed the starting gun

I have had 3 wives
still married
and I have children
have their blessed love

no one who knew me
as an arrogant young man
would have believed then
that I’d manage that miracle

but no deep enduring friends

dark grey malaise settles round
shrouds right down to the ground
and now I am so sorry
such deep regret
it seems too late
for meaningful friendship

I broke the rules
I’m paying the price

* * *

rob kistner © 2010

• this also satisfies the 9/22 prompt at Three Word Wednesday,
and prompt #71 at Carry On Tuesday.

Ripples

Tankas inspired by this wonderful painting offered as prompt #21 at Writer’s Island,
and by prompt #134 at One Single Impression.



Reflections

•

memories of you
ripples on a mirrored lake
rise and drift gently
into the golden sunlight
carrying me on their crest

• • •

Joie de Vivre

•

clear blue summer sky
deep azure crystalline lake
cool breeze on my face
fresh scent of water lilies
ripples gently lap the boat

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

• painting entitled “Fisherman” by: Vane Kosturanov

Mute

This piece is offered in response to the September 13th prompt at Big Tent Poetry.




Mute

•

there is no half-eaten answer
with which to embellish
or to skirt the evidence

the stench of truth
permeates the debris of proof
in a swarm of crusted guilt

the orphaned child of supposition
abandoned on the dock of iniquity
impaled by the chant of sterile innuendo

wearing a temporary backbone
fashioned of suffering
and the tears of innocence

to witness the violent clash
of malevolence and courage
and remain forever mute

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

Believe

This piece is offered in response to prompt #19 at We Write Poems
and in response to the visual prompt Mag 23 at Magpie Tales seen at bottom of post.



• image entitled “Weary” – colorized, digitally rendered by: rob kistner 2010


Believe

•

I’d like to make myself believe
the dream I dreamt as a young man
that we can change the world’s heart
to embrace love for one another

I’d like to make myself believe
people are by nature good
that we can live in peace
and make the world a better place

I’d like to make myself believe
universal understanding
is a common goal
of the peoples of this planet

I’d like to make myself believe
we haven’t lost our faith
in these sacrosanct ideals
of an elevated life

I’d like to make myself believe
there still exists somewhere
a shared and nurtured vision
of a paradise on earth

I’d like to make myself believe
but empty runs the hourglass
again I’ve heard the daily news
and I’m so weary, and brokenhearted

yes, I’d like to make myself believe
I’d like to, really like to
but sometimes now I even wonder
if anyone ever truly did

• • •

• poem above borrowed key line from the song “Fireflies” by Owl City

_________________

Time Running Out

•

once demure discourse

now rhetoric to offend

volatile neighbors

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

• haiku above also offered for the visual prompt Mag 23 at Magpie Tales,
and the September 15th prompt at Three Word Wednesday.


Mag 23

Bit ‘O Whimsy

This piece is offered in response to prompt #70 at Carry On Tuesday.



Bit ‘O Whimsy

•

One misty moisty morning
The mist was most prevailing
And then it started storming
On that misty moisty morning

It came up without a warning
hailstones began to hailing
And I missed the morning mailing
On that misty moisty morn

Though I mostly miss the morning mail
That morn I felt mostly forlorn
I had to catch the mail that morn
But by 10 minutes I was trailing

So I began to flailing
Down the lane my feet were sailing
But the mailman was ailing
And hadn’t made his morning mail

So on that misty moisty morning
In a storm that had no warning
When I should have been emailing
My mail and me got mostly soaked

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

• painting entitled “Rain Man” by: Vane Kosturanov

Final Sentinel

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Final Sentinel

~

I watched
as generations
moved forward
as civilization
painstakingly
progressed
set foothold
knowledge
unfolded
slowly

I observed
the millenniums
of human endeavor
as they awakened
to self-reliance
less dependent
on hive mentality
mastering machines
eliminating conflict
striving for truth
ever evolving

I saw
nature
the world
reshaped
tempered
resilient

proud
I stand tall
thrust skyward
closer to heaven
than any living thing
a perpetual presence
the constant sentinel
a witness to triumph

would
that all that
were true

I watched helplessly
as generations receded
as empires crumbled
greed ran rampant
wisdom ebbed
civilization
imploded

I observed
millenniums
of human folly
misguided logic
flawed reasoning
as they flailed
stumbling
to a cold
isolated
world

disconnected

from one another
from the environment
serving their machines
serving their avarice
perfecting violence
racing to ruination
becoming aliens
in a mad eden
disillusioned
depraved
diseased

until
they were
no more

I watched through tears
as the natural world
slowly declined
diminished
withered
scarred
died

putrid
toxic air
permeates
burnt terrain
to far horizons
and now I stand
thrusting skyward
in this decaying hell
praying for a heaven
the only living thing
the pitiful survivor
the final sentinel
time’s witness
to tragedy
watching
the end

~ ~ ~

rob kistner © 2010
(revision © 2018)

  • Author’s Note: let’s strive to see part two never happens…

    _____________

    • What Do You See