In A Heartbeat

In response to prompt #52 at Carry On Tuesday, and prompt #115 at One Single Impression




In A Heartbeat

•

the trip to visit you
is filled with memories
sweet anticipation
knowing the warmth of your hello
the strength of your handshake
your fond embrace

the stretch down I-5
we’re laughing and singing
miles zipping by
till we spy your exit

then west toward the coast
a quiet buzz of excitement
fills the car

at last we catch sight of your vineyards
as we crest big rock ridge

then the left turn
down your valley road
so beautiful
so familiar

hands on the wheel
I anticipate every bend and rise
every dip
exhilarating
as I navigate the gorgeous vistas

the sound of our tires
as they trundle ‘cross
the narrow wooden bridge
that fords your stream
boulder’d and crystal clear
as it tumbles and falls
brisk from mountain snow-pack

coming round
we see the corridor
of faithful old-growth firs
stepping back for us
inviting our return

the regal mountains reign
high above
granting us safe passage

boughs bend
branches sway
celebrating that we are back
when your gate comes into view
swung open in welcome

it’s left up your gravel drive
the pebble and crushed rock
crunch and clatter in stony rustle
as we traverse your hill
to see you and Michelle
cuddled on your porch swing
your family pouring down the steps
into the yard
beaming bright eyed
arms open for embrace

six hours and 300 miles
separate us
but the journey always goes by
in a heartbeat

the road to a friend’s house is never long

• • •

rob kistner © 2010


Boxes – Contemplation in 3 Parts

In response to the Ist prompt on the newly opened We Write Poems, I contemplate boxes




Boxes

Contemplation #1

•

my memories gather and squabble
like crows in fallow fields
they pick clean
the bones of my recall

bones against the cruel clay
of an arid barren mind

bones spilled from soul boxes
in which I’d desperately collected
the scarred and damaged pieces
of my broken dreams

dreams now parched and withered
dried brittle in the coarse winds
of my dire confusion

their promises scratched and raspy
slowly slipping unintelligible
into the chaos and cacophony
of the crows in fallow fields

• • •



Contemplation #2

•

tanka

wonder’s trapped within
a box within more boxes
so deeply buried
by the years of failed dreams
you must not lose your wonder

• • •



Contemplation #3

•

tanka

love is sealed within
a box locked inside your heart
lost in the rubble
of years of broken promise
you can find it if you look

• • •



rob kistner © 2010

Stowaway

In response to the 2nd prompt on the newly re-opened Writer’s Island, I step from my place of hiding




Stowaway

•

slowly
with great caution
in halting measured step
I creep from sanctuary dark
to leave this place of safety

to sidle in uncertainty
into the chafing
cutting light

head bowed
spirit crushed
tensed for flight

emerging
visible again
though barely

poised to recoil
from any sudden emotion

long now in hiding
stowed away in sorrow
fragile as a newborn bird
unsteady as a fawn
just as frightened
as unsure

my wounded soul
took refuge in aloneness
dug in
resolved to disappear
become invisible
perhaps to die
the weight of life too great

simple breaths
a considered labor
but still I drew them
hesitantly

long I lay
shallow breathing
unwashed
unfed

resigned to simply vanish
from this hopeless realm

despaired I would never find
a reason to go on

yet slowly I emerge

but please
no impulsive expectations

permit me slow and careful evolution
from my chrysalis of anguish

let me find my way
back into the light
from my place of hiding

offer only patience
and safe distance

• • •

rob kistner © 2010


Mind’s Eye

…response to prompt #13 from Magpie Tales




Mind’s Eye

•

I sit
with my mind’s eye
I watch the flow of people

the shuffle of feet
with their different sounds
according to their shoes

I see wan faces of unsmiling lips
their void curves denounce this night

yet unseen
is the gossamer curtain’s fall
that defines their soul’s duality

the divergent reality
through which truth stumbles blind
to move in the world rough as a rope
taut as every promise made
frayed as wisdom
leaned in whispered from behind

grab at time like dropped money

I might learn something tonight
if someone will release the light
so I can shine like a child
who likes ice cream most of all

this child reads old mens’ minds
and notices the shoes
the belts all made of leather

I feel a shiver of sad imbalance
a confliction in my soul

so I will watch the shoes
and practice non-attachment
because I can

but pieces of me
stick to whoever gets too close

you may have seen me
silhouetted against the sky
the coldest night in January
howling with the frozen moon

then moon and I
sneak through fate’s construct
among cages of studs & trusses we run

from room to imaginary room
the whole world close enough to touch

we eat a midnight lunch of damaged bread
seasoned by caution and foreign lands
with onion’d thoughts layered deep

show mercy
peel back the layers
peel me away thin by thin
skin by skin
to my quivering soul

I hope I am not ugly in your sight

these thoughts become too heavy to hold
to tough to chew or swallow
my thoughts
bone-white lies of morality plays
open for you to peek

hope they are not ugly in your sight
hope they do not make you weep
as you peel back all the layers

onion’d thought layers
held fast and firm
like a carapace
to which I’m stitched and welded
and can no more leave than you can truly enter

they tie me down sometimes
but sometimes barely so

inescapable optimism in my bare-bones grin
flashes in the brittle moonlight

a stranger comes to where I sit
to see
his stare blinds the stars from my eyes

behind his fey smile
his radar dreams scan the forgotten creases
the clandestine getaways in my mind

standing over
he peers down with probing gaze

one of us
will learn a thing or two this night

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

____________________________________________
…an edited re-write of an earlier draft…

Hands of Neptune

…response to prompt #12 from Magpie Tales

____________________________________

 

Hands of Neptune

•

like the disembodied
hands of Neptune
reaching from a rocky confine

breaking surface
into the watery realm

seeking
grasping
needing

but entombed
in a glassened globe
a crystal cage

cruelly shut away
from that which is most desired

contact
connection

prisoner
in brutal isolation
banished
even from the lesser gods

condemned eternally
to never know
the redemption of touch

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

On the Occasion of Our 21st Anniversary

 

On the Occasion of Our 21st Anniversary

(dedicated to my wife Kathy)

•

L ight snow fell
midst the balloons’ ascent
as our new life began
21 years ago

how beautiful you were

as we stood
surrounded by family and friends
we did not know what lay ahead
on our journey of life

we knew only of our love
and our desire
to make the journey together

now here we stand
more that two decades down that road
so many memories
so much that was exciting
so much unexpected
some we wish had never happened

but my journey with you
long may it continue

behind us
laughter and tears
rough road and smooth
so much to discover still ahead

together
we can make our future even better
we but need to know that’s true
as we knew it then

that day I stood with you
21 years ago
and shared my love for you
with those we loved
promising to stand by you
through all that was ahead

and here am I today
still by your side
still captivated by you
still in love with you

here I will remain
through all of our today’s
and all of our tomorrow’s

I was then
am now
and will forever be
your soulmate

awkward as I can be at times to show it
from my heart – I want you to know it

I do love you

• • •


rob kistner © 2010

Sad Little Clown

…presented as a second gracious salute to the first prompt from Big Tent Poetry

____________________________________

 

Sad Little Clown

•

I am the sad little clown
with the frowning face
the round red nose
and the great big tear

this meek facade
and silly sham
belie the horror
that I engineer

life’s dealt me cold
my hand is slack
not a queen
no king nor ace

the violence
that dwells within
is masked behind
my woeful face

no one suspects
the evil soul
that festers deep
in this funny fool

they know not
the monster in me
the gentle sheen
conceals the cruel

they don’t realize
a broken heart
a ruined life
makes one quite mad

they simply see
the pitiful
and painted face
that looks so sad

the shaggy coat
the baggy pants
the red suspenders
the big white glove

they do not know
it hides the hand
that choked the life
and killed their love

town after town
state after state
bodies mount
in the circus’ wake

in the dead of night
at the dark of moon
in frenzied fever
each life I take

each beautiful
each innocent
each unaware
that they would die

there will be more
on the road ahead
one for every tear
you made me cry

when the circus comes
and the tents go up
the people cheer
in each sleepy town

‘cause in their ignorance
what they don’t know
who’s really come
is the killer clown

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

____________________________________

photo from: Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus

Message in a Bottle

In the spirit of the 1st prompt on the newly re-opened Writer’s Island, I retrieved this message from my imaginary bottle, unrolled, then read it — this is what it said:

___________________________

Seamen brave and strong as we

There’s a truth that we all learn

When brave and strong men go to sea

Tis not certain they’ll return
___________________________

October 23rd, 1997

This may be the last few hours of my life. I feel compelled to take this paper and pen and chronicle my end – to feel I did not die in vain… in faith that someone may find this.

I penned the brief sea chant you see at the top, because it continues to turn over and over in my head.

I have no radio or communications devices. They were all destroyed. I have no way of getting a message out — save this crude method.

How I hope that someone will find this. The address of my family and their phone number is on the back. Please, whoever may discover this – see that it gets to my family. Thank you so very much!

I’m the only one left. Carey was killed in the crash, and Gill succumbed to his mortal wounds last night. I rolled his body into the ocean to satisfy the sharks, and keep them at bay for a bit longer.

They’ve circled through the night — it’s the third night they returned. They get bolder each time – the largest has lost all fear. He’s bumped me several times in the last couple of hours. He’s taunting, he knows I’m nearing my end.

When the attack comes, and come it will very soon — it will be vicious and final. I’m certain I will not survive it, but I’m reasonably confident it will be over quickly. At least three of the most aggressive circling are great whites – large enough to finish a man in a few quick rips.

I’m so very weary; I almost wish it would just happen. The uncertainty of waiting is getting to be too much… I’m exhausted… I’m ready.

This was to be our last run up from Cuba. So many uneventful trips… I think we grew careless. We’d broken out a couple bottles of the contraband Varadero and lit up a couple of the Cohibas to celebrate this last trip. I never ceased to be amazed how much money we were making smuggling in illegal Cuban Rum and Cigars… just unbelievable.

We were literally flying over the wave tops in our custom 32′ Donzi race-hull speeder. We weren’t full open, but we were doing 70 knots on the calm seas — the 1,000 horses purrin’ like a kitten.

We were too caught up in the booze and stogies to notice the sleeper cross-wave until it caught us sideways at mid-hull and snapped this cigarette boat like a twig – it just exploded out from under us.

One minute I am in a speeding boat with my two best friends skimmin’ the waves – the next minute we’re in the water, with just a piece of the aft hull in tact. The rest was splintered flotsam and jetsam. Our cargo, what wasn’t destroyed, or on the bottom of the deep blue — floated and bobbed in their wooden cases like square corks.

Carey was dead, Gill critically wounded, and I – just dazed. I dragged Gill and I up onto the small fragment of the Donzi that was still afloat, where Gill eventually died. Carey had floated away. The sharks found him in less than an hour. They finished him in a turbulent frenzy.

Before the end comes I want to say my farewells to my family. Ironically, I’m going to seal this message in one of the Varadero Rum bottles. It was smuggling this shit that got Carey and Gill killed – and soon I as well.

Kathy, my sweet wife, you’ve been the love of my life – patient, understanding… you make me so happy, though I don’t show it all the time. I get caught up in the fog of life’s distractions — buried in my pride and insecurity.

But alone out here, under the warm Atlantic sun, a calm has settled over me. I’m filled with peace, and a joy that is my love for you! I see with great clarity how much you mean to me as my wife. My emotions are overwhelming me. I see how remarkable our relationship is.

So, my love, when I’m gone, please see these words as a place you can visit and be nurtured. A private, wonderful place you can go, to know these treasures that have always been in my heart. I will be there – close your eyes and you will feel me there, and my love.

And my darling daughter Jennifer — after all these years, you have never lost your magic. Like a brilliant sorceress, with one word, you can cast your spell, and put me in a wonderful dream. Your magic word is, “Daddy!” You say this as you smile deeply into my eyes — “Daddy!” I melt.

I will always be your daddy and you will forever be my little girl, my firstborn, my beautiful daughter! Thinking of you here, now, tears fill my eyes.

You make certain you don’t settle in life for anyone who doesn’t love, respect, and appreciate you as much as I do, as your family does.

You make sure you introduce any guy you may fall for to mom, and to your brother. If they don’t approve, you listen closely to their reasons why. Do not compromise your integrity — ever!

Your father loves you Jen… I love you dearly.

And Justin, my son — my baby… ours is a tough relationship, tough love, no room for timid. It is so easy for me to see your faults, and poke at them — for there in you go I. We are so very much alike it scares me.

Your imperfections glare at me because I possess them all, every one of them within me — and more. Photos of me from my past, uncanny, they might as well be you.

But it’s where we are not alike that your miracle begins.

You are smarter than I ever was. You care for people, honestly. You face life with strength and courage. I just marvel at you – I really do! You have accomplished so much already in your life – and you’ve just begun.

We argue at times, but my love for you is deep son… my pride is lasting. It’s impossible with these words, to tell you what you mean to me. But every word for love and pride – I feel in my heart for you!

I know you will miss me, and probably feel lost and angry at first – but you will recover quickly, I know you will. I know how intelligent and strong willed you are.

Please take care of your mother, and Jenny. They will need your strength, just as you will need their nurturing.

I love you Jus, and I know you love me — I always have known. We are father and son. inseparable forever — remember that!

And Aaron, I find myself thinking so much about you. I’m looking at your picture in my wallet. It’s my favorite picture of you, son — the one I cherish most since your passing.

It is the simple snapshot, taken at the airport, upon your return from having run the New York City Marathon.

You have a gentle, triumphant smile. Your eyes are beaming behind the “cool” shades you have on. Your jacket sleeves rolled in casual hip-ness, bag thrown carefree over your shoulder, and your medal hangs proudly around your strong neck.

You are fiercely handsome!

How profound this captured moment proved to be, taken just before the finish line of your 18 years — it said it all. Your race was run, your bag was packed, and your reward was in your hand. You now fly my sweet angel – fly!

Dad will be there soon. I can’t wait to throw my arms around you. I have missed you so very much, my gentle giant – but I’m coming.

Kathy, Jenny, Justin – I don’t want you to cry for this old man too long. I am not afraid out here right now. I feel Aaron with me, so very close – and soon he and I will see each other again.

We will both wait for each of you guys to finish your business down here on earth – then we will all be together. But take your time and enjoy all there is in life.

Don’t be too upset with wayward old me. I might have been a smuggler, but I never hurt anyone – and I loved you all from the bottom of my heart.

I only have two pieces of paper, so this message must come quickly to an end. I really am not frightened. With my last breaths and energy I will be hugging you all, squeezing you tightly – and kissing you all good-bye.

I love you; please know that – I love you all so much!

Kathy, go see Warren. He has a key for you. Then go see Grace, she has an address for you. Finally see Barry, he has a box number for you. They don’t know about each other.

Use these things together and you will be comfortable for the rest of your life.

When you trim the Christmas tree each year, think of me as you hang the Father Christmas ornament. You know it is my favorite.

Good-bye… until we are all together again!

poem & flash fiction by: rob kistner © 2010

Writing Hiatus

Just finished writing over 70 poems, plus some essays, here in April for National Poetry Month 2010. I’m taking a hiatus for a bit from steady writing. I’m re-opening Writer’s Island tomorrow, Saturday May 1st, to offer weekly prompts to other poets/writers. I am also re-focusing on a long-unfolding project targeted at future publication. I’ll still write some poetry, bit very casually for a while. 😉

NaPoWriMo #30

This is my Thirtieth, and final post for National Poetry Month 2010

…presented as a warm farewell to readwritepoem, a brief creative oasis in a soul-starved time…

____________________________________

 

The Poets

•

damaged in their special ways
they like the path unclear
the route unmarked

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

engaged by the obtuse
the uneven
the asymmetric chord
they see grace and form
in brilliant imbalance

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

where they long to go
is always round the bend
over the hill
behind the door

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

to all these things
their souls are pulled

because

down the trail
in the mist
around the curve
over the crest
shut away

the clarion awaits

• • •

Till

•

to all things an end

time wears dull the perfect edge

rendered frail and soft

so too memories of when

till that time may come again

• • •


poem by: rob kistner © 2007 — tanka by: rob kistner © 2010

____________________________________

artwork entitled “Temenos #8 • The Poet” – by: Gregory Eanes

NaPoWriMo #29

This is my Twenty-ninth, and penultimate post for National Poetry Month 2010

____________________________________

…this poem was inspired by D.S. Apfelbaum’s day 29 post at readwritepoem…

____________________________________

 

Space Is

•

a lightless void of soundless vacuum
spinning masses of revolving orbs
hurtling fragments in crystalline vapors

molten cores
mingled gasses
dead husks
black holes

magnetic icefalls
plasma rain
liquid lightening
solid clouds

attractions and repulsions
of precarious fragility

a frozen dance of chaos
on the tentative edge of balance

unfounded fear
unquenchable wonder
unrealized dreams
ultimate frontier

relativity’s fabric
tangled in the cloth of time

reality’s illusion
set in fantasy’s foundation

ceaseless hope
endless adventure
unexpected catastrophe
boundless courage

humankind’s triumph and sad folly
the seductive promise of the future

our salvation
infinity’s threshold
the eternal question
the elusive answer

the everlasting bastion
of never-ending truth

a longing call
a constant listening
a driving force
a reason why

fountainhead of myths
spark of religions
and other superstitions
home of the gods

magnificent obscurity
a source of mystery
font of knowledge
cause of fiction

the unknown of the unknowable
nothingness absolute

the billions and the billions
ever expanding everything

…space is

• • •



rob kistner © 2010

____________________________________

artwork entitled “Infinity’s Door” by: rob kistner © 1998

____________________________________

…see what offerings are this day at readwritepoem

NaPoWriMo #28 – part 2:

This is part 2 of my twenty-eighth post for National Poetry Month 2010
• one free verse poem
• one ecstatic poem


____________________________________

…this first poem was inspired by Julie Jordan Scott’s day 28 at readwritepoem
the second is an edited rewrite of a poem I wrote a couple of years ago that I wanted to share…

____________________________________


In following Julie’s suggestion that we let intuition guide us to a theme, a subject, essentially to the “prompt” for this poem for day 28 of NaPoWriMo 2010 — what presented itself to me several times was a question. Why do I write poetry? The answer that surfaced — for my personal solace, my peace of mind, for my sanity. Thus came forth the prompt for this day.

 

Sanity

•

in the sorrowing hours
at full depth of night

alone with my thoughts
my terrors
my dreams

sculpting words into wedges
that pry open my psyche

expose raw emotion

lay bare my soul

that I might glimpse who really I am
and be certain still that I feel

here is my sanity

• • •

 

____________________________________

 

∞

•

step gently through the dream-gate

take hold the strand continuum

ride the light that carries you

to the is, was, the will be

transcendence moment

when the all is one

in the perfection

of pure being

here now

alive

∞

•


• poem and ecstatic by: rob kistner © 2010

____________________________________

…see what else was intuited this day at readwritepoem

NaPoWriMo #28

This is my twenty-eighth post for National Poetry Month 2010
• one free verse poem
• one tanka


____________________________________

• inspired by day 28 of National Poetry Month

____________________________________


 

Not Spring

•

the moment of not-spring
has no bold herald
save a passing notation
on one’s calendar

easily missed

there is not a disruption
in the earth’s crust

there is no disturbance
in the air

the planets
do not misalign

the moment of not-spring
is a non-moment
as can be the moment of not-love

it can pass by unnoticed
no disruption
no disturbance

but the realization
of not-love
is a storm
more fierce
than even the worst
of spring’s fury

it can break the earth
wide open

leave one gasping
for the next breath

as all the stars
fall from heaven

• • •

 

____________________________________

 

Sweet Recall

•

fresh-placed flower scent

feel of soft grass under knee

memories still grip

more and more are sweet recall

hard tears turning to soft smiles

• • •


• poem and tanka by: rob kistner © 2010

____________________________________

…check out the offerings at readwritepoem

NaPoWriMo #27

This is my twenty-seventh post for National Poetry Month 2010
• one acrostic
• one tanka


____________________________________

• inspired by Carolee Sherwood ‘s day 27 prompt at read write poem to write an acrostic

____________________________________


 

Evolution

•

Even in chaos nature finds balance.

Violent floods beget fertile fields.

One thing ends, another begins.

Life is a cycle of birth and death.

Untamed wildfire creates forest ash.

The ashen remains nurture growth again.

In the caterpillar lives the butterfly.

One thing ends, another begins.

Now and forever, the mandella spins.

• • •

 

____________________________________


 

Stone Fox First

•

garage sound check great

groupies at the ludlow door

allmans soon to start

damned duane is still m-i-a

we stone fox boys are ready

• • •


• acrostic and tanka by: rob kistner © 2010

____________________________________

…check out who’s gettin’ acrostic at readwritepoem

NaPoWriMo #26 – Power / Alternatives

This is my twenty-sixth post for National Poetry Month 2010
• one free verse poem
• one tanka


____________________________________

• inspired by Jill Crammond Wickham’s day 26 prompt at read write poem

____________________________________


 

Power

•

let us speak of power

the writer’s words
the artist’s eye
the craftsman’s hands
the singer’s voice
the player’s soul
the actor’s courage

all who rise up in creativity
to share their gift

who elevate our humanness
shun our negative self

who share their spirit to inspire

who see great possibility
in the face of great challenge

who will not succumb
but prevail
as a kindled flame
to light our darkness

theirs is the power
they are the powerful
for they empower

• • •

 

____________________________________


 

Alternatives

•

three hundred miles gone

we’re just above dream canyon

big storm front building

cycles won’t make the snow pass

guess we point our two wheels south

• • •


• poem and tanka by: rob kistner © 2010

____________________________________

…check out the other offerings at readwritepoem