The Edge


Original DDE™ surrealistic art entitled “The Edge” by: rob kistner © 8/15/24

 
Standing at the edge
feeling far below
the great tides

the ebb and flow
the rise and fall

the come and go of centuries
of millenniums
wave by wave
day by day
as it has always been

this might incarnate
this power of indifference
this surge of perfect apathy

and I
as insignificant as the grain of sand
bounced and tumbled
dragged helpless in the undertow

a great froth crested wave
rises up in beckon
the silk of azure blue
draped smoothly down its sloping back
as it dances on the deep

how easy I could slip
into that fathomed realm

down
down
ever down
into the waiting silence
without so much a noticed sound
quiet as a breaking heart

absorbed into the churn and roar
without so much a ripple
to disturb the steady surf

a subtle crease
irrelevant
erased
even as it came

*

rob kistner © 2011
originally linked at Magpie Tales

rob kistner © 2024

More poetry at: dVerse

 

The Return

Although here in my Seattle home, I am only 200 miles away from my Oregon, the fact that health has prevented me from returning for a number of years, and makes it impossible for me to ever again trek the breathtaking wilderness of that region, that lives so vividly in my memories — it feels that it might as well be on the other side of the country, in a beautiful, unreachable dreamscape. This envisioning I’ve written here of my return is presented from that perspective. It is likely also sparked, in no small way, by a subconscious wish that I could return to the robust health I enjoyed most of the 25 years I lived and explored in Oregon, discovering and falling in love with its precious beauty.


”It is not down in any map; true places never are.” — Herman Melville

 

Across the chasm of time
and great distance
memories unfold
vividly rich
like elaborate origami sculptures
as the paper of this odd map
unfolds bewilderingly before me

even ‘cross this flat
boring land spread
I see in my mind’s eye
soaring ramparts
of sky-piercing mountains
forested tier upon tier
with enormous sitka spruce

scattered brewers
known as the weeping spruce
the most beautiful of the conifer
whose branches in summer
display sunlight
as a jeweler’s velvet
showcases gems

the whispers
of wind-stirred
lawson cypress
towering ponderosa pine
and douglas fir
waft down emerald climbs

tangerine-scented white fir
a fragrance rivaled only
by the rough-tufted red cedar

the dogwood’s brilliant leaves
big-leaf maples
pendulous western maples
tight ranks of dark-green sadler oak

the golden shimmer
and crisp crackle
of white-barked aspen

these live and breath
boldly in my heart
calling me forward

this morning’s sun comes crisp and bright
enfolding my waking in warmth
and vivid presence
the world fresh and fascinating

I embark toward noonday
the joy of homecoming palpable
senses saturated and alive
blissfully consumed
by a deep satisfaction
that permeates this afternoon

my soul is full
my mind is clear
my heart — overflowing

as dusk descends upon this place
painting its heady grace and expectation
my pace is smooth and steady
the downing sun — a gentle gold embrace

early shadows fall soft across my face
as vesper’s velvet blanket
drapes its comfort ’round my shoulders
splendid calm envelops me

yet there are other shadows
strange distractions
that disrupt my moments
they come unannounced
almost imperceptible

but I follow close
without fear
the way blazened in my mind
and there is still far to go

I am eager to journey
drawn by the beauty
that is the rising moon in sunset

facing into the evening breeze
I venture onward

rolling amber and coral
spreads across the horizon

again the shadows shift
dull confusion finds me
I lose my pace and focus

but I do not heed
this temporary distraction
nor the suggestions of this creased parchment
unfurled before me

for it is not what will lead me home
I do not let it sway or stray me
for my heart knows the way

yet
nagging concern
disquiets me
a stab of panic
pierces my solace
have I been gone too long
will it feel the same

unwelcome bewilderment
grips me
holds me
uncomfortable in my skin

a cloud of frustration
sweeps over me
obscuring briefly
my purpose and destination

then the fog wafts
and again I envision
across the veiled valley
of time
my hearth and home

twilight is coming
much too quickly
and my concern
at first a nuisance — mounts

a gathering feeling
gnaws inside
fear I will not make it home
before this sunset

I am afraid
to lose this evening light
that leads my way

but my way
is not on this map
not on any map
it lives in my heart
and in my soul

this calms the disturbance
of my reverie
quiets my mind
brings my fear to settle
as the ease of remembered beauty
and warmth of home
swell my soul

ahead are the mountains
and forests of my Oregon home
where I finally return
to reclaim my heart
this day

now I have
such sweet recall
pulling me forward
urgently

even in the faded light
of many distant memories
these visions have held me breathless
soon I will gaze upon them again

I redouble my pace

*
rob kistner © 2022
revision of draft © 2011

Poetry at: The Sunday Muse

Poetry at: Earthweal

 


Little jazz tune from Sanborn entitled “Comin’ Home”… plus a little Keith magic!


https://youtu.be/k84QxVJd0tIp


Northwest Autumn

It is three weeks until Autumn Equinox 2022. I first wrote and published this piece in 2008, significantly revised it in 2018, sharing it again on dVerse in response to a wonderful prompt by Amaya Engleking. I now have further refined it in small ways, and choose to share it again here in 2022. Much has changed in the 14 years since I first wrote this, but not my love for the Pacific Northwest, and most especially — Oregon. It is in the light of this abiding love, that I now share this piece once more here on dVerse, for OLN, September 1st, 2022. Peace!

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Autumn is upon us, as we enter our season of nature’s rest and replenishment here in the Pacific Northwest. The cycle of renewal will begin in western Oregon, where I lived for 25 years. I moved in 2015 to Seattle to be near my young grandson. Still immersed in Pacific Northwest beauty here, but Oregon will always hold my heart.

The summer’s dry period has ended, and agricultural irrigation has ceased. Harvesting explodes in October into November, including the grape harvest in our many vineyards. Following the gathering of this autumn bounty, the soil is left to recover. The fruit and nut trees, the vines in the vineyards, and the crop fields will begin the slow period of winter revitalization, in anticipation of the growing seasons to come in the new year. The Great Mandala of life turns steady. The rains that begin sporadically in late October, increasing into November, will work their magic — plumping Oregon’s world-class Christmas tree and holly crops, renewing the sparkle of these holiday icons, readying them for harvest.

Wild nature will also enter a period of recovery and renewal. The flowering plants that have dropped their petals, and the grasses and brush, gone late-summer golden, seek these nurturing rains. Mighty evergreens pause, conifers drop their cones, and deciduous trees shed their leaves all go dormant, and rest. The vast Northwest forests are enriched by this period of rejuvenation.

Streams, whose water levels have dropped considerably, will come to new life when rains begin to replenish their flow. Sockeye and Chinook salmon start their run upstream to begin their spawn. Rainbow, Brook, German Brown, and Cutthroat Trout, as well as numerous other species become active as waters rise and cool. Bear, deer, cougar, elk, coyote, big horn sheep, pronghorn antelope, hawk, osprey, eagle; the varied and plentiful wildlife of our region begin preparation for their unique winter rituals.

Autumn nudges into winter, a peaceful time of rest and restoration here in this breathtakingly beautiful region. A regenerative calm lies upon the lush land, as the season of sky-water arrives to quench nature’s thirst, and revivify her energies in this utopia.

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Just as the gardener
nurtures her tend
bending close
to nourish
and protect

so too nature stoops
to embrace
and refresh
her pacific northwest paradise

her autumn shadow upon the land
she leans down
and lets flow life-giving waters
to enrich this lush realm

she covers her beloved eden
in a soft blanket
of moist cloud

a shelter from chilled winter
to insure a rich bounty
when spring returns

abundant fruits
vegetables
and nuts

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hill-climbing vineyards

towering trees
too numerous to imagine

endless grasses
bushes
berries
and flowers

all will be spring succulent
from buildiing winter waters

mountain streams
valley rivers
swell with migrating fish

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as they journey home
up these fresh waters
of new birth

birds and animals
flock and gather
embraced by this season
of quiet replenish

in balanced step
and close harmony
with this cycle
they too
will welcome next spring
with plentiful new life

a sustaining love
this affair

life
nurtured to flourish
in the eventual spring

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*

published: rob kistner © 2008
revised: rob kistner © 2018
final revision: rob kistner © 2022

* More poetry at: dVerse

photos (top to bottom):

  • Autumn at Multnomah Falls, Oregon
  • Oregon Autumn rain on conifer needles
  • Autumn at Sokol Blosser Vineyards, Willamette Valley Oregon
  • Sockeye salmon, Deschutes River, Oregon
  • Autumn Cascade Mountain Lake, Oregon
  • Finish Line

    This song by Sarah McLachlan, “In The Arms Of An Angel” always makes me break down. He is my son, Aaron Robert Kistner. Hearing this song takes me deep into memories of my sweet angel. My son Aaron died in his 18th year, just prior to entering college to study music. He was a very handsome, kind, and gentle young man – and a fabulous singer. I miss him so, everyday. I ache to hold him close just once more — to hear his beautiful voice. I wrote this poem very shortly after his tragic death in a horrible auto accident.

    In loving memory of my son, Aaron Robert Kistner: 11/4/76 – 7/3/95

     

    This is my favorite picture of you son,
    the one I treasure most
    since your passing.

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

    A gentle, triumphant smile,
    eyes beaming behind those ‘cool’ shades,
    jacket sleeves rolled in casual hip-ness,
    bag gripped firm and steady in your left hand,
    medal dangling proudly from your strong neck.

    The victor: gentle, cool, hip, carefree, proud, and strong,
    – 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 is run,
    your bag is packed,
    your reward’s in hand.

    Fly my sweet angel – fly!

    *
    rob kistner © 1995

     

    Waltz of Youth



     

    W ith the heft and smooth sheen
    of the beautiful sculpted body
    caressed lovingly
    between her nubile legs
    her excitement stirs
    her anticipation grows

    eager and confident
    she lays tingling hands upon it

    engaging the sure strength
    of her lithe knowing essence
    and the firm deft touch
    of her pristine fingers
    the brilliant young cellist
    ignites the dance

    strong slender legs
    carry firm yearning bodies
    perfumed and cologne’d
    around and across
    the crowded dance floor
    pulses alive

    budding passion
    craving — yet hesitant
    swept up in innocent bliss

    the waltz of youth
    rising and falling
    to the rich give and take
    of the cellist’s bow

    she lifts the energy
    coaxing the passion
    of the beautiful dance

    with her nimble sway
    and precision movements
    delicately she envisions
    the flowing notes

    lovely face
    in rhythmic expression
    eyes sometimes closed
    she dreams the music

    wholly consumed
    by the seductive strains
    the enlivened dancers
    sweep round and round
    bodies a’glisten
    in smoldered embrace
    bathed in the chandelier’s
    golden glow

    further fired by stolen kisses
    and breathy whispers
    of promised love
    and naive forevers

    dawning lives
    in the tender grasp
    of blooming desire
    and the velvet touch
    of mad magical
    magnificent music
    *
    rob kistner © 2021

    Poetry at: Sunday Muse


     


    …a little “out of this world” music…

     

    Sweetest Taboo


     

    S ucculent nectar of full plumped peach
    laid bare engorged deliciousness
    peeled open in promised sweet delight
    ecstatic vision of tender flesh

    tart sweet tingle at tip of tongue
    such sweetness surely is taboo
    my mouth thrills at the juicy pulp
    my lips glisten sweetest nectar’s dew

    breathing in the rich bouquet
    all senses teased and tantalized
    my mouth devours the dripping treat
    again and again ‘til satisfied

    *
    rob kistner © 2021

    Poetry at: dVerse


     

    Bridge of Truth

    The music is a key element of my expression here…

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    P ossessed of all it is I am
    I sigh a sigh of longing
    I feel empty sad and very old
    I seek to fill my barren soul

    ~across the bridge of truth~

    I seek not a kingly right
    nor scepter gold to rule a realm
    worldly wealth I do not need
    love’s enlightenment I seek

     

    IMG_8645

     
    *
    rob kistner © 2021

    Poetry at: dVerse

     



    https://youtu.be/cpPSBzGEklE

    ~ A live bonus from Pauly! ~

    Seductive Fantasy


    …a stream of consciousness trip…

     

    Soaring psychedelic
    colors pierce my eyes
    to bleed into my mind
    pulsing into shapes
    and melting forms
    dancingly irregular
    a brilliant cacophony
    of fully beautiful discord
    that flows in time displacement
    blared breathing blending abstract

    wow dude!
    ~~ drifting drifting ~~

    so wondrous and magical
    as to create a dreamspace
    where reality steps away
    to a seductive fantasy
    that roils and broils
    a seething serenade
    of sounds and vision
    a sanctified vibration

    simply too gone!
    immaculate!

    joyful noise’d orblets
    flaring and flashing
    in hues and shades
    in timbre’d cadences
    they spark stiletto sharp
    stabbing staccato’d stealthy
    and again colors pierce my eyes
    lovely rumblings fill full my ears
    shifting spinning and floating
    to journey a’new through
    my beautiful bountiful
    and utterly blown
    mind garden

    }|=|{

    psssst! hey! you!
    am I conscious man —
    — or halluuucinating truuuth?

    rob kistner © 2021

    Day 1 poetry at: NaPoWriMo 2021


    Sorrow


    …born in water, in water she’s swept away…

     

    Beauty sings to the sea — love’s tone
    on this broken, cloud-covered day
    slipping into the surge alone
    silently, she kicks away

    on these broken, cloud-covered days
    alone with her fractured wishes
    she drops so silently ‘neath the waves
    deep, deep down to the fishes

    alone with her fractured wishes
    a’tumble in the seabed’s sway
    down down deep with the fishes
    she is leaving it all today

    sorrow’s a’swim in the seabed’s sway
    beauty’s nothing left to say
    she is leaving this lonely world, today
    the sea will sweep her away

    rob kistner © 2021

    *Check out: Joy’s Pantoum


     
    https://youtu.be/K5oAf7bs7_U

     

    Read more poetry at: dVerse

    Day 2 poetry at: NaPoWriMo 2021

    That Velvet

    Vote = Voice — Speak Up! 2CC45105-E580-4197-9120-35D724A74CF8

    Sorry for this interruption. Feel free to ignore this section and move directly down to the poem, if you choose. The poem is much more sensual and dreamy. This first section is cold, no-filtered, stark reality — fully and sincerely expressed, as I see it. You see, I need to sum up my final, perhaps controversial thoughts, on the issue of protest, introduced here last Thursday. I have been slowly simmering since then: Love MUST win. My proud hippie soul tells me it can — it must for earth, and her human tribe to flourish. As naive and pollyanna as this may sound, I haven’t lived nearly 74 years believing that peace, love, and intelligence will find a way — to simply stand by and see these qualities of integrity snd dignity trampled beneath the feet of humankind’s baser instincts. Perhaps good people have turned the other cheek for too long. Maybe being passively resigned to the perpetraters of evil is not the way. Perhaps it requires an extreme natural culling of the tribe to remove the evil, the result of the arrogant stupidity of that group. Whether I should revel in that possibility is something my peaceful self has been truly struggling with the past few years — since the extinguishing of the Obama light. It goes against my nature. But the continuing greedy, destructive, and heartless ways must end, or perhaps be brought to an end. At my age and health, I, and most of my Aquarian generation, can’t, or won’t, effectively mount the resistance. We lack the stamina or money, or both. Too many among my generation, who may be capable, have lost the vision — turned during the mine-me-first Reagan 80’s, and the grab-fest in the years that followed. I feel we need responsible, strong young leaders to organize on a large scale, activate on a broad scale. It breaks my heart to say it — but me and my generation, we failed. Those who are coming after us, can’t afford to — or humankind and this great spaceship earth, truly are fucked! The power can belong to the young — take it, and wield it wisely! Sorry if I shocked or offended. Just the honest humble opinion of a tired old man. Not too tired to *** VOTE! VOTE! VOTE! ***

    ========================

    And now {{{deep breath}}} time for the poetic entertainment:

    ***

    …inspired by the Kate Bush video, “The Sensual World”…
    This is a 2nd revision of my original 2012 version.

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    That Velvet

    ~

    would I were that velvet
    that she reaches for so fondly
    strokes with delicate pure fingers
    with soft silken hands she lingers

    embraces to her bosom
    wraps ’round her slender shoulders
    tingles with excitement
    as she surrenders to its touch

    would I were that velvet
    that drapes her lilting essence
    that falls and folds and fondles
    as she ascends the stairs each night

    the plush and luscious fiber
    that rises on her breasts
    with each soft and subtle sigh
    each deep impassioned breath

    oh would I were that velvet
    that glides her naked form
    on those sunset autumn evenings
    enwraps her perfect body warm

    that chills and thrills in shivers
    as she opens it ‘neath moonlight
    and swoons hushed smouldered gasps
    as she blooms forth firm and pleasured

    oh would I were that velvet
    would I were that velvet
    oh sweet sensuous angel
    would I were
    would I were

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2012
    (revision © 2020)

     

    Open Link Night #275

    And So

    “sweet memories of my youth”

     

    And So

    ~

    and so
    I think of her
    and wonder

    what was the fire
    that burned so bright
    and raged so fierce
    as to consume complete

    our essence
    left embered char
    smoldered ashen

    that in its heat
    and fury
    could not sustain

    back I drift
    to fall upon
    the tenderness of youth

    the satin skin
    the comely gaze
    the velvet touch

    a silken voice
    rising
    to lust and longing

    to impatience

    to immortality

    its soulful siren
    so seductive
    the nectar of all forbidden

    the breathless joy
    of sweet innocence

    when the wonder
    stirs to every mystery
    and the spirit lights
    to every spark

    igniting passion’s pyre

    to leave one spent
    in blissful ruin
    at story’s end

    tender memory
    of the throaty whispers
    of promised pleasures
    sweetly secreted
    in her virgin kiss

    and so
    I think of her

    remembering
    with no regret

    savoring the subtle linger
    harbored in my heart
    of the taste
    of her lips

    long ago
    at seventeen

    ~ ~

    “lips lush as cognac
    open softly to kisses
    urgently linger”

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2010
    (revision © 2019)

    ________________

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    click here to read more poetry at dVerse

    Clarion Stones

  • revised for Lillian at dVerse Poet’s Pub


     
    Clarion Stones

    ~

    all those years ago
    in the time of dangers
    they were placed in secret
    as a silent beacon
    in that deepest night

    waiting for the day
    when the shadowed world
    would waken from the nightmare
    shed its narrow petty ways
    and embrace the way of light

    stacked by those of vision
    blessed in hope and courage
    one upon the other
    like knowledge upon learning
    these standing stones of peace

    hear them call across the ages
    and beckon us to rise
    to step into the future
    to envision a new dream
    to let fear and hatred cease

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2010
    (revision © 1/22/19)


    67F4B295-9233-407D-934F-9CA3C5A2B3F5
    stacked stones in Sedona red-rock desert

    _______________________

    These sculptures are called cairns. A cairn is a human-made balanced stack of stones. The word cairn comes from the Scottish Gaelic: càrn. Cairns have been, and still are used for a broad variety of purposes, from prehistoric times to the present. They are stacked as landmarks, direction finders, memorials, and also spiritual reasons, among other purposes.

  • Check out more shedding at dVerse:

    Shed some light on this today!

  • Skyfire

    IMG_8599

     
    Skyfire

    ~

    the sunset gun is readied in his grip
    quicksilver moon has set a hurried course
    the golden orb has wearied from its trip
    all is poised, his eyes fixed on the source

    gaia reaches gently, into quiet space
    while he locks her broad horizons in his sight
    gaia pulls a veil of stars slowly ‘cross her face
    but he has one last task before its night

    he must set the sky ablaze, then he can sleep
    broad strokes of coral orange and crimson red
    the pattern must be bold, the color deep
    so he aims the sunset gun, and blasts it overhead

    in a brilliant flash the heavens light with fire
    in rich and vivid hues, as if burning with desire
    the gumasters succeeded but tomorrow he returns
    to rise the morning sun, till then the nightsky burns

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2018

    ____________

    Get fired up at dVerse…

    Fire Up that Creativity–dVerse Poetics

    Touch of Love

    IMG_8667

     

    Touch of Love

    ~

    a quarter century ago
    in the shadow of the tall ships
    nestled inter-coastal
    on the outer banks of Beaufort
    our passion burst to flame

    we bound that flashpoint moment
    in a promise of forever
    and a band of abalone
    I found there in that sunset
    on the Carolina sands

    as ever-precious
    as the diamond ring
    that now encircles in its stead
    that pearled bit of shell
    immortalized our pledge

    even to this day
    it rests next to your heart
    where it falls true and warm
    on links of purest gold
    my constant touch of love

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2011



    Click below to read more poetry at dVerse:

    Open Link Night #233