•
slow
satisfying
soak
serenely steamy
soft supple skin
salaciously slathered
shaved smooth
satin-silky
seductive scent
subtly spread
sensuous strokes
sliding
stimulating
stirring sighs
shivers
savoring
so
so
so slippery
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
•
it sits
still
atop the corner
of our garden wall
just where she left it
how many lilies
did it nourish
how many fuscia
lilac
rose
and morning glory
did it quench
it dispensed its
life giving waters
so gracefully
in her hand
such a delicate hand
gentle in its task
of planting new growth
but rugged on the weeds
that threatened her beloved garden
she was the giver of life
and the guardian
of her realm
but she could not
stop all that threatened
and I had not
her gift of life giving
and so it rests
atop the wall
no longer is it lifted
by her tender
hand of nurture
that hand now
is still
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
•
you cannot abuse my trust
you will not cramp my love
with hatred
never shall you
defile my dream
I am your mirror
the light
that fills your dark void
the found for your lost
the hope for your despair
the grace for your sin
I am your neutral
blanking your negative
expelling it
from the realm of joy
it cannot sustain
I watch
as it withers
and fades
away
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
•
an angel-eyed velvet-clad curious elf
was sitting alone on a leaf by himself
quite lost and he didn’t see anyone else
he was scared and he hid and he tried to be stealth
“I wish I was home like a good little elf
‘cause I left my big glasses on my bedroom shelf
and this is no a place for a song-writing elf
these damp woods are not very good for my healthâ€
his mother warned “Elton, you’re a wee little elf,
don’t go wandering off in the woods by yourself
take Bernie along, and your cell phone as well,
dear son please consider your fame and your wealth!â€
but wee little Elton was a quite stubborn elf
tired of playing piano in his room by himself
bored with being a world famous rock ‘n roll elf
with gold records – Don’t Go Breaking My Heart was his 12th
you know it really is hard being a curious elf
curiosity is why he’d snuck off by himself
now he’s lost and can’t find his way home without help
sometimes its dangerous being sneaky and stealth
could this be the end for sweet Elton the elf
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
______________________
This is a response, not so much to the letter of Carolee’s prompt, but to it’s essence. Instead of picking a fovorite poem, I have focused on my favorite poet, Gary Snyder. Given I am deeply moved by most of Gary’s work, choosing a “favorite” seems unrealistic.
Gary Snyder (born May 8, 1930) is an American poet (often associated with the Beat Generation and the San Francisco Renaissance), as well as an essayist, lecturer, and environmental activist — frequently described as the “poet laureate of Deep Ecology”. Snyder is a winner of a Pulitzer Prize for Poetry. His work, in his various roles, reflects an immersion in both Buddhist spirituality and nature.
He grew up here, where I live, in Portland Oregon and attended Reed College here. He was friends with Allan Ginsberg, Jack Kerouac, and most of the beat writers, the majority of whom had urban backgrounds. Gary spent much of his youth, including his college years, hiking and working in the Northwest backcountry. This experience and his interest in things rural, made him appear exotic to his Beat Generation peers — who often referred to Snyder as ‘the Thoreau of the Beat Generation’.
Gary uses mainly common speech-patterns as the basis for his poetry, and does not typically use conventional meters nor intentional rhyme. His personal sensibility arose from his interest in Native Americans, their involvement with nature, their knowledge of it and balance with it. He argues that poets, and humans in general, need to adjust to very long timescales, especially when judging the consequences of their actions. His poetry examines the gap between nature and culture so as to point to ways in which the two can be more closely integrated.
A world traveler, with a fondness for the Far East; Gary has spent many years of his life exploring, and living in the wilderness of the western United States, especially the Pacific Northwest. He loves this region, as I do, and his work is strongly influenced by this love. I offer this poem I’ve written in the spirit of Gary Snyder. I pulled it together from a notebook I keep of my wilderness sojourns into this part of the U.S. as well as bits and pieces of drafts I’ve written, all influenced by Gary — not so much by how he writes, but who he is.
•
my footfalls
drum the root chambers
of the cascade mountain old growth
each step cushioned
by centuries of needle-drop
in this ancient forest
rounding a bend in the trail
brushing through waist-high fern
I crest a knoll
and stop
mesmerized
light drifts down dreamlike
filtered by the woodland canopy
settling soft around me
suddenly
I’m startled
a young doe bounds onto the path
standing proud
golden in the glow
she considers me briefly
then disappears
quick as a stolen glance
quiet as passing time
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
• photo by Giuseppe Moretti, for Beat Scene Online
…I’ve written two pieces in response to Three Word Wednesday July 21st prompt • the first is entitled “The Quiet” • the second is entitled “The Strike”…
•
left like spent bait
in the disapproving sun
to rot from apathy
the carcasses of constituents
foolishly quiet
curl brittle and crack
victims of their trust
they did not jump
their chance for change
and so they wither
hollowed by ignorance
and purposeful neglect
while the dark beast
slouches off with eden
marrow dripping from a smile
• • •
The Strike
•
warm
familiar
comfortable in my palm
my fingers wrap natural cork
index raised
gauging line tension
precision brings the willow’d shaft
high above my shoulder
rod flexing expectantly
a flick of my wrist
and the line arcs forward
increasing the pressure
on my fingertip
as it rolls ahead
accelerating
then
a careful pluck
like a string
on a guitar
it is released
the golden lure
at line’s end
sails silent
into the squinting summer sun
with a subtle plick
the barbed hunter disappears
slipping ‘neath the sparkle
of the undulating steam
seductively
with quickening pulse
eagerly visualizing
I retrieve the bait
anticipating the strike
patience draws the lure
dancing ever nearer
I long for the sharp
powerful tug
for the slender thread
unreeled before me
to rise
and dart away
in a sliver of silver spray
for my heart to jump
as a proud trout
breaks water
victim to my seduction
in this moment
mind focused
breath steady
senses heightened
awaiting sudden contact
I reflect
there is a simple truth in fishing
in life
the thrill of possibility
can be as rich
as the reward
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
I could not sleep last night
the tears come at times today
tears because I miss you
tears because I love you
tears because the memories
bitter and sweet
bring forth these true emotions
you abide within my heart these days
in a place of warmth and peace
I am so thankful you are here
and will always be
______________________________
in loving memory of my son
Aaron Robert Kistner
November 4, 1976 – July 3, 1995
he would go forth this was his mind
but had no notion which way that was
the pathway left was sparse with step
the roadway right was traveled plenty
leaning low to great extreme
he examined close the evidence
it came clear that those who journeyed left
were light of weight with timid step
while those who traveled onward right
wore finest boot of heavy heel
he thought on this for quite some time
until at last he knew for sure
he started neither left nor right
but instead went straight ahead
he hacked and carved and blazed a trail
into the new for those who’d follow
wise in life possessed of logic
he realized to where he’d come
the threshold of a new frontier
too raw for the sated too brute for the weak
those that would survive and prosper
would be among the enlightened bold
it would be those who’d choose this trail
full of promise made by his hand
with spirit full and muscled zest
he whacked and chopped and cleared the way
for those who’d come who were empowered
to seize possibility — a bright new world
• • •
(haiku)
•
trail forked this spring morne
white-tails chose the woods instead
always more options
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
(version 1)
•
exploding
with sizzle
and fire
in a plethora
of vivid color
a flash dance
of vibrant sparks
showering our dewy
midnight lawn
this cacophony
of celebration
and pyrotechnical
wonders
passes in
then out of existence
in but a moment
this magical night
•
explodes
with sizzle and fire
a spectacle bizarre
a flash dance
of dazzling sparks
shower the heavens
in wondrous light
this cacophony
of celebration
and pyrotechnical
delight
passes in
then out of existence
in but a thrilling moment
this magical night
•
they swoosh and sizzle
spin and tumble
in mesmerizing
fiery flight
a flash dance
of dazzling sparks
shower the heavens
in wondrous light
this cacophony
of celebration
this pyrotechnical
delight
passes in
then out of existence
in but a moment
this magical night
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
• photo of aerial fireworks by: Astro Spectacular
I can no longer imagine
the power of the blue pacific
thumping the huge stack rocks
on the coast at sunset
I can no longer imagine
the sweet face of my first-born son
held in loving embrace
passed on now 15 years
I can no longer imagine
the soft spring rain
misting the morning light
bringing life to winter earth
I can no longer imagine
the stir of a summer breeze
shimmering across the surface
of a high mountain lake
I can no longer imagine
the filtered autumn sun
falling gentle golden
through a red wood canopy
for I have experienced
these wonders
known these treasures
they enrich me
I need no longer imagine
the fire in a woman’s eyes
the magic of a woman’s smile
the tenderness of a woman’s touch
the passion of a woman’s kiss
nor what it is to love you
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
•
John Wooden has,
on this 4th day of June,
in the year 2010
left this mortal realm
after 99 years
of untiring service
impeccable wisdom
and great love
a man of balance
and spiritual depth
such as John
comes so seldom
it must be seriously considered
that this world
has lost
one of its special angels
and that the warmth
and the stability
of humankind
may in fact
suffer consequence
I shed not a tear
for John
he needs no pity
it is for the rest of us
that I heartily cry
the following
are the immortal words
of a great and profoundly humble man
gather close
and hear
•
a mentor is someone
who can give correction
without causing resentment
ability is a poor man’s wealth
adversity is the state
in which man
most easily becomes
acquainted with himself
being especially free of admirers then
be more concerned
with your character
than your reputation
because your character
is what you really are
while your reputation
is merely what others
think you are
be prepared
and be honest
it is amazing
how much can be accomplished
if no one cares
who gets the credit
although there is no progress
without change
not all change is progress
consider the rights of others
before your own feelings
and the feelings of others
before your own rights
do not let what you cannot do
interfere with what you can do
don’t measure yourself
by what you have accomplished
but by what you should have accomplished
with your ability
failure is not fatal
but failure to change
might be
ability may get you to the top
but it takes character
to keep you there
listen
if you want to be heard
never make excuses
your friends don’t need them
and your foes won’t believe them
failing to plan
is planning to fail
if you don’t have time
to do it right
when will you have time
to do it over
there is nothing stronger
than gentleness
the true test
of a man’s character
is what he does
when no one is watching
if you’re not making mistakes
then you’re not doing anything
I’m positive that a doer
makes mistakes
it isn’t what you do
but how you do it
it’s not so important
who starts the game
but who finishes it
don’t let yesterday
take up too much of today
make every day
your masterpiece
it’s the little details
that are vital
little things
make big things happen
it’s what you learn
after you know it all
that counts
players with fight
never lose a game
they just run out of time
material possessions
winning scores
and great reputations
are meaningless
in the eyes of the lord
because he knows
what we really are
and that is all that matters
never mistake activity
for achievement
success comes from knowing
that you did your best
to become the best
that you are capable
of becoming
success is never final
failure is never fatal
It’s courage that counts
success
is peace of mind
which is a direct result
of self-satisfaction
in knowing
you did your best
to become the best
you are capable
of becoming
talent is god given
be humble
fame is man-given
be grateful
conceit is self-given
be careful
the main ingredient
of stardom
is the rest of the team
the worst thing
about new books
is that they keep us
from reading the old ones
there are many things
that are essential
to arriving
at true peace of mind
and one of the most important
is faith
which cannot be acquired
without prayer
things turn out best
for the people
who make the best
of the way things turn out
what you are
as a person
is far more important
that what you are
as a basketball player
young people need models
not critics
you can’t let praise
or criticism
get to you
It’s a weakness
to get caught up
in either one
you can’t live
a perfect day
without doing something
for someone
who will never
be able
to repay you
• • •
words by: John Wooden 1910 – 2010
opening by: rob kistner © 2010
•
letter by letter
word by word
I reach out
from fingertips flow feelings
memories alive
spirit full
my heart pours forth
warmed
I share honest emotion
barriers down
longing for connection
• • •
•
the velvet nape
of your slender neck
swept with wisps
of your silken hair
the tender swells
of your pouted lips
blossomed full
and glistening
your quiet sighs
of throaty passion
breathy hushed
in twilight deep
autumn sunrise
crisp and fresh
blushed coral
on your waking smile
sterling moonlight
that fondles you
in naked slumber
‘neath midnight’s window
sunlight’s gold
that falls dreamlike
filtered soft
in old growth forest
unspoiled nature
to far horizons
from where I watch
on mountain’s crest
a 6 series beamer
cool and cruisin’
down 101
on a perfect day
splendid jazz
inspired verse
christmas eve
a soul-felt tear
my child’s joy
a quiet snow
an evening breeze
spiced with cedar
pristine beaches
pacific sunsets
a waterfall
laughing with you
what fires my heart
what stirs my soul
what turns me on
these are a few
• • •
…from my archives, here is a bit more of what turns me on…
• In response to the 2nd prompt on the newly opened We Write Poems, this piece was inspired by my listening to the 1974 vinyl record album entitled “Mysterious Traveler”, by Weather Report.
Book of Ardor
•
eyes dark and deep as nile nocturne
scorching as nubian sundance
this blackthorn rose
is the secreted passion
the sultry jungle goddess
inscribed in the book of ardor
fired in molten scarlet
woman forged of earthen bronze
ablaze in the sensual dreams
of writhing midnight
she is smoke and flame
the mysterious traveler
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
________________________________
• The beautiful woman in the photo above is Jourdan Dunn
The image of this plate above, this week’s prompt at Magpie Tales, immediately put me in mind of serenity. Also, while the plate may be Chinese in origin, it also made me think of the ancient Japanese poetic form called tanka.
Tanka are 31-syllable poems that have been the most popular form of poetry in Japan for at least 1300 years. As a form of poetry, tanka is older than haiku, and tanka poems are evocative.
During Japan’s Heian period (794-1185 A.D.) it was considered essential for a woman or man of culture to be able to both compose beautiful poetry and to choose the most aesthetically pleasing and appropriate paper, ink, and symbolic attachment—such as a branch, a flower—to go with it.
Tanka have changed and evolved over the centuries beyond the traditional expressions of passion and heartache, and styles have changed to include modern language — but the form of five syllabic units containing a total of 31 syllables has remained the same.
Each line of a tanka consists of one image or idea. One does not seek to “wrap” lines in tanka, though in the best tanka, the five lines flow seamlessly into one thought or feeling.
This particular visual prompt also sparked my recall of a simple, but wonderful piece of art I discovered a few years back, entitled “Blue Temple†by Vorffy.
So here I present my tanka entitled “Blue Templeâ€, including for your pleasure, the Vorfffy art piece of the same name.
•
birds in the blue sky
sampans on the blue waters
blue temple gateways
serenity is sacred
approach with your heart open
• • •
rob kistner © 2010