The Lotus

~ the dream goes on forever ~


Original DDE™ surrealistic art entitled “The Lotus” by: rob kistner © 8/7/24

 
Dream with me my love
love is the magic we will seek

seek it until the end of days
days numbering to eternity

eternity — where love’s magic hides
hides in the folds of the lotus

lotus petals — love’s open wings
wings of pure beauty and truth

truth — the key to perfect surrender
surrender is the secret of love’s dream
dream that goes on — forever


Original DDE™ surrealistic art entitled “For You Love”
by: rob kistner © 8/7/24

*
rob kistner © 2024

More dreams at: dVerse

 

Pepper’d Memories

 

Yes — I was the walrus
so too the fool on the hill
I was the nowhere man
sometime I feel nowhere still

but when the Fab4 took the stage
and raised their voice in song
they roused my golden slumber
my spirit sang along

I strolled to strawberry fields
along sweet penny lane
and when miss Rigby died
I felt McKenzie’s pain

stowed in the submarine
and sailed beneath the waves
down with the octopus
among the coral caves

and when the sergeant
struck up his lonely hearts club band
I fell in step by step
to march off to Pepperland

but before I’d hit the road
I ended up wounded in my bed
a delinquent name of Maxwell
took a hammer to my head

he’d come through the bathroom window
I forgot to shut it tight
I should have known better
but it’d been a hard day’s night

my friends had called for help
doctor Robert came in time
I’d said doc don’t let down
he did not — and I feel fine

cops searched helter skelter
looked here there and everywhere
but they found clues for no one
I said let it be I didn’t care

leaving home, you won’t see me
I said heading out the door
when I saw her standing there
my lover from the night before

oh darling let’s go day trippin’
I want to hold your hand
down this long and winding road
it won’t be long to Pepperland

now we’ve come together here
me and my sweet belle Michelle
she’s been writing paperback novels
the kind the drugstores sell

we have no plans to get back
we’re swept up in the allure
of Lucy and her diamond skies
on our magical mystery tour

even with George and Johnny dead
that old magic’s not yet slipped away
because old Paully‘s discovered AI
so a brand new tune is on the way

it will be so very cool
to hear them once again
to remember those wondrous days
get to relive them now and then

*
rob kistner © 4/5/11
expanded version: rob kistner © 6/13/23

Poetry at: dVerse

 


https://youtu.be/oz3JlMhgfq0

Love’s Summer Serenade / Seaside

These first written & published for NaPoWriMo 2010

 
Love’s Summer Serenade

sing to me my sweet sweet lover
songs as soft as silk and satin
sensual as a bare embrace
warm summer sun upon our face

promise me the world is ours
that this perfect moment’s endless
lift me up on rapture’s cloud
my racing heart is pounding loud

make melody set sail our souls
fill our hearts with passion’s fire
smother me in scorched sweet kisses
oh what a fiery bliss this is

come to me and take me timeless
sweep me off to ecstasy
enfold me in your deepest dreams
simmering under summer moonbeams

so hot we’re looking for some shade
aflame in love’s sensual serenade

*

 
Seaside

soft sand warms bare toes

senses stirred by surging surf

summer at seaside

love as fresh as ocean breeze

kisses hot as sizz’ling sun

*
rob kistner © 2010
revised © 2023

More poetry at: dVerse

 




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
  • Spellbound

    poet
    you are enigma

    darkness and shadow
    you veil and shroud

    fire and light
    you burn and incandesce

    torch my essence
    burn deep my soul
    trouble my spirit
    unsettle my being

    then poet
    ignite my wonder

    whet my seeker’s vessel
    with need
    to be filled full

    poet
    at once familiar
    yet
    exotically foreign
    wonderfully strange

    wrongly boxed but
    exquisitely wrapped

    in angst
    indignation
    longing
    discovery
    loss

    in love

    with all these
    and infinitely more
    you reach an empty place
    deep within

    echoing my past
    awakening my myths

    exposing
    that which I embrace
    in the moment
    as truth

    refocus me

    stirring my pain
    my anger
    my loneliness

    my hope

    offering just enough answer
    that I combust with question
    sacred uncertainty

    I’m held
    suspended in inquiry
    in memories of neverwas

    enrapt by your careful words
    transfixed by mystery
    elevated by insight
    impaled by vision

    spellbound

    This Night

    As you read this Christmas poem, with its taste of bittersweetness, see it not in a dark light — embrace it as a tale of a long-awaited journey, to be with the one beloved.


    digital collage entitled: “Christmas Tear” – by: rob kistner © 2011

     

    B rushed my shoulder on this morning’s train
    then at the market it was there again
    while in line to get my breakfast tea
    from our favorite table it beckoned me

    in the crowd at the festive mall
    glimpsed like a flicker of candle light
    I swear I saw it fleeting fall
    upon the gifts I did not wrap this night

    upon the tree I did not decorate
    the greeting cards I did not write
    in frail voice I chastise fate
    singing carols doesn’t feel right

    this season I see it everywhere
    the shadow of your love
    elusive as a shopper’s smile
    caught up in the crush and shove

    but soon I’ll catch and hold it close
    warmly to my breast
    it will sweetly fill my heart
    lay soft with me this midnight rest

    for it returns this night each year
    the same night you went away
    in dreams you kiss away each tear
    touch my lips that beg you stay

    taken from my life in sleep
    gone without a last goodbye
    as we dreamed at midnight deep
    each year I weep and wonder why

    but this year I’ll not awaken blue
    in the end an easy thing to do
    this night I’ll make our dreams come true
    this midnight deep I will come to you

    *
    rob kistner © 2011
    update by rob kistner © 2021

    Poetry at: dVerse

    This poem originally posted 2011: at Magpie Tales

    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…

     

    Bridge of Truth

    The music is a key element of my expression here…

    FE6468E4-DB21-4AC2-AE47-A151350888DD

     

    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


    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

    Time’s Window

    “This is the 4th anniversary of my wife Kathleen and I moving to Seattle to be with our grandson Alex. I posted this new piece containing mindful reflections on leaving our home in Oregon, and our new Seattle home. The photos are of our Oregon yard in the Cascade Mountain foothills. That is my wife Kathy standing under, and peering up into our 2 giant banana palms. The poem is just below the photos.“

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    E280E402-14C8-4DF8-BE06-05995B79BDD1

    8406EEC5-F134-4D0F-AF92-19D3B1F79A86

     

    Time’s Window
    ~


    we now have a wonderful
    new Seattle home
    shared with family
    ruled by my little guy
    my precious 6-year-old grandson
    and I know sweet happiness

    but there are moments
    with eyes closed
    I can gaze back
    through time’s window

    I see my beloved Oregon home
    of 25 amazing years
    vividly alive this morning
    here in my memories…

    through my window this day
    I see the scurry of creatures
    warmed by the Oregon summer

    I hear nature
    in splendid voice

    the chuff
    of a tree’d red squirrel

    the song
    chirp
    and trill of birds

    chickadee
    goldfinch
    western bluebird
    and others

    fly
    flutter
    and flit

    in a flash of orange
    a striking northern flicker
    momentarily eschewing insects
    is peck peck pecking
    cracking black-oil sunflower seeds
    that spill from our feeder

    a red-tailed hawk
    calls
    from atop a Sitka spruce
    swaying
    in the crisp blue sky

    the muffled belling of a deer
    wandering the safety of old-growth
    whispers
    through the foothills

    the distant bark
    of a neighbor’s dog
    echoing the basin
    up along our stream
    reminds me
    we have friends nearby

    my wife’s
    gentle laughter
    validates the friendship

    her tender smile
    validates our love

    the rustle of leaves
    stirred by the breeze
    wafting through the valley

    smartly punctuated
    by the staccato
    of conifer cones
    that fall
    from time to time
    wrested free by chickaree
    and chipmunk
    chattering high in Douglas fir
    busy with their forage

    wap wap wap

    they bounce off our roof
    striking the ground

    closely followed
    by the scamper
    of their liberators
    crunching their way
    to the heart-meat of the cone
    the delicacy
    that elicits this furious industry

    drifting in the window
    intoxicating fragrances

    cedar
    pine
    fir

    lily
    rose
    lilac

    grasses
    loam
    and more

    a rich
    earthy bouquet

    caught in my reverie
    I breathe in
    deeply
    to suddenly remember

    …I’m not in my Oregon home
    I am in my new Seattle home
    and it’s filled to overflowing
    with family
    and love

    for a moment
    I do not open my eyes
    I linger a bit longer
    in my beautiful dream
    of my Oregon

    my heart will forever be there
    but we will likely never go back
    not until my ashes are spread
    high in the Cascade Mountains
    on Mt. Hood
    across breathtaking Lost Lake

    but here
    now
    on this day
    filled with memories
    and joy
    a solitary tear
    falls

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2019


     
    This new write was a remarkably mind purifying write for me. Click to see how others are purifying their minds on dVerse:

    Poetics- Purifying the Mind

     

  • Click to check out the haps at Toads
  • The Gift


     
    The Gift

    ~

    unworthy fool am I

    to ignore it
    to abuse it
    to mistreat it
    to misuse it
    to mishandle it at every turn

    no way am I deserving

    yet over and over
    you lay it at my feet
    to protect each step
    on life’s harsh road

    time after time
    you wrap it round me
    as shelter
    from sorrow’s storm

    again and again
    it nurtures and sustains me
    on my journey through
    the wastelands of the lonely

    this light
    this precious treasure

    no way do I deserve
    but forever will I cherish
    your soul gift
    of selfless love

    would I could give you
    such a gift in return
    it would be my purest
    my most unselfish gift

    a gift golden as the sun
    tied in a tinsel of stars
    to nurture you always
    to keep you radiant

    my most precious gift
    of a love supreme

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2019

     

    32AD0E85-B0A5-4D6D-B19A-E51CD04E0C53DAY 7

    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)

    ________________

    23749CC2-151F-4BDE-BA62-BC76B9234D39

     
    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!