Sooth

Sooth

•

seek not the pompous
swelled with false confidence
dispensing the formulas of bliss
condemning you as the un-visioned
while fleecing you of your hard begotten

follow not the kings and queens of mammon
who worship the bottom line
desiring the upper hand
who would despoil the world and all it offers
as their playground of gratification

suffer not the priests and priestesses
who would say that only they have heard
and in so saying would dictate your thoughts
and direct your deeds
to conform to this truth of the god in their pocket

do not be cowered by the iron hand
of the bullet-brained who march in step
to crush under boot the will of any who will not queue
into the line that they have deemed
leads to the only way that life must be

do not be swayed by those who know
possessed of absolutely no uncertainty
knowing sure that what they know is what is
and in their infallible knowledge
know that what they know is was and will ever be

instead — gather with those who do not know
find the curious and the uncertain
those still filled with wonder
drawn to unfolding discovery
who embrace the constancy of learning, change, and growth

it is they who will traverse this evolving world
fashioned as a fair and better place

• • •

rob kistner © 2011


Celebratory Blues

…on the occasion of my 64th…


Celebratory Blues

•

the hands of time swing round faster and faster
life has carved his journey in his face
the pendulum beats steady its insistence
he wonders how long can he keep this pace

he sits here four years looking back at 60
he’s known tragedy and triumph both the same
borrowed bought and sold his way to this place
leveraging his soul to play the game

an older man now gazing out his window
trying to remember how long it’s rained
alone here by the fire in contemplation
was all he lost worth what it was he gained

but sweet memories like candles softly flicker
friends and lovers cherished come and gone
held in warm embrace wrapped in his heartstrings
in his dimming years he prays they still shine on

• • •

rob kistner © 2011


Happy Holidays!

Although I have been and will be inactive on Image & Verse for a while, I wanted to send my fond wishes of a gentle and warm holiday season to those that visit here – and to share this poem. It is a celebration of this special time of year. I wrote it a while back, yet I find it still resonates. It will always hold deep meaning for me.

 

December Memories

•

cold cheeks pressed in soft embrace
nestled warm in sweater’s plush
full hearts brim in fond delight
drawn close in loving gather

room awash in gentle glow
heady scent of fresh-cut noble
standing tall this winter night
resplendent in its cloak of yule

secreted in window’s bay
that looks upon the winter splendor
mistletoe greets all who dare
It’s magic casts a fetching spell

tender lilt of celtic song
sweet fragrances of promised treats
the pleasing snap of kindled log
spirits soothed by season’s hearth

ribbon’d papers flash multi-hues
gifts bestowed one at a time
each in turn a treasured moment
joyous laughter shared by all

round and round the kindred circle
we celebrate unveiled affection
nurtured by each act of love
precious times with family

• • •

rob kistner © 1994

*third stanza is newly written © 2010

Happy Holidays!

The Null

The Null

•

beyond presence
beyond peerless
beyond the vexing
temporal fray

like unto you
there is no other
and would it be
no other way

you are my yin
and I your yang
in balanced oneness
we will stay

and so it is
until forever
beyond even still
the dying day

even still
the lightless coming

even still
all timeless void

and when it spirals
down to naught
shall you endure
yet undestroyed

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

Panther

• this is the final in a series of edits of a poem I first drafted in 1997
it was born of my contempt for the barbarous act of caging wild animals in a zoo •

this final edit inspired by prompt #24 at Writer’s Island,
prompt #23 at We Write Poems,
and prompt #74 at Carry on Tuesday
.



…a thing of beauty is a joy forever, a captive wild soul — is a tragedy

 

Panther

•

from rippled sinew black as midnight
bores a stare of molten gold

a furious but calm inferno
searing deep to burn your soul

unyielding is this panther’s pace
held captive in this foolish zoo

cold eyes rivet snarled contempt
unfathomed pools of quiet rage

on this panther paces paces
turns and paces back he paces

graceful stride of brute resolve
presses on to test his bounds

proud this captive soul just paces
frustration turns anger retraces

this brutal prison of false environ
does not fool this mighty beast

observe how he continues pacing
instinct certain this is not home

his piercing gaze fixed well beyond
his suffered fate of cruel confine

see the panther pacing pacing
his nature steeled his spirit strong

relentless sorrow wild longing
drive on and on his constant stride

this will not break his fierce resolve
he tracks freedom he stalks life

imprisoned he will forever pace
and he will pace

and he will die

• • •

Panther

(haiku)
•

caged beast close your eyes

have no fear of letting go

dream of wild freedom

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

Moonfall

…I might find it interesting to believe that we are not alone in this universe within universes. I believe ‘others’ are observing us, and are concerned by our behavior. Called many things through the ages, such as “travelers”, “those that are”, “angles”, among others: I believe they have been here, and perhaps some of us have been there. As adults most of us grow suspicious, skeptical, closed, and therefore unreceptive, potentially even dangerous — so these ‘others’ make their presence known only to the pure of heart, who still possess their sense of wonder. They come in dreams, visions, and apparitions.

Centuries and millenniums ago, when the world was less devastatingly violent, they visited more often. Graphic and oral evidence of their visitations are found in every culture. These ‘miraculous’ events, misunderstood by less sophisticated early humans, became the ‘seeds’ of the world’s current religions.

These ‘others’ seek to know us but they are frightened by our growing self-directed global hatred and paranoia — especially now fueled by our many technologies of death and destruction. They now consider us unapproachable. I’m not certain when or how large-scale contact will be made, but it will eventually happen — in spite of the ‘if-or-not’ of alien abduction and probing.

Inherently we humans have come to know, but not fully comprehend, the essence of this reality of impending contact. Through the distorted lense of fractured history and our fear, I believe we have, over time, come to call this ultimate contact by many names, some positive, some negative; names such as the rapture, apocalypse, end of days, armageddon, and the like. Though we perhaps misinterpret the nature of this amazing future event — contact is coming. This I might believe, if I could believe anything. In that spirit I wrote and offer this sci-fi poem…

 

 

Moonfall

•

the dual suns
still crisp and bright
warm me as I journey
painting the strange landscape in vivid presence
this alien world
startling
yet fascinating

I embarked at midday’s solar convergence
senses alive and alert
consumed by the thrill of exploration
heady with anticipation of discovery
I believed today I would make contact

I would connect

but it is day’s end
moonfall descends upon this severe terrain
early shadows fall across my face
a veiled foreboding settles upon me

there are many shadows here
other shadows
odd shadows

disturbing specters
that disrupt my nights
disquiet my soul
steal my peace
they come unannounced
almost imperceptible

but no time for worry
there is still far to go
I am eager to move
drawn by the need to reach my ship
to reach safety

yet here I stand
momentarily motionless
immobile with dread
yet captivated by the haunting beauty
that is this planet’s rising moon
a translucent blue fractal orb
ever changing
mesmerizing

I shudder and sober
turn into the evening breeze
and venture onward
immersed in rolling amber and coral
spread glorious to the horizons
of this foreign world
receding with the setting suns

again the shadows shift
dull confusion finds me
I lose my pace
draw up in momentary halt

nagging concern engulfs me
panic pierces my solace
bewilderment grips me
unwelcome
it holds me
uncomfortable in my skin

these feelings sweep over me
clouding briefly my purpose
obscuring my destination

then they waft
I see across the darkening valley
my shuttle craft
my safety

urgently I proceed
but again my mind fogs
I wander
and once more lose focus

an eerie mist settles like a shroud
moonfall is coming
coming much too quickly
moonfall
the frightening night noises
unsettling dreams

mounting alarm
I believe I am in trouble

a sense of peril gnaws
builds
paralyzing fear
fear I will not make it back
before these suns go dark

I am afraid to lose this light
afraid to loose my way

afraid
so afraid

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

 

NOTE: this was originally posted 2/25/10

…discover what others believe and don’t believe at readwritepoem

Masquerade

…this poem was inspired by Halloween 2010 prompt #27 at Writer’s Island.

 

Masquerade

•

when donned the mask
the transformation
smoulders forth
the other

the fantasy
of your desire
carnal fire
on wings of dreams

she is she
and too
the other

unleashed at light
of passion’s moon
a masquerade
to ignite your soul

manifest at your request
sustained this night
at her delight

she is isis
she is venus

she is your every longing
loosed
to bring you every pleasure

she is everything
and all of this
bestowed
with aphrodite’s kiss

as you burn
remember this
beneath the mask
your real bliss

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

Emerge In Grace

…this tanka was inspired by prompt #26 at Writer’s Island,
and by prompt #139 at One Single Impression
.

 

Emerge In Grace

•

go down in trial

endure the tribulation

emerge rapt in grace

steeled by the tempering fire

molten molded pure and strong

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

Evening Grace


 
Evening Grace

~

as dusk descends
my stride holds steady
buoyed by the gentle embrace
of the downing golden sun

early shadows fall soft

vesper’s velvet blanket
drapes ’round my shoulders
envelops me in calm

there is still road to travel

eager to keep the journey
I’m drawn by the beauty
of the rising moon in sunset

coaxed by a soothing breeze
I venture on toward my love

rolling amber fires the lane
spreads warm ‘cross the horizon

mist begins to rise and waft

nestled in the valley
I see my hearth & home
guilded copper in this eventide

my heart quickens
stirred by this gorgeous vale
the ribbon of its brook
entwines my soul in wonder

my smile sweetens
my pace livens
I hum a quiet evensong
in the grace of this splendid day

~ ~ ~

rob kistner © 2010


…artwork entitled “Evening Glory” by: Steven Mitchell

  • click below to enjoy more poems at dVerse:

    Open Link #277 – Live edition

  • Emerald Eyes

    This poem is offered in response to prompt #25 for 2010 at Writer’s Island,
    also offered “off-topic” to the October 15th prompt at Big Tent Poetry.

    Emerald Eyes

    •

    emerald eyes captivate
    fix me in their gaze
    lift me
    carry me
    to the realm of unfinished dreams

    they strip me of fear
    longing
    of inhibition
    to render me transparent

    I rise weightless
    unburdened of care
    an untethered being of pure moment
    soaring through universes within universes

    a traveler in time and space
    ever-expanding consciousness
    aware of all
    riding the strand continuum
    drawing it forward
    reeling it back
    slipping all temporal bounds

    a being of universal presence
    adrift in the infinite now
    lost in the mystery
    veiled in those emerald eyes

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    No First Ink

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




    No First Ink

    •

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

    eyes droop and flicker
    aflame with spoiled sleep

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

    skull upon the finger bones
    in weighted indecision
    procrastination presses down

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

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

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

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

    the freedom of decision
    impossible to manage

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

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010


    Kisses Crimson-Gold

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    Kisses Crimson-Gold

    ~

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

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

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

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2010

    __________________

    Brightly coloured fall leaves in a forest stream

    Over The Edge

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

    Over The Edge

    •

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010


    Mag 33

    The Taste

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

    The Taste

    •

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

    lips lush as cognac
    open softly to kisses
    urgently linger

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

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

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

    so different now
    my hands angry with bloodshed
    innocence is lost

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

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

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