•
memories of you
ripples on a mirrored lake
rise and drift gently
into the golden sunlight
carrying me on their crest
• • •
Joie de Vivre
•
clear blue summer sky
deep azure crystalline lake
cool breeze on my face
fresh scent of water lilies
ripples gently lap the boat
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
•
there is no half-eaten answer
with which to embellish
or to skirt the evidence
the stench of truth
permeates the debris of proof
in a swarm of crusted guilt
the orphaned child of supposition
abandoned on the dock of iniquity
impaled by the chant of sterile innuendo
wearing a temporary backbone
fashioned of suffering
and the tears of innocence
to witness the violent clash
of malevolence and courage
and remain forever mute
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
•
I’d like to make myself believe
the dream I dreamt as a young man
that we can change the world’s heart
to embrace love for one another
I’d like to make myself believe
people are by nature good
that we can live in peace
and make the world a better place
I’d like to make myself believe
universal understanding
is a common goal
of the peoples of this planet
I’d like to make myself believe
we haven’t lost our faith
in these sacrosanct ideals
of an elevated life
I’d like to make myself believe
there still exists somewhere
a shared and nurtured vision
of a paradise on earth
I’d like to make myself believe
but empty runs the hourglass
again I’ve heard the daily news
and I’m so weary, and brokenhearted
yes, I’d like to make myself believe
I’d like to, really like to
but sometimes now I even wonder
if anyone ever truly did
• • •
_________________
Time Running Out
•
once demure discourse
now rhetoric to offend
volatile neighbors
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
• haiku above also offered for the visual prompt Mag 23 at Magpie Tales,
and the September 15th prompt at Three Word Wednesday.
Mag 23
(bastard’s lament)
•
undesired
discarded
thrown away
though whole
sound
and useful
no matter
labeled mistake
misbegotten
unfortunate
shown the back
outside
looking in
left behind
alone
by the side
of life’s road
to endure
the harsh weather
of abandonment
tried
convicted
sentenced for life
to suffer confusion
shame
the sorrow
of the unwanted
condemned
guilty only
of the crime
of inconvenience
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
(a poetic quadratych)
•
The Secret
what I said was
don’t touch
go away
leave me be
while inside
I cried out
draw near
stay with me
you are light
you are pure
you are joy
you are free
I am not
I am dark
I am beast
can’t you see
without you
there is much
you don’t know
about me
The Revelation
I lived at the light’s edge
that pooled in the night
on the bleak back streets
of the sad brokenhearted
I hid in the anguish
of the loveless who cowered
in the dark nightmare alleys
of the lost and forgotten
I fed on the grief
of the mourners who wailed
for their horrific loss
in the ruins of death
this was my heartscape
black as mid-winter night
a lightless horizon
no glimmer of hope
trusting was toxic
no foothold for love
relations were carnage
scattered lifeless and cold
The Change
’til a beautiful being
eyes brilliant and true
approached from afar
bearing tinder of love
the graceful arrangement
was deftly ignited
and patiently tended
the fire gently stoked
afraid to come forward
I held outside the glow
but your kindness drew me
we stood by the blaze
with passion it roared
its light pierced my blackness
its heat thawed my soul
my cold heart was warmed
The Miracle
you wrapped yourself ‘round me
gazed into my eyes
your kiss soft and serene
was the essence of healing
with you in my life
I am darkness removed
soaring and weightless
radiant and rising
vital and caring
my spirit’s renewed
illuminated wholly
by a new dawn of dreams
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
version 1
I taste you like a peach
sweet juice trickles to my chin
I bite you like an Apple
your crisp laughter fills my ears
I devour you like a strawberry
tart and succulent on my tongue
I drink you like thick nectar
you flow rich into my soul
I desire you completely
longing to be fulfilled
I consume you wholly
flushed with wanton pleasure
____
version 2
my mouth on you
soft
like a peach
you glisten
trickle from my lips
I bite you
sweet
like an apple
your hushed breath
staccato crisp
you taste
tart as a strawberry
succulent
as love’s nectar
a delicious
wanton pleasure
____
rob kistner © 2010
…a short story of intrigue…
•
“What do you mean Taylor,†Gwen inquired, the strain obvious in her weary voice. “Who exactly is going to confront Dylan… and why?â€
Her voice trailed off to an exasperated whisper. The why was not so much a question, as an exhalation of confused frustration. She seemed to know the answer was much too complicated to address at this hour, and she was too spent, physically and emotionally, to want to hear it.
Gwen turned away from Taylor, head lowered. Her arms fell limp at her side, fingers splayed. She was trying her best to process what Taylor was saying, to understand him – to understand the recent events that had brought her to this place in time… trying to make sense of anything. Her head was spinning, and she could feel the fatigue deep in her bones.
She dropped back onto the sofa, half sitting, half lying down – an exhausted slouch. She felt paralyzed, thoughts racing through her mind – fragmented, disconnected thoughts. If only she could clear her head. She was in trouble.
Continue reading The Box
______________
AUTHOR’S NOTE: I had this incomplete 3-year-old draft of my poem “True Work” (loosely inspired by Gary Snyder’s “Real Work”). I had wanted, for some time, to edit it into a piece, with which I would be more satisfied. The above listed prompt inspired me to create a suite of poetry, threaded together by the phrase: true work. My focus for this suite being humanity, which was the crux of the “True Work” draft I already had. The digital rendering I created of the hand holding the world helped me finish my vision of this poetry suite.
the first test – no result
I try a second
then a third
on and on
day after day
long hours in the lab
the formula must be perfect
only perfect will save lives
drywall must be flush
and plumb
also square and seamless
meticulously
I set each sheet
with the level and the bob
then pause
to wipe my sweating brow
I curse the clay
do battle with fatigue
I coax my muse
to commit to form
the first draft of my vision
to then modify
and remold
until the ultimate creation
these are elements of the work I do
or did
or may yet do
and I am you
and you are me
and we are all together
in this endeavor of our daily life
but this is not our true work
to bend to lift someone in need
to help carry their burden
until they again stand steady
to seek the components of peace
to formulate the dialog
that fosters understanding
to measure well tolerance
to stand squarely flush
with truth and level justice
to visualize universal love
to create the enduring model
for a free and vital world
this — is our true work
so little done
so much to do
* * *
If Only
____
stressed beyond limits
earth’s fragile balance falters
but this can be changed
her future is in our hands
if only we do true work
* * *
Endeavor
____
abstain from false pride
prayer does not a halo make
that requires true work
____
rob kistner © 2010
* photorendering above entitled “In Our Hands”
by: rob kistner © 2010
years spun wild as a top
around faster ever faster
life layering its patina
etched deeply in my face
suddenly no longer young
now looking back from 63
I’ve known triumph I’ve known tragedy
they’ve marked me both the same
I’ve borrowed bought and sold
strayed through several shades of grey
but have I leveraged my soul
just to play the fleeting game
I pray I will not be an old man
gazing lonely out my window
trying to remember
exactly how long it has rained
not sitting silent by the fire
lost in contemplation
wondering if all I lost
was worth what it was I gained
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
•
you wink awake at morning’s light
beckoning me to focused task
prompting me of promise
you collaborate
in my keeping touch
in work dispatched
in thoughts transcribed
in matters pure creative
you are my portal into virtual space
to probe mysteries
the vast unknown
the tool I wield
to unearth facts
dig the dirt
to search for truth
tightly spun
within the web
you tend my life
make all cogs turn
my instrument of whim
device of my distraction
are you my submissive
or master of my will
when you’ve surpassed my vision
will you serve me still
have I the power to shut you down
turn my back
walk away
to truly let you keep
in the deep subconscious
does your machine mind
really sleep
• • •
TechReGret
(a lighthearted tanka)
•
my laptop’s frozen
and my cell phone’s out of range
it’s at these times when
I think how life used to be
hand-written letters have soul
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
IN CLOSING: We live a in a world immersed, if not drowning, in technology. The idealistic and naive early vision was to create technology to serve us, make life easier, less complicated – but the joke is on us. We now serve the technology, and life is more complicated — traveling at a pace we struggle to keep up with. We’ve leveraged our peace of mind in the misguided pursuit of leisure. Is there a remedy? If we do not open a global dialog focused at finding ‘balance’, the situation will, I believe, resolve itself – and the world will not like, and may not survive, the ultimate solution.
As James Martin, one of our great modern thinkers and author of the “The Meaning of the 21st Century” points out in his most optimistic and uplifting book, man stands on the threshold of either the greatest era in human history, or the end of life as we know it – the outcome rests in our hands.
I wrote an essay back in 2007 which deals with humankind’s strange relationship with the technology we’ve created. You can click here if you would like to read it. …rob
•
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
•
icy round
the wolf’n eye
soft and round
the riding breast
roundness
in the grande dame’s fear
a circle round
the blood moon’s crest
there are lies
within that circled moon
that surround
this cruel charade
they gather
and collect the tears
‘til midnight’s debt
is fully paid
‘til innocence
is found to want
and purity
so deep defiled
that cold and soulless
lupen eyes
will cleave the sweet
in red and wild
and all that once
was tender
will on this night
turn beastly raw
and guilted
hearts be locked away
to deny at dawn’s light
the truth they saw
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
•
yesterday is money spent
a corner turned
the choice that’s made
the tear that’s shed
the sentence spoken
the breath exhaled
the fuel consumed
it’s burned to ash
today is influence
momentum moving
the raindrop falling
hands on the wheel
the river flowing
the voice that’s singing
it’s face to face
it’s real time
tomorrow is the land of dreams
it’s the great unknown
the wheel of fate
it’s the far horizon
the dawn approaching
the planted seed
has no guarantee
yet it’s full of promise
• • •
Continuum Redux
•
yesterday was once today
today likewise was once tomorrow
tomorrow will be yesterday
but first it must become today
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
…in response to the 13th prompt of 2010 on Writer’s Island, I offer a piece I wrote inspired by Joni Michell’s album entitled “Don Juan’s Reckless Daughter”. Embedded in this work is the title of every track that appears on that album / also for prompt #126 ‘Angel’ at One Single Impression…
I am your brood
sired by your seed
bloodied
from your womb
whisper
in a scorching breath
tell me about
the tenth world
taunt me
in scalded apparition
tell me how
to get to dreamland
to cotton avenue
on a hot off night
back street in jericho
tell me of the fires
on paprika plains
that consumed your souls
in flames of hunger
to lust
for immortality
made you dance
at midnight
wrapped in
the silky veils of ardor
on prurient
smoldered embers
I want to go
I am ready
an inferno burns
inside me
desire rages strong
to ride the bliss of sin
son of concupiscence
I am
your son
your lifeblood
courses through me
hammers in my temples
sets my heart ablaze
impassioned
I wil prowl
the shadow’d haunts
of jericho
the dark places
of the tenth world
following your ghosts
seeking
don jaun’s reckless daughter
my scarlet jezebel
my nocturne angel
to take me
in a fever
to whirl me ‘round
to burn me down
to ash
to scatter me
by moonlight
forever
in the winds
of memory
on those plains
of ardor
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
…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