The Gig

 

…a musician’s tale told in multi-era players’ lingo…

 

The Gig

•

man we was cookin’
we maxed the zone
the gig
was flamin’ righteous

I was on my chops
hammered primo riffs
my fender
was really smokin’

our upright dude
laid down cool bottom
his big axe
thumped with thunder

the scene was jake
we was jammin’ smooth
our stick man
rocked his traps

we kicked our tunes
brought down the house
the night
was true far out

the leg were fox
freak, we were stoked
to my pad
we all were trukin’

but first château blanc
to down some slyders
sweet midnight
belly bombs

next the pony keg
to cop some kingers
to set
a mellow buzz

then down the rabbit hole
full blown away
to wrap
this trip pure golden

• • •

rob kistner © 2009

 

…following is the English interpretation

The Performance

we were playing quite good
one of our best performances ever

I personally was playing my guitar exceptionally well
technically and creatively

our bass guitar player was playing deep and strong

everybody present was having a great time
our drummer was playing his very best

every song sounded very good
the crowd reacted with tremendous applause

the women in attendance were beautiful
we all were able to secure dates and were going to my house

but first we went to White Castleâ„¢ restaurant
(a hamburger chain found throughout Midwestern USA)
for some hamburgers

then we stopped at a convenience store
to purchase some Schoenling Little Kings Cream Ale
(beer that comes in short 7oz. green bottles)

and had a wildly exciting party
that lasted until sunrise

 

• • •

…poem inspired by read write poem #61, found at “readwritepoem”

 

Late

Late

•

I’m awake late Christmas Eve
wrestling with what I believe
regarding the truth of Santa Clause
my parent’s proof is full of flaws

• • •

Ignorance falls like dark late night
a pitch so black there is no light
knowledge burning bright as flame
drives darkness back to where it came

• • •

I was born by dark of moon
a stormy night in late late June
it’s rained on every birthday after
my parties are devoid of laughter

• • •

O h this is bad, it’s our first date
and here I am two hours late
I have no quality excuse
maybe battery cables rattled loose
windshield shattered by a flying goose
the road was blocked by a stubborn moose
no… I’m turning back, ‘cause what’s the use

• • •

rob kistner © 2008

 

Lost To Me

Lost To Me

•

when you could
no longer
look
into my eyes

I knew
you were lost to me

when you could
no longer
hold
my longing gaze

I knew
you were lost to me

when you could
no longer
softly speak
my name

I knew
you were lost to me

when you could
no longer
smile
at my tender touch

warm
to my embrace

rest your head
upon my shoulder

nor
whisper
of your love

I knew then
for certain

you
were lost to me

never again
will I
soar
above the clouds

circle
‘round the sun

dance
among the stars

fold
with you
in the crescent
of the waning moon

never again
will I
drink deeply
from passion’s fount

nor
taste
a lover’s lips

you
are lost to me
forever

lost to me

• • •

rob kistner © 2008

Winter Tales (Midnight Snowfall / Winter / December Memories)

…here are three winter tales of beauty and love

Midnight Snowfall

____

in moonlit forest

midnight’s snowfall shimmers
through the boughs
of old growth

deep and still

as if spread by star clusters

it blankets
our high-mountain meadow
in crystal down

this night
fell quiet and crisp

a great white owl
echoes
through frosted cedar

lover and beloved

we entwine
‘neath winter’s window

with dreams
and one another

we sleep

in gentle slumber
we traverse
time
and space

adrift
in random wonder

we breathe
the ebb and flow
of nocturne

but I’ve awakened
in a winter
long ago

you
by firelight

warm and soft
in my arms

the night
that first we kissed

____

rob kistner © 2008

____________________________

Winter

(haiku)

____

coarse lands cloaked in white

lakes bejeweled in crystal

winter’s dressing hand

____

rob kistner © 2008

____________________________

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

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 © 2008

IMG_8595

____________________________

photo at top entitled: “Moonlit Snow”

collage above: “Winter Night Journey”

A moment

 

A Moment

____

a clearing
of filtered sunlight

high breezes whisper

nature murmurs
serenely

a downed Douglas slumbers

snug in the moist embrace
of a moss blanket

a heady pleasance

life is aligned
for a moment

____

rob kistner © 2008

 

Tears of the Ancients

 

 

Tears of the Ancients

•

the bones
of nature’s rivers
borne away
on strands
stained
with the ghosts
of salmon

• • •

rob kistner © 2008

_____________________

photo above entitled: “Drawing Lines in the Sky” — by: Martin Kingsley

• • •

…inspired by the hydro-electric dams choking the mighty Pacific Northwest rivers
and by read write image #3, found at “readwritepoem”.

 

Nocturne

 

A brooding full moon, in image, verse, and spoken word

Author’s note: this piece does not expose a secret, but instead, it deals with the weight and burden of keeping dark disturbing secrets buried away.

 

 

Nocturne

•

hawk moon hangs heavy
in the damp night sky

bulbous moist pearl
rolling
in a cold chromium fog

wet slivers of cloud
smear themselves
across its face

irregular

like translucent sacks
of moonbeams

breathing

glassine billowing pillows
oozing

soaked with midnight

stars float and spark
glinting
dripping
shivering

frozen splintered crystal tips
diamond chips
pinprick rips
in blackened space

they wink and wane
and flutter
shattered bits of silvered light

snapping here then not

behind the ghostly white
vapor that slithers
through the firmament

the world devoid of color
aglow in sterling grey
a negative of day

thick and chilled

filled with the sound
of stalking after-dark things

nocturne

the sorrowing hour
to lay bare your soul
in pale introspection

in grief of secrets

• • •

rob kistner © 2007

 

To hear poem read by author, click here:

 

Sacred

A hike into the Cascade Mountains, in image and verse.

Author’s note: It was a beautiful day for hiking here in Oregon, so I made a trek into the Mt. Hood wilderness — camera in hand, notebook and pen in my shirt pocket. This is my day, shared with you here, in image and verse. The photo is a shot of Lost Lake, through the trees, with Mt. Hood in reflection.

lostlake2.jpg

Sacred

•

my footfalls
drum the root chambers of the old growth

each step cushioned
by centuries of needle-drop
in this ancient forest

enjoying the rise and fall
twist and turn of the trail
I amble

feeling the smoothness of my walking stick
clutched comfortably in my right hand

an audible stir in the treetops

wind
wafting down the western Cascade slopes

invigorating

the steady rhythm of my footsteps

hypnotic

rounding a bend
brushing through waist-high fern
I crest a knoll
and stop

mesmerized

light drifts down dreamlike
filtered by the woodland canopy
settling golden around me

a power
a presence
is tangible

a breeze enfolds me

intoxicating

the scent of living earth
an addictive bouquet
cedar
Douglas fir
Ponderosa pine
moss
bark
loam
and ionized mountain air

my spirit rises
my being – weightless

I float away
lifted into oneness
wholeness

epiphonal

suddenly
I’m startled

a young doe bounds onto the trail
standing proud
golden in the light

she considers me briefly
then disappears
quick as a stolen glance
quiet as passing time

my eyes dart to find her
here then there
in vain

I catch a glimpse
silver-blue
shimmering
where massive trees part

wind-blown mountain water
crisp
clear
it sparkles

Lost Lake
the namesake of this trail
my reason for this trek into wilderness

climbing a boulder at trail’s edge
I sit
pull my legs under me
lean forward
elbows on knees

I face lake-ward
basking in the energy
of this natural cathedral

I become very still
listening
gazing

just being

in rapt wonderment
at the magnificence that surrounds me

this place is my church
this moment is my prayer

I am in touch with my soul

with the eternal

• • •

rob kistner © 2007