Category: Poetry

G athered by the stoney wall
the ever curious crows carous
they bob and caw as they creep
then fly up to birch tree boughs

nearby a young girl sits quiet
by the open window of her room
distracted by this crowish riot
she’s weaving grief with her loom

the silken yarn ensnares her dreams
she stops the shuttle’s pull and shove
the crow’s shriek in pitiful screams
as she cries thinking of her lost love

she is so lonely here in her room
tears like rain fall in the gloom

be gone now noisy birds of black
clustered in this chilling rain
her lover’s never coming back
her broken heart is drenched in pain

be gone crows you’re causing sorrow
with your heartless crazy clatter
she knows her love has no tomorrow
as she’s feeling her world shatter

she mourns here in her lonely room
her tears like rain in heavy gloom

*
rob kistner © 2023

Poetry at: dVerse

The lady dropped the gaga schtick here as Stefani Germanotta sang from her heart…

…Magnificently!

A starletically fine mirrormiz
with softical smile
swings a steply swell stutlybounce
in rare girlygood style
zoomening sultrification
that erosinates awhile

but I won’t slobbernly droolenate
on her poutifuss chubens
nor tenderliciously ogglenate
her mygodli bububbin
cause it’s time to upenleavenate
the husbandalical‘s comin’

*
rob kistner © 2023

Poetry at: dVerse

D arkness traps
my drumthrummed head
in this black nocturnal nest

this perversely born fantazury

midnight’s mad menagerie’s
zoomzooming in
this blueblack world

disgusting curiosities
bruteflung to hideousity

perverted serendipity
swarms in crazed horrorifity

mind ghouls shake
and shiver me

oh gentle morne
deliver me

*
rob kistner © 2023

Poetry at: dVerse

B eware this lethal beauty
the bewitching queen of ice
she may once bestow her charms
but it will not happen twice

her chill lure is deadly
she’s feared in all the land
the finest poets of the realm
tell her tale in lyrics grand

she seduces her victims
with an ice-hot pout
once inside her chamber
they never again come out

this icy queen is killer cunning
her victims never see her coming

she has a sweet magic apple
even the wisest cannot resist
one bite of the tender part
willpower ceases to exist

you become her spineless puppet
to do with exactly what she will
to freeze your beating heart
this is ice queen’s biggest thrill

abandoned at the altar
on a frozen winter day
since that cold betrayal
she lashes out this brutal way

this icy queen is killer cunning
her victims never see her coming

*
rob kistner © 2023

Poetry at: The Sunday Muse

hope gently stirs

a promising breeze
blackspot fragrant
begins to freshen
headily potent

it wafts
and builds
gathers strength

heartbeat quickens

anticipation
spirals anew

the building currents
fill flush my wings

then
an urgent lurch
as the moment arrives

my wings fill
then billow out
sculpted taut

caught full
by this mounting gust
it lifts with grace

rises with purpose
carrying me gently aloft
into a sky of dreams

I grip firm
with deft hands

then
with crystalline eye
I guide my crimson
sendal wedge
safely airborne

sailing upwardly loosed
untethered
of earth’s constraints

further
faster
ever higher I ascend

I can see
for miles
and miles

far as
the fires
of the future

close as
the frozen
furthermores

my visions
carried skyward
on sweetest drafts

empowered
by bolstering
winds of fair fortune

this day my silken span
has taken flight
boldly aloft
into the clear bright sky

with an uplifting wind
my craft
of red red wings
— fragile as a fantasy
soars strong
and steady

a sudden gust

I am jostled

but my nimble grasp
keeps my scarlet glider
on the rise
ever skyward

should winds
like fortune
turn
and the sky grow still

my silken wings
in the faces of fate
will falter

weather
like life
makes no guarantee

but such is the thrill
and wild abandon
of soaring

*
rob kistner © 2023

Poetry at: The Sunday Muse

S till
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 for now
is still

sleep love
to heal

Kathy Kistner

*
rob kistner © 2023

Poetry at: dVerse

OLN poetry at: dVerse

T he garment of demands
in which we are dressed
when we are young
is often most awkward
as it’s poorly fitted

but the self-tailored cloak
of expectation
we put on
when we are grown
can be more difficult
to wear
as it’s pressure fit

*
rob kistner © 2023

Poetry at: dVerse

I remember you as mad March erupts
wildflowers beauty, especially gold buttercups
winter’s made them all wait quite long enough
these gorgeous mavericks always lifted us up

I remember you loved these raucous renegades
spreading color on fields, hills, and glades
in a hundred bright hues and as many shades
even painting steep slopes in rich cascades

I remember the beauty you saw in these weeds
that indiscriminately dispersed their seeds
to grow free as were their untamed needs
for you understood how a wild heart bleeds

I remember you in our special park in May
in the cool Spring breeze at the end of day
on the silvered beach of a white-capped bay
at the mouth of that moonlit waterway

I remember you in the shady arbor park
on a soft matt of fallen aspen bark
to the Summer song of a meadow lark
on sunny days ‘til after it got dark

I remember you by the garden wall
in the dappled shade of that willow tall
on the scattered down of its leafy sprawl
on those crisp, and heady days in Fall

I remember you by the old oaken mill
‘neath autumn’s trees on that grassy hill
when we’d make sweet love in the early chill
I remember with tears, our every lover’s thrill
as free as those wildflowers, I remember you still
and ‘til my seasons all are gone, love, I always will

“Even a beautiful flower has its season.”

*
rob kistner © 2023

Poetry at: dVerse

Flyfishing is zen on adrenaline.

*
rob kistner © 2023

More poetry at: dVerse

~ save our world – only we can ~

Hear me
hear my wolf’s song
as I keen and howl
for our dying world

so too
you must howl
raise your human voices
use your words
use them now

poets raise your pens

scream of the injustice
of the real danger
the imminent danger

we must rally
to seek
and to secure
the sacred balance

hold it close
become its protector

correct your imbalance
with our mother earth

stop your human stupidity
please

I believe
with all the wildness
of my natural heart
with all the strength
of my free spirit
that some of you
want to do your part

want to join the battle

my kind
and our earth must trust
that you will
because you must

life on our earth
is dying
but it seems most humans
are just not trying

your carelessness
is killing our mother
gaia
and killing you and I
a result of your
lethal human arrogance
and this might just be
our final chance
to make it

we must take it

see me human
feel me
hear me
it’s time you start

you must listen
now

ignite your wild heart!

*
rob kistner © 2023

Poetry at: The Sunday Muse

Hey crow
I see you there
I feel your stare

wondering why
I’m stooped and low
running slow
unwinding in this rockin’ chair

I am tired crow

seen too much
way too much

more that I care
to see

bent and bewildered
this is it
for me

for years these hands
swept ‘round my face
I clocked on
to keep the pace
now I’m not movin’
from this fuckin’ place

my time’s run out
I’m just so tired
crow

exhausted by foolish humans
who believed time didn’t matter
that there would always be enough

enough to turn things around
they were sure there’d always be

to make up for their disregard
for their careless mistakes
their unchecked abuse
for their terminal stupidity

no hurry
they thought

no worry
we’ll do it later
another time
it’s time we got

tomorrow
we’ll do it tomorrow
there’s always tomorrow
we can allot

they just kept watchin’ me
slippin’ slippin‘ slippin‘
away

now time enough
may be what there’s not

guess what
I’m the time they needed
and my times up

tomorrow’s here
and gone
I’m movin’ on

they’ve run out the clock

like children playing with bubbles
the recklessness didn’t stop
now the bubble’s about to pop

they should’a known
time does not stand still
I never will

but for now
I’m sittin’
gittin’ a breather

they wasted me
and I’m too spent
to help them

at this moment
I refuse

I’m squandered
they lose

what’s left
may soon be yours
to use

crow

ya’ never know

*
rob kistner © 2023

Poetry at: The Sunday Muse

What have I done dog
such a fool am I
fool on this hill
head lost in the sky
what have I done
I’ve let our love song die

when the fire of love
flickers dims and dies
and a shadow falls
deep in darkened eyes
hollow words of love
become but empty lies

and dog, like a fool
regrettably I have lied
watched ashamed and mute
as our love song died

what a foolish thing I’ve done
to have unsung our love song

that open door
of her tender heart
has swung quietly closed
round the fragile part

she has locked me out dog
turned her back
turned off her love-light
it’s gone brightly black

and dog — much to my sad chagrin
there seems to be no back door in

what once was sweet and effortless
can never truly again feel right
and the fall began so near unseen
as though but the passing of a night

my heart is broken dog
my worthless heart

I remember well this morning
when the chill dawn broke
not tenderness nor warmth awoke
a loneliness encircled slow
I reached for the one that I love so

but she shrunk away dog
does not want my touch

it’s true dog — sadly so
I’m lost for words to say
she is fed up with me dog
she has turned coldly away

at night she is still
within arm’s reach
but I sense the void
I feel the breach

yes, these nights
she still shares my bed
but when I roll and turn
then lift my head
to search her face
in the predawn glow
whose eyes those are
I no longer know

she sees me blankly dog
her stare is hollow

oh I wish I could unsay
the thoughtless words I said
could unsee her sorrow
as she turned away in bed
could unhear her tears
that echo in my head
hadn’t unsung our love song
but harmonized instead

dog — what a fool am I
to have let it die
I just stop trying
as love was dying

dog — I feel her tears
can’t simply run away
after all these loving years
can’t let it end this way

but love’s slowly dying
night after empty night
how can we be whole again
don’t know how to make it right

like a piercing painful clarity
I feel it dog
I see it
I know

oh
if I could but unknow

last night
as she lay next to me
sobbing soft and quietly
it was very clear to see

though
she had yet to go
I knew her heart
left long ago

*
rob kistner © 2023

More poetry at: dVerse

W ith gentle nudges
dad’s hushed deep voice
urges me from the cocoon
of my toasty morning covers

“wake up Bobby”
my childhood moniker
“I’m gonna make us breakfast
then those fish better beware”

my old man’s breakfasts were amazing
so I was already salivating

peeking from under the covers
I see my father’s eyes
warm and tender
coaxing me out of bed
but I slide back under the warmth

dad was burly strong
but gentle as a lake breeze

I can hear muffled footsteps
the creak of an iron door
then a wooden — thunk … thunk
fresh kindling being loaded
into the stove’s fire chamber

then the scuffing of forged ore
as a heavy iron poker
probes the iron fire chamber
coaxing a glowing ember bed
to ignite the fresh logs
my daddy’s hands lovingly at work
nimble… and so capable

“this is gonna catch quickly
start gettin’ up son
sure hope you’re hungry”

staggered, softly percusssive
phuft phuft — phufts
announce lengths of virgin fuel
bursting to crackling flame

I poke my eager head back out
into the damp morning chill
of Ontario semi-darkness
as the big black stove
groans to full life

a welcomed burgeoning heat
begins permeating the cabin

the soft glow and muffled hiss
of dad’s Coleman lantern
clutches at the darkness
as dad clunks and shuffles
the bulky iron skillets
atop the rapidly heating stove

“breakfast is coming son”
dad proclaims
a smile in his voice
“Canadian bacon, cakes ‘n eggs”
his statement accompanied
by the sizzle and aroma
of strips crisping in the pan

hungry — I finally slide from bed
excited and shivering
imagining this day of fishing
that lies ahead

slipping on my robe
I go to the window
where the tin bowl
of kettle-warmed water
rests on a small table
waiting for me to soap
my morning face and hands

through the cabin window
I still see a myriad of stars
in the clear northern heavens
above our wilderness island

small waves lap at our stone shore
occasionally knocking our boat
laden with our fishing gear
against our weathered wooden dock

I see the Espanola sky
just beginning to lighten
and hear the pre-dawn loons
ending their nightly serenade
calling out across the misty lake
rippling in the soft early AM breeze

as I stand washing up
I continue to reflect

the love and respect of wilderness
what a beautiful gift he gave
loving father to son

how lucky I am to be here
fishing with my father
this amazing man
who adopted me
saved me

at that moment
I’m snapped from my reverie
by his kind voice…

“breakfast is ready”

*
rob kistner © 2023

Poetry OLN at: dVerse
 

”Miss you everyday Dad — forever my hero”

Be it with your son or daughter, this is what fishing really is…

A sight and sound that I cherish…

Photo Manipulation — Dariusz Klimczak

Time lumbers ‘cross the voids
and over the barriers
aloof to what order
or chaos it might author

sweeping us helplessly along
in its relentless momentum
in a linear forward thrust

ever carrying us to our point
of involuntary final dispatch

regardless of our readiness
to declare as fully finished
what we have self-identified
as our purpose for existence

Photo Manipulation — Dariusz Klimczak

yet another held call
on time’s party line
amassing in empty space
when connected complete
will ultimatdly define us
by labeling our life’s journey

the core question
that ought be pondered
in the final analysis
of our achievement

what will in the end
be the consensus perception
of us as a human being

will we be seen as a tree
that has borne fruit
or seen instead
as a reedy barren husk

when the critical track
of our time on earth
be examined in rewind
by witness of coming time
and all future generations

will we come to be judged
as the cause and creation
of a worthwhile destiny
or simply and meaninglessly
as time’s poor random victim

it is by this pinnacle finding
we’ll be deemed either a success
or a noncontributing drain
on our planet’s valuable resources

as an elder of our human clan
I suggest we all ponder carefully

if one still enjoys time enough
and is blessed with sustained facility
one need be compelled by better judgement
to act prudently in this accord
and to do so mindfully and timely

a life of dignity and merit
leaves a positive footprint in time

…just sayin’

Photo Manipulation — Dariusz Klimczak

*
rob kistner © 2023

Poetry at: The Sunday Muse

photo by: Marketa Novak

There is a quiet golden
in this evening as it settles
unequaled in its beauty
by even that of precious metals

fox and goddess — in this waning hour
the forest bows gently at your feet
golden amber paints the eager land
rolling in twilight’s soothing heat

it dances in the silken air
ignites your copper hair in smolders
folds its warmth upon your bejeweled face
as foliage fondles ’round your shoulders

it spins special magic in the canopy
as though dreams are coming true
paints the forest in sensual splendor
almost as beautiful as you

sweet goddess of the forest
in this moment you catch fire
my frail heart’s a helpless tinder
sparked to flame by love’s desire

as you repose in goddess splendor
you fan further my love’s fire
your beauty touched by the divine
drives the wild flames ever higher

caught in your beauty’s reaching flame
I’m filled with passion’s yearning
my captive soul has roared ablaze
please m’lady — don’t leave me burning

before I am but all consumed
quench me with your goddess kiss
for if I am to be consumed
I pray it be by heady bliss

photo by: Marketa Novak

*
original written & posted: rob kistner © 3/2/2022
expanded edit posted: rob kistner © 3/16/2023

Another related forest poem I wrote: In The Glow

Poetry at: The Sunday Muse

More poetry at: dVerse

~ songs by a true goddess ~