C racked and seasoned hands
reach with suffered care
to wrap the fingerboard
in love
callused digits
yellowed by habit
depress taut strings
blood and bone
connect
sculpting emotions
true life
from sitka spruce
and spiraled steel
knowing strains rise
Memphis Red
is
the blues
*
rob kistner © 2022
More prosery at: dVerse
~ SPOKEN WORD: Listen here to me tellin’ ya mo’bout bluesman, Memphis Red. ~
~ BELOW: Eric Gales sangin’ & professin’ some red hot Memphis blues! ~
Across the chasm of time
and great distance
memories unfold
vividly rich
like elaborate origami sculptures
fragile as the paper of an old map
opened and reopened a 1000 times
they are creased deeply
with sepia memories
heading east
cresting the great divide
beginning the decent
into the past
through these soaring ramparts
of sky-piercing mountains
I envision what lies ahead
forests
tier upon tier
of enormous sitka spruce
of scattered brewers
known as the weeping spruce
the most beautiful of the conifer
my mother loved them
whose branches in sunlight
following a summer rain
display raindrops
as a jeweler’s velvet
showcases diamonds
I hear the whispers
of wind-stirred
lawson cypress
towering ponderosa pine
and douglas fir
I inhale deeply
the tangerine-scented white fir
a heady fragrance
rivaled only
by the rough-tufted red cedar
the dogwood’s brilliant leaves
big-leaf maples
pendulous western maples
tight ranks of dark-green sadler oak
unfurl below me
still traveling my mind’s vistas
I see the golden shimmer
and I hear crisp crackle
of white-barked aspen
my father’s favorite tree
reminded him of Canada
his country of birth
these all still live and breath
in my younger-days heart
calling me forward
down into the valley
and across the planes
of a childhood long ago
this morning’s sun
came crisp and bright
enfolding my waking
in warmth
and vivid presence
as the world awoke
fresh and fascinating
I embarked early
after eggs
juice
toast and jelly
the sweet and salty taste
lingering
of a homecoming
too long overdue
my soul is full
my mind is clear
my heart — overflowing
but my sprit is tentative
when dusk settles this evening
and early shadows
fall soft across my face
I will round Miller’s Corner
as it comes into view
worn
withered
but warm with recall
my wooden framed
childhood home
abandoned now to ghosts
specters of a youth
spent surrounded by love
by laughter
by learning
and by loss
one of the ghosts
in that old house
is my mother
who passed within its walls
on a summer day
not unlike today
as I sat sobbing
in my room
down the hall
my father kept me from her room
he feared the sickness that took her
might take me
so I never really
got to say goodbye to her
nor goodbye to the laughter
that died that day
nor goodbye to the smile
on my father’s face
for it was never seen again
it disappeared
as did my father
into deep debilitating depression
shortly after mother passed
I was moved away
to live with my aunt
in Oregon
today I will return
to say a long delayed goodbye
to my mother
and to lay my father to rest
in the cemetery
behind the dilapidated old church
where once they wed
he will at last
join with his dear wife
my sweet mother
the women he loved so
that his joy died with her
a cloud of sorrow
sweeps my mind
momentarily obscuring
my purpose and destination
then the fog wafts
and again I envision
across the veiled valley
of time and change
the hearth and home
of my birth
long faded
into yesteryear
now
sweet recall
and those distant memories
pull me onward
I am sad
but it’s a bittersweet sadness
tomorrow
my father
will again
be with my mother
ghosts
in our old house
as I return
I pray his smile
will at last return
he deserves to smile
my mother loved his smile
I love them both
down out of the mountains
into the twilight
of final goodbyes
I redouble my pace
the sweetest of tears
cloud my eyes
*
The poem is fiction, the love is not.
*
rob kistner © 2022
Poetry at: The Sunday Muse
This song evokes memories of my father, who passed July 1983, at the age of 66.
Also of my son, who passed July 1985 is at the age of 18.
This is a poem of mine from 2008, published in the 2010 RWP Anthology. It incorporates 3 Lines from Norman Dubie’s “Of Politics & Art”. The borrowed lines are italicized.
Here
on the farthest point of the peninsula
an office building is burning
ignited by a single match
careless or criminal
not yet known
inconceivable
that such a structure
can be so wholly engulfed
but the fire was too fierce
and the distance too great
for rescue
but what of the fury
in that single first flame
to have leapt so viciously to consume
to ravage
to devastate so absolutely
it is always there
la nature du feu
like the rage of a repressed
and violated being
too long held down
unjustly deprived
confined
all potential denied
where there is great potential
spirit squelched
where there is great spirit
sometimes a whole civilization can be dying
until finally a single incident
the spark
unleashes a righteous inferno
that has no bounds
it is always there
la nature du feu
all around the good people gather
stare in disbelief
how is this possible here
out here on the peninsula
not realizing that such power to combust
to blaze so brilliantly
can only be suppressed for so long
it is always there
la nature du feu
ready to explode
like the fury in the head of that match
and when the smoulder becomes full flame
all will burn
out here on the peninsula
and in here
at the still and protected center
*
rob kistner © 2022
More prosery at: dVerse
more poetry at: earthweal
~ if the world does not learn, then it will surely burn ~
~ beautiful voice — beautiful woman — beautiful spirit ~
Ever folding in upon itself
in an infinite replication
as it expands to infinity
pattern upon pattern
in a complex unity
of cacophonic
harmony
of like form
differing layers
amorphous balance
in an eternal fracture
of evolving perfections
occurring simultaneously
on micro and macro planes
of mystery and comprehension
both appearing and disappearing
in the same linear moment of time
in this way
fractals mirror magic
and love
*
rob kistner © 2022
More prosery at: dVerse
More poems at: Poets & Storytellers
FIRST…
~ Dragon’s Tail ~ a fascinating brief 5-minute fractal journey
NEXT…
psychedelic mathematics
A mind-blowing 90 minute voyage into and through infinity?
* recommend you expand to full screen *
photo entitled: “routine” — by: Tres
He’d snap his shine cloth
tellin’ tales
of long ago
of joy
war
betrayal
pain
injustice
lost love
his Memphis “blues”
harsh wisdom
hard learned
his voice
sorrow tempered
laughter sweetened
broadleaf husky
smooth as Beale Street bourbon
warm eyes
turbulent as Big Muddy
inescapable deep currents
his weathered face
marked and scarred
by years of burden
of witness
he’d once held a woman’s heart
but she’d had it sliced away
leaving a scar
among scars
testaments
to his enduring soul
cracked and seasoned hands
wrap polished leather
in suffered care
callused fingers
yellowed by habit
roll the rhythm rag
pulling the shine
with sweat
spit
blood and bone
wiping away
broken promises
failed love
killing fields
cruel streets
back allies
the poppin’ slaps
resonate
in soulful cadence
lifting my worry
making my steps
feather light
a spit-shine supreme
like no other
will be again
*
rob kistner © 2022
More prosery at: dVerse
More poems at: Poets & Storytellers
This day
I come upon a stranger
standing by the road
looking sad
heavy box held in her arms
clutched close to her breast
she stares into my eyes
expressionless
her gaze stops me still
fixes me in place
her face
tired and drawn
any light in her eyes
is gone
I draw close enough to see
a vague familiarity
she lifts her eyes to mine
and deeply sighs
before you ask
I am sworn
a sorrowful task
a collector of tears
shed in moonlight
tears caused by one
who‘s not contrite
guilty of love’s betrayal
who’s inflicted painful strife
and staggering sorrow
into another’s broken life
she concludes
and offers out her hands
that open on the box
filled with apprehension
I reach and grasp the case
lift it cautiously from her grip
lower it to my feet
gently as I place
opening it slowly
hesitant and tense
to reveal its strange contents
a small dull crescent moon shape
suspended in a most beautiful
dark cerulean jar
mute with wonder
I behold
staring into the beautiful blue
haunted as I do
this is yours
she explains
it is the moonsoul
of the loversmoon
under which you fell in love
and under which again
you later broke your lover’s heart
she continues
every moon casts its spell
quite differently
this special loversmoon
belonged to you and she
but now this loversmoon has died
I am the shadow
of your lover’s sorrows
I will be gone tomorrow
but this night
I visit you
I collected this moonsoul
long ago
the night you broke her heart
kept in this jar of cerulean blue
I present it now to you
for you see
your lover’s soul
has passed on
she is gone
she need no longer carry
this heavy burden
she was a technicolor
wish-upon big-eyed dreamer
when first you met her
but she was cry-alone
stay-at-home broken
when you turned and left her
you are guilty
of the death
of the love you shared
snuffed by your cheating ways
now you must carry this moonsoul
until your end of days
her words fall heavy upon me
bring tears to my eyes
as I realize
the burden of this moonsoul
is mine beyond the grave
there is no one who can save
me from this awful plight
a pain that’s mine by right
eyes lowered in fatigue
forlornly
she sighs
and gently cries
it was on a moonlit night
like this
the painful burden
of this moonsoul
was set upon her broken heart
I have carried it
since she passed
but for too long
it’s now come to you
at last
looking into my eyes
as though my dark soul she can see
she points accusingly at me
you must now atone
for your destructive lies
for your lover’s broken heart
it is written
in the fool’s book of sorrows
what were her yesterdays
will now be your tomorrows
now you must bend and lift
and clutch this burden to your breast
to struggle with its weight
to feel its sad unrest
you now understand
what was your abandoned lover’s fate
your debt can no longer wait
the guilt that surrounds this moonsoul
the guilt you’ve avoided ‘til tonight
is now brought into the light
karma has caught up with you
as eventually it does
for the hurtful things we do
you slowly slayed
your special loversmoon
those times you were untrue
your lover’s been set free
now this guilt and sorrow
passes on to you
where certainly it should be
it’s now you must feel sad
and deeply sorry too
*
rob kistner © 2022
Poetry at: The Sunday Muse
~ The human heart is always magical, always beautiful, though sometimes blocked by fear. But it will always rise, like a glorious sun, if supported by peace, love, and understanding — and when joined together with listening, patience, and sharing. That is the inspiration behind this mixed media fiberart piece, and this Eleventh Power poem. ~
The surest path that can lead the heart to peace
is the embrace of a true uplifting love
it will allow fear and mistrust to release
the heart will rise and soar — peaceful as a dove
and one’s confidence and joy will then increase
as one feels the warmth of love — and strength thereof
an open mind is a step to find the key
to unlock an honest love that sets you free
to seek such treasure requires a willingness
to share your life — giving more, expecting less
these are the keys to find love and happiness
*
rob kistner © 2022
More Eleventh Power poetry at: dVerse
~ Inspiration: living in the Pacific Northwest, part of the Pacific Ring, knowing we are very susceptible to a first strike — this awareness, and the instability on the Asian Continent, combined with these ‘4’ juicy quotes I used, proffered by Linda, drew this out. ~
When did it happen
the all-defining fire mark in time
that forever divided then from now
alone again today
lost in time
walking through the forest
wading the stream
sorting my thoughts
obsessively
recalling in horror
the instant of the startling sound
the strange light
that drew my disbelieving eyes
to the very tops of these Douglas Firs
that surround me now
and then came the second blinding flash
lighting the entire sky
“oh my god” I had gasped
“the damned fools have finally done it”
I was traumatized
by the horrible realization
she trembled
as we held each other
I thought of the future
and spoke of the past
terrified of the present
what a fool I was
what really did I know
of the times
that bookended my life
or in which I was currently immersed
knew little useful
and understood less
I was feeling old
and so unaware
I’d become obsessed
always staring into the clouds
mumbling beneath my breath
it’s better to look at the sky
than live there
such an empty place
so vague
just a country
where the thunder goes
and from which death rains
more than obsessed
I was becoming untethered
maybe the older you grow
and the less easy it is
to put thought into action
maybe that’s why
it gets all locked up in your head
and becomes a burden
makes you crazy
and angry
and I certainly was
seeing clearly my uncertainty
feeling the weight
of my growing pessimism
she left me
I just stood
mute
watching her go
civilization now in upheaval
infrastructure has collapsed
I am isolated here now
wandering
day after day
alone
very alone
home is where you feel at home
I’m still looking
since she is gone
it’s been too long
since I have seen a human face
or looked into another’s eyes
looked into her eyes
or even found my voice to speak
but it’s really of no matter
is it
what can possibly be said
*
rob kistner © 2022
Poetry at: dVerse
more poetry at: earthweal
This is a poetry form I created. It is called a VERTICAL ENTWINE, and is 3 poems in one. Consists of 10 lines. The 1st, 3rd, 5th, 7th, and 9th line should be made up of several words each (5 or more) and when read descending are a complete poem number one. The 2nd, 4th, 6th, 8th, and 10th should be lines of one or two words, when read descending together are brief second complete poem. All ten lines, when read together, are a 44-word Quadrille. It does not have to rhyme, and should be center justified. Perhaps a short name for the form could be ‘Quatwine’.
Oh the peace, wandering the ancient
old growth
my spirit is alive embracing the magnificent
forest
my heart settles and slows its beating
so quiet
my thoughts expand to see the timeless truth
deeply
in this transcendent moment I celebrate all of life
sacred
*
Oh the peace, wandering the ancient
my spirit is alive embracing the magnificent
my heart settles and slows its beating
my thoughts expand to see the timeless truth
in this transcendent moment I celebrate all of life
*
Old growth
forest
so quiet
deeply
sacred
*
rob kistner © 2022
Poetry at: dVerse
Yes
it’s definitely a tough world
a fractured world
a frightening situation
feels like it’s all
coming completely apart
hard to keep going at times
damned difficult
keeping your head above water
mentally
emotionally
financially
spiritually
makes one crazy sometimes
the constant bad news
climate degradation
ecological collapse
runaway gas prices
pandemic
war
political turmoil
lies masquerading as truth
sometimes it’s just too much
almost makes you wanna hide
but remember
no matter how overwhelming
no matter how disheartening
even terrifying
things might be
you always have me
my love
and if we
as mindful inhabitants
of this fragile planet
will extend each other
patience
understanding
and love
this fractured world
can be nurtured and healed
and darkness will sustain no grip
…keep that love light burning!
*
rob kistner © 2022
Poetry at: The Sunday Muse
more poetry at: earthweal
even more poetry at: Poets & Storytellers
As a proud conscientious elder of the planet, I present — “The Dead”
…and Michael, in one of his finest moments…
~ a jazz cat ~
Damn man
try as I might my friend
I just can’t configure a chord
not with my pretty little
padded pussycat paws
nuh uh
not happenin’
if I strain my little toes
and stick my claws waaay out
I can almost get decent dyads
at least dissonant ones
ones I bet Ornette woulda liked
and probably Charlie too
but man
just ain’t no way
I can spread for a triad
major or minor
ain’t gettin’ there dude
but
wait a minute
maybe if I use my mouth
you know
kine’a ligh dis
nope
hell no
ain’t makin’ it
n’that hurt
but
wow
this middle “C”
tastes pretty damned good!
*
rob kistner © 2022
Poetry at: The Sunday Muse
Ornette Coleman and Charlie Haden
Molten round
the wolf’n eye
soft and round
the ripening breast
roundness
in the youngling’s fear
a circle round
the blood moon’s crest
there is a lie
in that circled moon
that surrounds
a cruel charade
it walks in shadows
collecting tears
‘til midnight’s debt
is fully paid
‘til innocence
is found to want
and purity
so deep defiled
that cold and soulless
canid eyes
will cleave the sweet
in the blood moon’s wild
and all that once
so tender pure
will on this night
turn beastly raw
and guilted hearts
will hide away
to deny at dawn
the truth they saw
*
rob kistner © 2022
Poetry at: The Sunday Muse
My footfalls
drum the root chambers
of the old growth
each step
cushioned by centuries of needle-drop
deep in this ancient forest
enjoying the rise and fall
twist and turn of the trail
I’ve circled a portion
of the cerulean mountain lake
crooked walking stick
smooth in my right hand
rounding a bend in the trail
brushing through waist-high fern
when to my left
in my peripheral
glimpses through the old-growth
flashes of rippled sterling
dance
sparkling in scattered sunlight
lost lake
old as time
steel deep
glacial cold
seductively enchanting
a few more steps
I crest a knoll
come upon a restless brook
and stop
mesmerized
I have arrived
wandering into my wonderland
filtered by the towering woodland canopy
light drifts down dreamlike
settles golden
into the natural cathedral before me
a downed giant redwood
the perfect natural alter
sacred and serene
were it a manmade cathedral
or a grande ballroom
truly gorgeous
might describe it
but this is so much more
breathtaking
falls short
even magnificent
feels wanting
a cool lake breeze
enfolds me
filled with the heady scent
of the living earth
cascade red cedar
douglas fir
ponderosa pine
moss
fern
bark
loam
wildflower
ionized mountain air
intoxicated
I grow very quiet
listening
with my soul
to the majestic still
breathing in the ancient
I become this moment
rapt
in touch with my spirit
with all of existence
with the eternal
transcendent
in this paradise
Mt Hood seen from Oregon Lakeshore Trail #656 just before old growth stand.
This is the natural gateway on Trail #656 opening on the old growth stand.
Both well over 200 feet tall, and hundreds of years old.
1/2 mile ahead you leave the path, wandering into the heart of the giants!
mighty sentinels
guardians of the old growth
may ever you stand
*
rob kistner © 2022
more wild stillness poetry at: earthweal
“Infinite Instance” by: rob kistner © 1997
This is a compilation of a few of the number of ecstatic pieces I have written since I started this blog 16 years ago. At age 75, I am in irreversible Stage D of CHF, and I have already had two near-death experiences. These reasons have drawn me to the question of the BIG WHY — and to pondering the essence of the infinite. There are more similar pieces I’ve written over the 16 years. You are welcome to further explore my Image & Verse to find more, if you are drawn to this ‘wondering’ as I am. The inspiration threads of all these pieces intertwine and evolve — as my perceptions grow and morph. They are point-in-time personal observations, not presented as any form of universal truth — other than to me in that moment.
I offer you this brief back story, to provide insight to these pieces below. I personally embrace the First Law of Thermodynamics, namely: “Energy can be changed from one form to another, but it cannot be created or destroyed. The total amount of energy and matter in the Universe remains constant, merely changing from one form to another.” I believe we humans are just one possible form energy takes. The “I/Me Awareness” we each experience personally, is an element of each of our ‘human hosts’, and does not travel with the core energy we individually embody, as it moves to its next form.
Paint me coral
darling
or poppy red
even tangerine
paint my lips
a soft rose
paint my carnal thoughts
serene
paint me
with the soft brushes
like wings of a dove
paint me
with the sable brushes
of hot impassioned love
stroke’em sensually eager
‘cross my glistening skin
and as I start to swoon
paint me once again
paint me
all up and down
with deep magenta lust
then accent all my edges
with sparkling golden dust
paint me lonely
paint me sad
paint me fragile
paint me mad
just paint me oh so good
because I am sooo bad
painted human body art — by: Alexa Meade
paint me bare naked aching
paint every rise — every fall
I love the liberties your takingk
paint me slowly — paint it all
paint my beating heart
a sultry saffron gold
then paint my tender secret parts
make your brushstrokes bold
titillate me tiger
with your special
mink-tipped brush
paint me a randy red-orange
make me gasp
a shameless blush
paint me wilding
paint me crazy
paint me moaning
paint me hush
just paint me long
and languid
and lecherously lush
paint my skin a steamy smolder
just let it all flow fully
please paint me lil’rough my lover
I like a bit’a bully
or fingerpaint me
in a frenzy
while my mind spins
and cannot think
paint me peach
paint me salmon
paint me lemon
paint me pink
should you run out of brushes
and exhaust your fingertips
paint me scarlet with fired kisses
make the final strokes
with your lips
*
rob kistner © 2022
Poetry at: The Sunday Muse
Poetry at: Poets & Storytellers
Self Portrait — by: Alexa Meade