I dream
sculpting visions
that strip bare raw emotions
exposing full my troubled soul
to stare deep
at last
into what it is
that so frightens me
and in this harrowed
grief of secrets
glimpse
if but for a moment
the sacred release
that will set me free
rob kistner © 2019
rob kistner © 2019
art is not
the possession of the artist
for art possesses
art is not
solid or rigid
art is
pliable
liquid
vaporous
art does not exist
out there
art exists
within
as limitless
as those who behold it
art is not
physical manifestation
art is
metaphysical
art is not
the thing
art is
the experience
art is the source
and destination
art is the consumer
and the consumed
art is the query
and the response
art is the coming
and the going
art is the beginning
and the end
art is the light
and the darkness
art is the sorrow
and the joy
art is the fact
and the fiction
art is the pain
and the pleasure
art is the madness
and the reason
is a soup can art?
as art is
art is
rob kistner © 2019
“This portrait is a portrait of courage, written to share my belief that quality of life is a matter of attitude. The positive attitude that begets the gratitude to be alive. I am a writer, always drawing on fact and intelligent fiction to write meaningful works”
he may be immobile
legs withered useless
confined to others’ care
and his rolling metal chair
but he’s a dude
black nike high-tops
black denim slacks
skin-tight black t-shirt
black leather wristband
cool smile
on a rugged face
total bad-ass
but his gentle eyes
reflect a wonder
my jaded heart
has long since lost
by vanity
sadly extinguished
his spirit knows only trust
it pours forth from his soul
hoisted lovingly
above the crowd
he is enthralled
by the rhythm
enraptured
by the magic
the guitar soars
the saxman wails
the singer roars
the drummer flails
he rocks and waves
fist pumps and sways
joy’s so widespread
he throws back his head
fully alive
locked in the moment
consumed
by every note
every beat
every nuance
he experiences an ecstasy
at which I can only marvel
oh, if I could but feel
the purity of joy
this special being feels
so complete
so unencumbered
rob kistner © 2019
NOTE: This portrait is a composite of 3 people. Two in this composite are real, and the third is my imaginings regarding the great courage of the man, unknown to me, pictured in the amazing photo above. The first in my personal life is Barry, my lifelong friend and former business partner, now confined to a chair with MS. He is a brilliant photographer. I have written about Barry before here on Image & Verse, and shown some of his remarkable work. The 2nd is a man I met during cardiac rehabilitation, following the 2017 implantation of my pacemaker, after my 4th heart attack. He is a physical therapist with a severed lower spinal cord. Both these guys are amazing dudes, and deserving of a portrait in courage.
but
just more silence
always silence
so he left it
just as he had found it
and with a shrug
turned
and walked away
saying nothing
this was
after all
always her way
he never knew
quite where her head was
to comment
would have been irrelevant
and he’d grown so weary
of irrelevance
so very weary
today
he goes away
no more comments
no farewell
rob kistner © 2019
quicksilver moon
readies her night’s course
marksman’s sharp eye’s set
his duty he’ll enforce
marksman locks the horizon
solid in his sight
fires the sunset gun
beckoning forth the night
rob kistner © 2019
shadows slink in this dark’ning room
‘cross cold silk curtains soaked with gloom
echoes of a lover’s dirge enflame my sorrow
a refrain of grief in this gilded tomb
rob kistner © 2019
time can be my deliverance
but time moves slowly
through this thick pooling light
and time’s fickle
under this uncertain moon
~ ~ ~
rob kistner © 2019
NOTE: Images by: McMonster
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=-NjdfOoPK9c
Shoo, swat, smack, ouch, damn, scratch… it’s amazing! Seven people sitting here on the deck, talking and enjoying the stars — and I’m the only one doing battle with these invisible blood-sucking bastards. I look like I’ve been stricken with St Vitus’ dance, or in the throes of a damned seizure. I don’t mean to make light of those two unfortunate conditions — they are not laughing matters. But neither are these infuriatingly itchy welts rising on my flesh.
And mosquito repellent, what a joke. About the only thing this crap repels is my little Shih Tzu, Edgrrr, when I come back in the house smelling like a chemical dump. I have tried creams, salves, ointments, oils, sprays, powders, even a special hi-tech invisible electronic barrier. Oh sure, like that really worked!
The only thing I know for certain can offer protection against those micro-monsters is me, for anyone else sitting with me. You are safe from the attack of the Culicidae horde if I am anywhere near. I am the preferred target, and all my friends and family know it. There is one benefit to being “skeeter-magnet” me — I do get invited to a lot of summer picnics and deck parties.
rob kistner © 2019
cand broken dreams
for he was a spoiled promise
from long ago
left too long
on silent lips
he tried raising a hand
to gesture a wave
but he was stone
lifeles
rigid
cold
so he could not
and she did not hear him
and she did not see him
for he was a faded memory
already vanished
rob kistner © 2019
But I woke up this morning and thought to myself,
I wonder what is up there so high on that shelf?
Perhaps it’s a treasure I can keep for myself?
Curiosity made me climb from my leaf to this shelf.
I like being part of a family of elves,
6 sisters, 5 brothers, in all I’m the twelfth.
But it certainly isn’t much fun on this shelf.
This is just not a place for an angel-eyed elf!
Sometimes it’s hard being a velvet-clad elf,
I forgot to remember, climbing up on this shelf,
that I’m not big enough to get down by myself.
“Won’t somebody please help this curious elf?”
“Oh why did I ever climb up here on this shelf?
I think I knew it was hopeless to get down by myself,
but I thought, what the heck, it’s such a curious shelf.
It’s sure scary, being stranded all alone by myself!”
~ ~
So if you’re no bigger than this quite tiny elf,
don’t got climbing for things, high on shelves, by yourself.
Find somebody big to get stuff off the high shelf,
or you might get stuck like this curious elf.
rob kistner © 2019
NOTE: This is a Seuss influenced, existential nursery rhyme, inspired by the quote here at the top, from nihilist philosopher and writer, Franz Kafka. This is about an elf who knowingly pushed himself to the probable point of no return — and regretted it.
firing our passions
igniting our emotions
embracing us in love
soothing us in sadness
consoling us in grief
and when extinction seemed inevitable
like the phoenix, again rose the *LP
rob kistner © 2019
rob kistner © 2019
hold in concert
dreams of the future
colorful pails on the ocean’s beach
festooned in starfish and octopus
jelly and jam
on crustless bread
lipstick smeared
on a giddy grin
two outs two strikes
bottom of the ninth
lost to the world
of pretend
a campfire
shared with friends
‘neath a canopy of forever stars
the strum of imagination
that brings song
to the young heart
that elevates
the courage of youth
the rhythm of spirit
that brings the thrill of dance
to young feet
that drives away
the limp of sadness
the hands of time
that will carry the dreams
into the future
toward the doors
opening on possibility
but now
that moon child
is alight with anticipation
waiting
wondering
wishing
looking to that miracle
that is tomorrow
rob kistner © 2019
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=-NjdfOoPK9c
Last time you flew to visit, son, we walked our favorite woods. We both love its magic. That perfect June morning, we journeyed deep into that ancient wood, to our favorite spot — our secreted old-growth clearing.
The morning sun softly filtered through the forest canopy, drifting golden into our sacred space, setting your handsome face aglow. A breeze rustled the treetops, whispering of eternity, casting a spell.
Awed by the splendor, we talked quietly, leaning on the downed Douglas that’s slumbered there, perhaps centuries, peaceful in its earthen repose. You were eighteen, off to college soon, so excited — I was beaming pride.
In that moment, time suspended, life aligned for a perfect memory — my very last of many I treasure of you. Three weeks later you were tragically killed. These memories were left here with the trees, in our clearing, where we talk — still.
rob kistner © 2019