Category: Poetry

callused digits
yellowed by habit
depress taut strands
no longer catgut

blood and bone
grip
connect
sculpting emotions

true life
cries from pearled rosewood
ride’n spiraled steel

playin’ the blues

rob kistner © 2019

what’s with all this buzzin’ chatter
you’re bumpin’ and thumpin’ and all a’clatter
frettin’ with the frontporch light
steamin’ on this humid June night
such racket over a minor matter

while here below you
my heart breaks in silence

rob kistner © 2019

that spins in the spaces
of destiny’s light and dark
days of falter and fear
in this great void approaching

that moves
unsteady in orbit
of unquenchable doubt

what your mind must conceal
from the spirit
of joy and forgiveness

that which is pure
tested by time
and the wanting hands
of the waiting
who cower
yet smile

singing truth
through the hail and barrage
‘cross the bow mast
of freedom
seeking broad measure and berth

as all that you seem to desire
slips slowly away
like rain down a spout
and nightmares plumb deep
the sphere of black dreams

such is the slag-shattered
glass orb of the future
that moves slowly
through the arc of the ages
who’ve waited and watched
‘neath the promised moon
of deliberate ancients

that revolves
in the void of the others
that seek what we know
to be ever
the voice of the lost

in the light of the dark dawning
that heralds the word
of this time that’s upon us

that holds us fast
in the fear of bleak visions
and of longing
for all that we desire to be
here in our heart

so elusive
in this moment
that slips
like a squandered teardrop

forever away from
our loosening grasp

yet the eyes are so familiar

the nose
the mouth
the chin

staring back
the one I think I am
want to be

but a longer look
deeper into the eyes
beneath the transparent surface
reflected subtle in the silver
there is another
one only I recognize

there
caught in the looking glass
revealed
is my other self
inner self
the one I truly am

the weak flawed one
frightened and unsure

the pretender
hoping that my guise holds fast
that I’m not found out
exposed in my glaring imperfection

a shudder breaks the stare

I blink
and check my teeth
my hair
tug straight my collar
making sure the mask is tight

best face forward
always

a final glance
I smile away the doubt

Calypso Hearts

all the while
were they singing
moving rhythmically
thinking about the freedom of morning

thinking
“daylight come and me wan’ go home”

and me wondering here
here in my favorite market
midst the wonderful aromas
surrounded by this bounty
shoppers scurrying about

me with my small shopping cart
black wooden cane
dangling from the handle
eyeing three semi-ripe ones

is that how these got here

a little green
like my wife Kathy favors
so home they will go

then up onto the “nanner-hanger”
above the counter
in the kitchen

and she will eat one
maybe just a half
the other half on cereal
maybe saved until later

and one while gardening
for that 3 o’clock lull

wonder if those calypso-hearted souls
dealt with a 3:00 AM lull

wonder if they had the luxury of time
while loading that boat
to even consider a lull

wonder if they are
anymore
those calypso-hearted
sun-stained souls

but once they were
who toted those banana bunches
“lift six foot, seven foot, eight foot bunch”

and they sang
“day, me say day, me say day, me say day-ay-ay-o”

and they worked
“stack banana ’til de mornin’ come”
when they longed to go home

yes
they lived
and they loved
and they’re gone

so I thank them
I remeber them
and their calypso hearts

now I just wanna remember
to get what’s on the list
list says get bananas
I get bananas

then me just wan’go home

rob kistner © 2019

rob kistner © 2019

wonderful new possibilities were foreseen
life would be more convenient with plastic

heavy packaging and storage containers
made lighter to handle with plastic

food medical clothing and more industries
would all benefit from this plastic

in the enthusiam over this amazing material
chasing miracles we imagined from plastic

no one bothered ask how we would dispose
of the many things we’d make from plastic

dismayed we’re thinking it’s not so fantastic
that our world’s becoming buried in plastic

rob kistner © 2019

dwelling in their shrines of excess
lairs of self-indulgence
altars to waste
their temples of foolish disregard
for our precious planet

observe them hoist themselves
to command positions
in gluttonous drive-time dinosaurs
dreaded treaded behemoths

that bully across the face
of our strained and crippled planet

devouring resources
like a herd
of metallic mastodons

a relentless forage
of fragile fossil fuel

to suck dry
the paleozoic nectar
300 million years
in the making

a fraction of that
to plunder and deplete
with frivolous toys
of self-extinction

that spew forth
poisonous discharge
fouling the choking atmosphere

watch them
see them
there they are

they worship convenience
they shun the conscientious
they create their chemical concoctions
they create their plastics

their plastic bags
their plastic bottles
their plastic packages
their plastic values
disposable and deadly
that offer only moments of convenience
but decades upon decades of destruction

killing the beautiful
the birds, beasts, and fishes
that roam free this planet
struggling to live in balance
with arrogant careless humans
who clog, poison, and pummel
the frail ecosystem
meant for all living things

shoving earth closer
ever closer
to the brink of no return

to satisfy a toxic desire
for bigger, faster, easier

the ever more lazy
hungry to feed a caustic ego
to assert perceived dominion

the special
the spoiled
the outrageously dangerous

watch them
see them there
they are —
you and I

rob kistner © 2019

A simple snapshot,
taken at the airport,
upon your return
from having run the New York City Marathon.

A gentle, triumphant smile,
eyes beaming behind those “way cool” shades,
jacket sleeves rolled in casual hip-ness,
bag thrown so carefree over your shoulder,
medal dangling proudly from your strong neck.

The victor: gentle, cool, hip, carefree, proud, and strong,
— fiercely handsome!

How profound this captured moment proved to be.

Taken just before the finish line of your 18 years,
it said it all.

Your race is run,
your bag is packed,
your reward’s in hand.

Fly my sweet angel – fly!

rob kistner © 2019

when facts annoy
and fiction comforts

when we’re copulating
with false gods
of greed and power
on forsaken altars
of fear and prejudice

then the hour of the dragon
is at hand

rob kistner © 2019

rob kistner © 2019

I hid in the anguish
of the loveless who cowered
in the dark serpent’s shadow
lost in the perverse nightmare

I fed on the grief
of the forgotten who wailed
for their horrific loss
in the ruins of despair

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

’til you, 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 love’s blaze

with passion it roared
its light pierced my blackness
its heat warmed my soul
my ice heart was thawed

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 © 2019