Category: wisdom

Evening Prayer

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Evening Prayer

~

sun sits low on the horizon
dusk slowly advances
the breath of night begins to stir
all the daydreams are gone to bed

I sit quiet
on my ole bench
soothed by the cool breeze
warmed by the memories
that huddle ’round me

from far into the past
they drift
forward through the years

they visit gently
one by one

memories of those
I’ve been well to know
those I’ve been blessed to love
those that have got beyond
a tender tear for every one

a sweetness fills the air
just a touch of soft regret

my heart is full
my spirit calm
I surrender
to fate’s embrace

would this evening never end
but soon
the lingering day
will bow its head
twilight too will fade

as the waxing night
blankets my repose
I fall still
and pray

pray
when soon carried away
it be in deep
peaceful sleep

~ ~ ~

rob kistner © 2012

Morning’s Pardon

  • Morning brings we fallen mortals forgiveness and hope…

    •  

    Morning’s Pardon

    ~

    fallen into night’s embrace
    held down by dark shadows
    I writhe in the arms of nightmare

    would that I could rise
    into the light of dawn’s nod
    but I’m flesh, weak, consumed by flesh

    purity laid raw entangled in my sin
    skin to skin with my obsession
    restrained to roil in my transgression

    but soon the light of morne
    will fold itself upon me pardoned
    oh pray I not be too far drawn asunder

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2012

    This Heart

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    This Broken heart

    ~
    this heart’s now yours
    this damaged heart
    this brittle fractured aching heart
    broken by you, every part

    I’ve no use for this ruined heart
    plucked here from my chest
    I seek a new and vital heart
    one that’s far less stressed

    a fresh heart that’s unbreakable
    a heart able to forgive
    unmarred unscarred yet tender
    beating with the joy to live

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    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2012

    Rāgarāja’s Daughter

     

    Rāgarāja’s Daughter

    •

    radiant vision silken skinned
    translucent alabaster blaze
    torrid as a teen’s temptation
    leaned low here before me yearning

    on plush cloud so sensuous
    sweet comely goddess forward bent
    graceful face aglow with craving
    you conjure ardor’s obsession

    a’bloom in beckoned fiery swoon
    forearms rest on pillow soft
    thoughts aflame in primal need
    lips burning smile a fetched seduction

    Rāgarāja’s daughter lush with Spring
    smoldering in golden light
    that folds upon you satin supple
    to bathe in warmth your arched desire

    divinely-pleasing luscious morsel
    served up by a master’s hand
    passion bound to tantalize
    to hypnotize my hungry eyes

    lost in carnal fantasy
    fired by this goddess buff
    arises now my animal
    in a beastly urgent lust

    to wrap ‘round
    this maiden magic
    flesh to flesh
    to full consume
    to thrust
    and thrust
    my randy lust
    ’til passion’s seed
    has turned to dust
    and wanton
    carnal flames
    are snuffed

    Spring’s sweet madness
    at last
    enough

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2012

    • linked at Magpie Tales

    The Journey

     

    The Journey

    •

    beckoned to the final tide
    called forth by the ferryman
    spirit stirs to the distant voice
    that draws you to the journey

    caught still in this mortal realm
    soul resigned to embarkation
    time folding in upon
    as slow you approach the vessel

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011

    • linked at Magpie Tales

    ____________

    image by Mostafa Habibi

    Rebel Rebel

    …I republish this piece today in fond memory of John…

     

    “we all shine on, like the moon, and the stars, and the sun”

     

    Rebel Rebel

    •

    I’ll not listen
    not be shackled
    not be handled
    not be ruled

    I’ll not be managed
    nor be played
    manipulated
    or be fooled

    you sure as hell
    will not tell
    me

    who
    what
    where
    when
    how

    or why

    what you offer
    I’m not taking

    your extended hand
    I am not shaking

    the world I walk
    is of my making

    and

    I will not have it
    any other way

    your iron fist
    I destroyed it

    your sage advice
    I avoid it

    you can
    rant
    rave
    condemn
    and preach

    your approval
    I do not beseech

    I seek only
    my good counsel

    I’ll not succumb
    to might
    or muscle

    not be swayed
    by your slick hustle

    I am a man
    of my own mind

    and I will live
    as my own man

    this is all
    I want to be

    well-traveled
    loved

    and free

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2008

    _____________________

    image at top entitled: “Lennon”

    10/9/40 – 12/8/80

    • • •

     

    …inspired by writing prompt #54, found at “readwritepoem”.

    Our True Work

    Something life’s experiences have taught me: seeing the world for what it is makes you smart, envisioning the world for what it can be – makes you wise…

     

    Our True Work

    •

    there are countless contradictions
    in the elements of the work we do
    and conflictions as we strive
    but bring these not to table

    for I am you
    and you are me
    and we are all together
    in this constant labor
    for our daily bread

    and this toil to sustain the body
    this does not feed the spirit
    this is not our true work

    to lift someone in need
    to measure well in tolerance
    to seek the components of peace
    to create enduring possibility

    this is the true work
    in the final sweep
    ‘round the face of time

    this is what the soul eats

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011

    • linked at Magpie Tales and OSI

    Two Moments

    These are two poems about two powerful and indelible life-moments I shared with my son Justin.

    The first “Night Sky” is about the courageous moment he chose, at age fourteen, to leave his mother’s home to move across our country, to live with me in Oregon — through the years of his high school and college graduations, and his early career. This was an incredible gift he gave me.

    The second, “Book of Days”, is about the moment, two days ago, when he and his wife Christine, moved from Oregon to pursue a career advancement — a deeply bittersweet moment for me.

     

    Night Sky

    •

    you arrived in spring
    asking why I’d left

    I had no good response
    but the other shoe had fallen
    with a deafening thud
    so what was I to do

    you looked startled by life
    and asked me about sorrow

    I had no good response
    so I took you in
    and watched as you untangled truth
    marveling at your balance

    for 19 years
    together we watched the night sky
    and wondered about love

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011


    Book of Days

    •

    in the book of days
    clearly it is written
    your time for moving on
    beyond the reach of yesterday

    in this book of days
    so too is it written
    clearly mine grow short
    my grasp loosens on tomorrow

    our miles apart grow greater
    our time together lessens
    as you pursue the future
    I slip further in the past

    and per the book of days
    this is the way of nature
    the son becomes the father
    the father bows away

    yet stands this father’s dream
    would that this space between
    but vanish with this pain
    of bittersweet farewell

    that the book somehow rewritten
    would bend both time and space
    and my days once more
    stretch full to your horizon

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011

    Book of Days

     

    Book of Days

    •

    in the book of days
    clearly it is written
    your time for moving on
    beyond the reach of yesterday

    in this book of days
    so too is it written
    clearly mine grow short
    my grasp loosens on tomorrow

    our miles apart grow greater
    our time together lessens
    as you pursue the future
    I slip further in the past

    and per the book of days
    this is the way of nature
    the son becomes the father
    the father bows away

    yet stands this father’s dream
    would that this space between
    but vanish with this pain
    of bittersweet farewell

    that the book somehow rewritten
    would bend both time and space
    and my days once more
    stretch full to your horizon

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011

    • written for my son Justin upon his moving away

    Wonder

     

    Wonder

    •

    to grow up
    is to chase off
    our innocence
    our naïve belief
    in the world as a beautiful place
    to harden against the magic
    of our childhood dreams

    but if by chance
    we can cling to just one
    perhaps we can hold on
    to our precious sense of wonder

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011

    • photo: “Alice in Wonderland” by Yuki Valentine

    Silence – two reflections

    These two poetic reflections are unrelated, beyond their focus on silence. The first reflection here considers what it is to fall into the deepening silence of old age. The second reflection looks at the silence that causes, and also results from repression…

     

    1ST REFLECTION

    Endings

    •

    shrouded by evening in waning october
    as autumn tumbles towards winter
    is to know the losing of the light
    the ever growing darkness
    the advance of the cold
    the time of endings
    death’s due vigil
    deep silence

    how do I abide this season

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011

    2ND REFLECTION

    Silenced

    •

    escape was an improbability
    as was understanding
    opinions regarding outcome
    ignored altogether
    fate sealed with no discourse
    executed with an air of entitlement

    when one has no arms to flail
    no fists to clench
    no fingers to point
    gestures of dissent are sorely limited
    rights easily wrest away
    freedom falls beyond grasp

    inevitable
    when one has no voice

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011

    poem “Silenced” inspired by image below

    • linked at Magpie Tales

    King of Sunrise

     

    King of Sunrise

    •

    on the boulevard below
    last night’s rain puddles
    midst the chaos of metro-clutter
    held hostage by tire and curb
    as if abandoned by the waters of earth

    it shoulders its way through the gutters
    in search of mother sea

    this day begins golden and crisp
    bird songs echo empty sunrise streets

    me and the first edition
    we sit by this morning window
    with coffee and curiosity
    quietly serenaded by the 5:00 AM news

    I read
    occasionally glimpse the screen
    grow troubled by our human plight
    amazed how we never learn
    when the answers seem so obvious

    in this moment
    the tv drones
    my frustration rises
    my spirit slips
    my mind drifts
    lifting on the vapor ribbons
    wafting from my steaming cup
    until I stare distracted

    the announcer’s mouth continues sculpting words
    but I’ve fallen deep into my thoughts
    imagining how different it would be
    if I ruled this world

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011

    • linked at Magpie Tales

    Why Raven?

     

    Why Raven?

    •

    there stands a raven in the rain
    liquid-black as molten coal
    beside a woman
    besot and broken
    thoughts so black and molten
    outstretched in her anguish
    ravin’ in the rain

    raven in the rain
    why is it that you stand here
    so very soaked and sullen
    beside this woman so besot
    so broken and bereft
    heart so black and shattered
    ravin’ in the rain

    has her ravin’ called you forth
    do you feel kinship in her blackness
    does it bind you common thread
    is there a faint scent of death
    carried on her plaintive breath
    she outcast and shunned
    so like your thankless plight

    picking ‘mongst the carnage
    rooting in the road-kill
    the writhing crawling carcass rot
    left the spoiled — not the spoils
    this is your lot is it not
    to consume the left-for-dead
    the world’s lost decay

    raven in the rain
    are you here to feast today

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011

    • linked at Magpie Tales

    Images – a ten year vigil

    …lest we ever forget

     

     

     

    Images


    •

    images

    unreal
    unfathomable images

    the graceful glide
    engulfed by the spire
    in a roar of golden orange

    horribly beautiful

    perversely mesmerizing

    obscene
    devastating images

    torrents of humanity
    raining down

    desperation their only escape

    masses of humanity
    racing
    to outrun the unbelievable

    praying
    to be delivered from the inconceivable

    traumatic images

    shrines of free commerce
    consumed
    by the unbearable weight
    of their fragile significance
    plummeting to earth
    in a cloud of self-destruction

    heartbreaking images

    screaming
    dazed
    terrified souls
    consumed
    by the unbearable weight of the moment

    staggering onward
    to outdistance the surging roll
    of all-engulfing
    pulverized aftermath

    courageous images

    battered
    determined
    tireless heroes

    those who were called
    who served unselfishly

    some
    who gave the ultimate service

    haunting images

    color
    gender
    ethnicity
    wiped away
    from the ashen-grey faces
    of the traumatized throngs

    now just masks of calamity

    all made equal
    by horror and grief

    one nation
    under siege
    inconsolable
    with tragedy and sorrow
    for all

    unforgettable images
    burned into our hearts

    • • •

    rob kistner © 9/11/09

     

    Bogged

     

    Bogged

    •

    that’s the thing about ruts
    the longer we remain bogged
    the harder it is to escape

    •

    stopping is no option

    to lose the way
    is to keep going
    keep moving forward

    lest one be rutted in uncertainty
    rigid with the rigor of fear
    bogged down in despair
    paralyzed

    stalled in hopelessness
    the giving in
    the giving up

    caught in anguish
    the rot that sets
    with the loss of wonder
    when grip lets go of dreams

    arthritic loss of faith
    debilitates the soul

    cripples the manifest light
    that shines forth
    at the leap into dark unknown
    into the sacred mystery

    frozen is the doubting man
    withered in a worried cage
    terrified of the wrong step
    of the journey all in
    of daring the way unmarked

    thus
    he bleeds out the color of life
    to become cold and grey

    a petrified husk
    of brittle remorse

    mired in regret
    for never having shone so brightly
    as to blind the eyes of death

    stopping is no option

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011

    • linked at Magpie Tales