•
melancholy’s grey
the black of loss
fear’s dark ebony
the violet of regret
the purples of pain and anger
sorrowful blues
peaceful greens
golden joy
laughter’s bright amber
love’s ruby red
the scarlet of passion
the white of knowledge
painted by the brush of time
these are the colors
of my life
blended in the palette
that defines my essence
by these
you know me
• • •
rob kistner © 2011
• linked at Magpie Tales
•
the great wheel of time
turns ever slow and steadily
its ponderous mass unstoppable
it presses onward mightily
climbs the mortal mountain
bearing the weight of history
of ages and civilizations
borne then razed by its immensity
our lifetimes ride this wheel
how far is but a mystery
locked in fate ’round we go
rolling bold toward hidden destiny
frail temporal beings
of a most amazing bravery
we dream of a tomorrow
for which there is no guarantee
adrift toward a future
of veiled and vague contingency
still — we dare to love
despite this vast uncertainty
• • •
rob kistner © 2011
•
connection
to make contact
searching for the sync
the heart of the matter
in this solitary journey
from womb to tomb
a stranger
on the bus of days
seeking distraction
chatting them up
to suppress
the voice of isolation
immersed in the small talk
of love
and accomplishment
to drown
the incessant murmur
of alienation
the chant of abandonment
ever there to remind
that we board alone
to make our way
toward an enigmatic destination
clinging
to a vague vision
of home
to disembark
as we began
• • •
rob kistner © 2011
• collage entitled “The Sync” – by: rob kistner © 2011
__________________
• linked at Carry On Tuesday and Magpie Tales
•
the velvet nape
of your slender neck
swept with wisps
of silken hair
the tender swell
of your pouted lips
blossomed full
in comely glisten
your quiet sighs
of smouldered passion
hushed and low
in twilight deep
sterling moonlight
that fondles you
in slumber nude
‘neath midnight’s window
autumn sunrise
crisp and fresh
blushed coral
on your waking smile
sunlight’s gold
that falls dreamlike
filtered soft
in old growth forest
unspoiled nature
to far horizons
from where I gaze
on mountain’s crest
christmas eve
a quiet snow
fresh fragrant cedar
my child’s joy
splendid jazz
inspired verse
an evening breeze
a soul-felt tear
pristine beaches
pacific sunsets
silvered waterfalls
laughter with you
what fires my heart
what stirs my soul
what turns me on
these are a few
• • •
rob kistner © 2011
Fret Not
•
people are consumed
by endings
speak of their finality
their permanence
their absoluteness
but I say no
in this age of recycling
repurposing
sequels
syndication
spin-offs
botox
rogaine
viagra
endings are not absolute
eventually inevitable
but in that
they are not so special
not unique
beginnings
these are unique
these are absolute
they only happen once
they are not inevitable
not guaranteed
they require a complex
independent
set of variables
to come together
perfectly timed
properly executed
and in that
they are singular
very very special
so let us not fret
nor dwell
nor waste emotion upon
something so commonplace
as endings
instead
let us seek
let us anticipate
let us celebrate
beginnings
these amazing culminations
of elusive possibilities
they are so full
of promise
of potential
of mystery
so worth our wonder
• • •
rob kistner © 4/30/11
This poem was sparked by the incredible power of our earth, as exhibited most recently by the devastating tornadoes that swept through the American Southeast, and with deep reverence and sympathy for those who suffered as a result. I admire greatly your courage and will to live.
Unfazed
•
we live
by its grace
at its mercy
with delusions of mastery
so close to extinction
grappling awestruck
day-in day-out détente
survival in spite
brute power
incredible beauty
this tolerant
indifferent planet
perhaps the imminence of peril
embellishes our wonder
ignites our superstitions
kindles our will to live
but our light will blink out
this orb will evolve
shine on
unfazed
• • •
rob kistner © 4/29/11
“One of my former band members, who was with me in the band in the 1960’s, that inspired this poem from 2011, came to visit me a couple months ago. I had written a haibun at the time in his honor, which I shared here on dVerse. That haibun was inspired by this original poem. I just learned that he died Monday in Geneva, Switzerland. In his memory I am sharing this original poem today, August 22, 2019.”
me and my bles-sed band
bliss’d out from giggin’
bleary-eyed and blasted
mixin’ with fellow players
who’ve now
laid down their last licks
for this night
among willing groupies
the loud hangers on
and my sad friend Joey
just back from Viet Nam
we’re sittin’ and chattin’
with the steel-heart working girls
and sweet soul-bruised painted strippers
they love us ‘cause we’re brothers
in this family of the night
all in the flesh parade
of burnt drink slingers
and tired cocktail mules
hipsters grifters drifters
and slick gamblers
from behind the sealed doors
of those private upstairs rooms
swell perfumed boys
and sisters of the leather
queens and trannies
pimps pushers and the cops
huddled stark as morgue mates
hidin’ from those cruel first rays
like a pack of squandered vampires
ready to scurry off
to well-curtained rooms
or other dark holes of despair
it’s time to make that final score
whatever gets you through
‘till sundown strikes up the band again
I’ll tell ya
ain’t this show biz grand
it’s cirque du morning madness
all sneakin’ up on breakfast
rob kistner © 4/19/11
____________________________
This photo below put me in mind of the 60’s when my band played the all-night R&B clubs in Newport Ky — the ‘wild’ night-world just across the Ohio River from Cincinnati. It sparked this poem.
Skye Fyre
~
the grand sunset gun
hunter readies his grip
as the great golden orb
returns weary from his trip
quicksilver moon
embarks on her night’s course
hunter fixes sharp eyes
steady on the source
gaia reaches gently
into vast quiet space
diamonds of stars
gaia sparkles in place
hunter locks the horizon
solid in his sight
his important grand task
still remains on this night
to set the late sky ablaze
before he goes to sleep
in patterns most bold
in colors quite deep
he aims his sunset gun
and blasts overhead
a riot of corals
ambers oranges and red
with a grand brilliant flash
the heavens are afire
in rich vivid hues
burning hot with desire
this dusk color festival
has fully begun
so hunter retires
his job is well done
but he first locks away
his grand sunset gun
~ ~ ~
rob kistner © 4/12/11
•
we are infinite beings
awaking slowly
from some infinite place
our coming to be
unknown to us
as any mystery
learned in stories
in waiting relationships
gradually
we open to our identity
our essence
an enigma
awareness dawns
like the rising
of a newborn sun
we feel its warmth
and flow effortlessly
into timelessness
we are as though
immortal
we see not over the horizon
because we see no horizon
we comprehend no end
immersed only
in our beginning
it is therein exists
the miracle of life
our infinity
we are infinite beings
in this moment
dreaming
to sustain the moment
• • •
rob kistner © 4.11.11
•
he wakes
unbidden by alarm
lingers in the darkness
warm neath the blankets
fumbling for the lamp
follows moments of procrastination
before he lifts himself upright
slides feet into slippers
to rise ever so stiffly
from the comfort of bed
pulling on his robe
he ambles to the kitchen
takes a cup from the shelf
pours chamomile tea
brewed ready each morning
by the wonders of technology
he retreats to his office
to his chair
where it waits
welcoming
in a pool of soft light
buffered against the chill
of pre-dawn dark
he sits
sips steeped motivation
quietly peeling away fog
that layers his mind
residue of another fitful night
he is somber
but pleased to be awake
to be alive
grateful for the peace
and the quiet of early morning
fleeting though it is
his thoughts
begin to un-blend
to gather
in a cohesive palette
stirring his notice
slowly they sort
in colors of mood
melancholy greys
fear’s dark ebony
purples of pain and anger
the violet of regret
sorrowful blues
gentle peaceful greens
golden joy
laughter’s bright amber
love’s ruby red
the scarlet of passion
this morning
reflections on his mortality
newly threatened
shoulder in coldly
crowding his reverie
pondering his plight
cursing fate
he struggles
neath the weight of uncertainty
a riot of emotions
overcome him
he seeks clarity
he reaches for his laptop
his tool of resolution
his canvass of language
in the spreading saffrons
and corals of dawn
he begins painting deep indigo
• • •
rob kistner © 2011
Shuffle
•
life deals the cards
face down
from a deck
stacked full with jokers
rare
the precious wild card
the game plays out
slowly
turning each card
hand at risk
wild card
strikes a jackpot
play continues
but the jester
hand is bust
player folds
not until
the hand is forfeit
or the final card
face up
is it known
what fate has dealt
• • •
rob kistner © 4/6/11
•
at pre-dawn five am — I see…
all my faults and failures
the importance of forgiveness
precisely why I love my wife
the perfect way to let her know
the miracle of my children
how to be a better father
the power of friendship
the value in being true
how blessed I truly am
the insignificance of my problems
the wisdom of patience
why it should be embraced
the beauty of the world
the essence of it’s magic
the meaning of life
the foolishness of wasting it
…then the rising sun
obscures my clear vision
again I stumble — blindly
• • •
rob kistner © 2011
…I have always loved the fantasy art of Dean Morrissey and James C. Christensen, and this week’s prompt at Writer’s Island put me in mind of their highly imaginative and captivating work, which in turn inspired the poem below, with its “tongue-in-cheek” ending…
Ship of Dreams
•
fantastic is this spell I’m under
magic of a splendorous kind
a world of cornucopic wonder
treasure troves of dreams to plunder
in this kingdom of my mind
here I live a life enchanted
here no fear of any threat
sorrow is by joy supplanted
no limit to desires granted
what I want is what I get
fantasy’s elaboration
a god of pleasure I ascend
soar in sweet hallucination
in ships of my imagination
oh, would this dream but never end
Epilogue
well now, oh dear, that was a bit much
somewhat carried away it seems
euphoria finds me out of touch
with reality, good sense, and such
perhaps I’ll temper my daydreams
throttle back my vision quest
bring fascinations down to size
moderation will serve me best
but dreams are so hard to repress
no limits when you fantasize
• • •
rob kistner © 3/26/11
• written for Writer’s Island
• art piece at top by Dean Morrissey
Limitless
•
• written for Writer’s Island
A Poem Using Three 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
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 © 2011