Bit ‘O Whimsy

This piece is offered in response to prompt #70 at Carry On Tuesday.



Bit ‘O Whimsy

•

One misty moisty morning
The mist was most prevailing
And then it started storming
On that misty moisty morning

It came up without a warning
hailstones began to hailing
And I missed the morning mailing
On that misty moisty morn

Though I mostly miss the morning mail
That morn I felt mostly forlorn
I had to catch the mail that morn
But by 10 minutes I was trailing

So I began to flailing
Down the lane my feet were sailing
But the mailman was ailing
And hadn’t made his morning mail

So on that misty moisty morning
In a storm that had no warning
When I should have been emailing
My mail and me got mostly soaked

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

• painting entitled “Rain Man” by: Vane Kosturanov

For No One

…this piece is in response to prompt #17 at We Write Poems,
and prompt #69 at Carry On Tuesday,
also the September 1st prompt at Three Word Wednesday…




For No One

•

the cadence
to which I tight step
pulses
in my heart
alone

it is my coursing vital
stirs my spirit
steels my resolve
drives me on
into the fray
emboldened

“to thine own self”
resonates
the chambers
of my soul
sweet
as the song
of angels

if one is not
author
of the life
one lives
it is
plagiarized
and its essence
forged

it is my pen
scribes my epitaph

the spark
must be authentic
or the fire
arson

the flame
that burns within
is mine

do not expect
I will ignite
for you
or blaze
to your vision

you are not
my flint

do not attempt
to chart
my course
I search
my own
horizon

do not
contain me
I live
outside

do not
seek me
on the surface
I break deep
below
the negative

do not
summon me
to your queue

yours is not
my grid
or file

you are not
my piper

this
I know

I stand in line
for no one

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

• artwork by Aynaku, embellished by: rob kistner 2010

The Box

This piece is offered in response to prompt Mag 29 at Magpie Tales,
and the August 25th prompt at Three Word Wednesday,
and prompt #18 at Writer’s Island.




The Box

…a short story of intrigue…

•

“What do you mean Taylor,” Gwen inquired, the strain obvious in her weary voice. “Who exactly is going to confront Dylan… and why?”

Her voice trailed off to an exasperated whisper. The why was not so much a question, as an exhalation of confused frustration. She seemed to know the answer was much too complicated to address at this hour, and she was too spent, physically and emotionally, to want to hear it.

Gwen turned away from Taylor, head lowered. Her arms fell limp at her side, fingers splayed. She was trying her best to process what Taylor was saying, to understand him – to understand the recent events that had brought her to this place in time… trying to make sense of anything. Her head was spinning, and she could feel the fatigue deep in her bones.

She dropped back onto the sofa, half sitting, half lying down – an exhausted slouch. She felt paralyzed, thoughts racing through her mind – fragmented, disconnected thoughts. If only she could clear her head. She was in trouble.
Continue reading The Box

Old Man’s Prayer

…this piece is in response to the 16th prompt of 2010 on Writer’s Island,
and visual prompt Mag 27 at Magpie Tales (see image at bottom),
also offered for prompt 129 at One Single Impression,
and for prompt 228 at Sunday Scribblings….




Old Man’s Prayer

•

successful as a younger man
the grind became my home
and I a conduit of worry
could I keep the crazy pace

years spun wild as a top
around faster ever faster
life layering its patina
etched deeply in my face

suddenly no longer young
now looking back from 63
I’ve known triumph I’ve known tragedy
they’ve marked me both the same

I’ve borrowed bought and sold
strayed through several shades of grey
but have I leveraged my soul
just to play the fleeting game

I pray I will not be an old man
gazing lonely out my window
trying to remember
exactly how long it has rained

not sitting silent by the fire
lost in contemplation
wondering if all I lost
was worth what it was I gained

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

• photo of top from the movie Inception

_________________



Mag 27

Blood Moon

This piece is offered in response to prompt Mag 25 at Magpie Tales,
prompt #13 at We Write Poems,
and the August 2nd prompt at Big Tent Poetry.




Blood Moon

•

icy round
the wolf’n eye
soft and round
the riding breast
roundness
in the grande dame’s fear
a circle round
the blood moon’s crest

there are lies
within that circled moon
that surround
this cruel charade
they gather
and collect the tears
‘til midnight’s debt
is fully paid

‘til innocence
is found to want
and purity
so deep defiled
that cold and soulless
lupen eyes
will cleave the sweet
in red and wild

and all that once
was tender
will on this night
turn beastly raw
and guilted
hearts be locked away
to deny at dawn’s light
the truth they saw

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

Burn

…in response to the 13th prompt of 2010 on Writer’s Island, I offer a piece I wrote inspired by Joni Michell’s album entitled “Don Juan’s Reckless Daughter”. Embedded in this work is the title of every track that appears on that album / also for prompt #126 ‘Angel’ at One Single Impression…



Burn

•

come to me
talk to me otis
and
marlena
reveal your mystery

I am your brood
sired by your seed
bloodied
from your womb

whisper
in a scorching breath
tell me about
the tenth world

taunt me
in scalded apparition

tell me how
to get to dreamland
to cotton avenue
on a hot off night
back street in jericho

tell me of the fires
on paprika plains
that consumed your souls
in flames of hunger
to lust
for immortality

made you dance
at midnight
wrapped in
the silky veils of ardor
on prurient
smoldered embers

I want to go
I am ready

an inferno burns
inside me
desire rages strong
to ride the bliss of sin

son of concupiscence
I am
your son

your lifeblood
courses through me
hammers in my temples
sets my heart ablaze

impassioned
I wil prowl
the shadow’d haunts
of jericho

the dark places
of the tenth world
following your ghosts

seeking
don jaun’s reckless daughter
my scarlet jezebel
my nocturne angel
to take me
in a fever

to whirl me ‘round
to burn me down
to ash

to scatter me
by moonlight

forever
in the winds
of memory
on those plains
of ardor

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

• photorendered collage entitled “Dance of Ardor” by: rob kistner © 2010

The Sudden Doe

I wrote this in response to the July 19th prompt at Big Tent Poetry

______________________

This is a response, not so much to the letter of Carolee’s prompt, but to it’s essence. Instead of picking a fovorite poem, I have focused on my favorite poet, Gary Snyder. Given I am deeply moved by most of Gary’s work, choosing a “favorite” seems unrealistic.

Gary Snyder (born May 8, 1930) is an American poet (often associated with the Beat Generation and the San Francisco Renaissance), as well as an essayist, lecturer, and environmental activist — frequently described as the “poet laureate of Deep Ecology”. Snyder is a winner of a Pulitzer Prize for Poetry. His work, in his various roles, reflects an immersion in both Buddhist spirituality and nature.

He grew up here, where I live, in Portland Oregon and attended Reed College here. He was friends with Allan Ginsberg, Jack Kerouac, and most of the beat writers, the majority of whom had urban backgrounds. Gary spent much of his youth, including his college years, hiking and working in the Northwest backcountry. This experience and his interest in things rural, made him appear exotic to his Beat Generation peers — who often referred to Snyder as ‘the Thoreau of the Beat Generation’.

Gary uses mainly common speech-patterns as the basis for his poetry, and does not typically use conventional meters nor intentional rhyme. His personal sensibility arose from his interest in Native Americans, their involvement with nature, their knowledge of it and balance with it. He argues that poets, and humans in general, need to adjust to very long timescales, especially when judging the consequences of their actions. His poetry examines the gap between nature and culture so as to point to ways in which the two can be more closely integrated.

A world traveler, with a fondness for the Far East; Gary has spent many years of his life exploring, and living in the wilderness of the western United States, especially the Pacific Northwest. He loves this region, as I do, and his work is strongly influenced by this love. I offer this poem I’ve written in the spirit of Gary Snyder. I pulled it together from a notebook I keep of my wilderness sojourns into this part of the U.S. as well as bits and pieces of drafts I’ve written, all influenced by Gary — not so much by how he writes, but who he is.


Gary Snyder

The Sudden Doe

•

my footfalls
drum the root chambers
of the cascade mountain old growth

each step cushioned
by centuries of needle-drop
in this ancient forest

rounding a bend in the trail
brushing through waist-high fern
I crest a knoll
and stop

mesmerized

light drifts down dreamlike
filtered by the woodland canopy
settling soft around me

suddenly
I’m startled

a young doe bounds onto the path
standing proud
golden in the glow

she considers me briefly
then disappears
quick as a stolen glance
quiet as passing time

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

• photo by Giuseppe Moretti, for Beat Scene Online

The Quiet • The Strike

I’ve written two pieces in response to Three Word Wednesday July 21st prompt • the first is entitled “The Quiet” • the second is entitled “The Strike”

The Quiet

•

left like spent bait
in the disapproving sun
to rot from apathy

the carcasses of constituents
foolishly quiet
curl brittle and crack

victims of their trust
they did not jump
their chance for change

and so they wither
hollowed by ignorance
and purposeful neglect

while the dark beast
slouches off with eden
marrow dripping from a smile

• • •

The Strike

•

warm
familiar
comfortable in my palm
my fingers wrap natural cork
index raised
gauging line tension

precision brings the willow’d shaft
high above my shoulder
rod flexing expectantly

a flick of my wrist
and the line arcs forward
increasing the pressure
on my fingertip
as it rolls ahead
accelerating

then
a careful pluck
like a string
on a guitar

it is released

the golden lure
at line’s end
sails silent
into the squinting summer sun

with a subtle plick
the barbed hunter disappears
slipping ‘neath the sparkle
of the undulating steam

seductively
with quickening pulse
eagerly visualizing
I retrieve the bait
anticipating the strike

patience draws the lure
dancing ever nearer

I long for the sharp
powerful tug

for the slender thread
unreeled before me
to rise
and dart away
in a sliver of silver spray

for my heart to jump
as a proud trout
breaks water
victim to my seduction

in this moment
mind focused
breath steady
senses heightened
awaiting sudden contact

I reflect

there is a simple truth in fishing
in life

the thrill of possibility
can be as rich
as the reward

• • •

rob kistner © 2010


Ardor

This piece is offered in response to visual prompt Mag 23 at Magpie Tales (shown below the poem).




Ardor

•

eyes dark and deep as nile nocturne
scorching as nubian sundance
this blackthorn rose
is the secreted passion

the sultry jungle goddess
inscribed in the book of ardor

fired in molten scarlet
woman forged of earthen bronze

ablaze in the sensual dreams
of writhing midnight

she is smoke and flame
the mysterious traveler

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

• The beautiful woman in the photo above is Jourdan Dunn

________________________________



• Magpie Tales prompt Mag 23 •

Breakfast Lovers Fanatsy

…I wrote this in response to the July 5th prompt at Big Tent Poetry


 

Breakfast Lovers Fantasy

•

whether panning for poached
fishing for fried
or sifting for softly scrambled

maybe bobbing for boiled
or sunny side up
angling for over easy

perhaps baiting a hook
for benedict
or dangling a lure for deviled

be they baked in cakes
or dropped in soup
it’s a whites & yolks wet dream

it’s a breakfast lovers fantasy
going to the eggs stream

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

• manipulated photo entitled: “PanFish” — created by: rob kistner

Always Options

…in response to the 10th prompt of 2010 on Writer’s Island, I offer a perspective on perspective…




Always Options

•

he came upon divergent ways
that stretched beyond the road he’d trod

he would go forth this was his mind
but had no notion which way that was

the pathway left was sparse with step
the roadway right was traveled plenty

leaning low to great extreme
he examined close the evidence

it came clear that those who journeyed left
were light of weight with timid step

while those who traveled onward right
wore finest boot of heavy heel

he thought on this for quite some time
until at last he knew for sure

he started neither left nor right
but instead went straight ahead

he hacked and carved and blazed a trail
into the new for those who’d follow

wise in life possessed of logic
he realized to where he’d come

the threshold of a new frontier
too raw for the sated too brute for the weak

those that would survive and prosper
would be among the enlightened bold

it would be those who’d choose this trail
full of promise made by his hand

with spirit full and muscled zest
he whacked and chopped and cleared the way

for those who’d come who were empowered
to seize possibility — a bright new world

• • •

(haiku)

•

trail forked this spring morne
white-tails chose the woods instead
always more options

• • •

rob kistner © 2010



• dedicated to the visionaries who see beyond •

Flash Dance

…response to prompt #21 from Magpie Tales




Flash Dance

(version 1)

•

like a tiny universe
of noisy
newborn stars

exploding
with sizzle
and fire
in a plethora
of vivid color

a flash dance
of vibrant sparks
showering our dewy
midnight lawn

this cacophony
of celebration
and pyrotechnical
wonders

passes in
then out of existence
in but a moment
this magical night

_____________

(version 2)

•

a tiny universe
of noisy
newborn stars

explodes
with sizzle and fire
a spectacle bizarre

a flash dance
of dazzling sparks
shower the heavens
in wondrous light

this cacophony
of celebration
and pyrotechnical
delight

passes in
then out of existence
in but a thrilling moment
this magical night

_____________

(version 3)

•

a tiny universe
of newborn stars
explodes above us
bold and bright

they swoosh and sizzle
spin and tumble
in mesmerizing
fiery flight

a flash dance
of dazzling sparks
shower the heavens
in wondrous light

this cacophony
of celebration
this pyrotechnical
delight

passes in
then out of existence
in but a moment
this magical night

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

_____________

• photo of aerial fireworks by: Astro Spectacular

No Longer Imagine

…in response to the 9th prompt on the newly re-opened Writer’s Island, I offer a perspective on love…
…but first a short verse I wrote inspired by prompt #8 at We Write Poems

•
see feel hear touch breath live
life is a sensual garden
no longer imagine

•



No Longer Imagine

•

I can no longer imagine
the heat of the red rock desert
soothing my weary bones
nor the vivid red

I can no longer imagine
the power of the blue pacific
thumping the huge stack rocks
on the coast at sunset

I can no longer imagine
the sweet face of my first-born son
held in loving embrace
passed on now 15 years

I can no longer imagine
the soft spring rain
misting the morning light
bringing life to winter earth

I can no longer imagine
the stir of a summer breeze
shimmering across the surface
of a high mountain lake

I can no longer imagine
the filtered autumn sun
falling gentle golden
through a red wood canopy

for I have experienced
these wonders
known these treasures
they enrich me

I need no longer imagine
the fire in a woman’s eyes
the magic of a woman’s smile
the tenderness of a woman’s touch
the passion of a woman’s kiss
nor what it is to love you

• • •

rob kistner © 2010



• photo of Oregon coast at top entitled “Neverending” by: Marc Adamus, an incredible wilderness landscape photographer based in Corvallis, Oregon

Maneater

• In response to prompt #6 of the newly opened We Write Poems, I find arrogant, manipulative divas to be difficult to tolerate, or to understand…



Maneater

•

auburn mane with sable streaks
frosted ermine — lush with pride
a bounce and whip, and tiply snap
with each stiletto’d wanton stride

taught hips roll on slender stems
that part in ripples then enmesh
a brushing sigh of stirring heat
toned thighs gliding flesh on flesh

a stare of comely crystal blue
floats above a ruby pout
that takes you in devouring
has its way, then casts you out

tongue tip teases top lip’s edge
like supple paintbrush flowing
a smile to burn and hypnotize
that wraps around you knowing

luscious wench — worldly wise
sleek as steel — tall and strong
swift and cunning, motor running
she might acquiesce, but not for long

poor fool who tastes this lusciousness
is hopelessly addicted
there’s only one word for this life-force
that word, my friend, is — wicked!

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

Words of the Wizard

…I wrote this in response to prompt #6 at Writer’s Island, the prompt is “Unforgettable”



“The Wizard of Westwood”
John Wooden 1910-2010

Words of the Wizard

•

John Wooden has,
on this 4th day of June,
in the year 2010
left this mortal realm
after 99 years
of untiring service
impeccable wisdom
and great love

a man of balance
and spiritual depth
such as John
comes so seldom
it must be seriously considered
that this world
has lost
one of its special angels

and that the warmth
and the stability
of humankind
may in fact
suffer consequence

I shed not a tear
for John
he needs no pity
it is for the rest of us
that I heartily cry

the following
are the immortal words
of a great and profoundly humble man

gather close
and hear

•

a mentor is someone
who can give correction
without causing resentment

ability is a poor man’s wealth

adversity is the state
in which man
most easily becomes
acquainted with himself
being especially free of admirers then

be more concerned
with your character
than your reputation
because your character
is what you really are
while your reputation
is merely what others
think you are

be prepared
and be honest

it is amazing
how much can be accomplished
if no one cares
who gets the credit

although there is no progress
without change
not all change is progress

consider the rights of others
before your own feelings
and the feelings of others
before your own rights

do not let what you cannot do
interfere with what you can do

don’t measure yourself
by what you have accomplished
but by what you should have accomplished
with your ability

failure is not fatal
but failure to change
might be

ability may get you to the top
but it takes character
to keep you there

listen
if you want to be heard

never make excuses
your friends don’t need them
and your foes won’t believe them

failing to plan
is planning to fail

if you don’t have time
to do it right
when will you have time
to do it over

there is nothing stronger
than gentleness

the true test
of a man’s character
is what he does
when no one is watching

if you’re not making mistakes
then you’re not doing anything
I’m positive that a doer
makes mistakes

it isn’t what you do
but how you do it

it’s not so important
who starts the game
but who finishes it

don’t let yesterday
take up too much of today
make every day
your masterpiece

it’s the little details
that are vital
little things
make big things happen

it’s what you learn
after you know it all
that counts

players with fight
never lose a game
they just run out of time

material possessions
winning scores
and great reputations
are meaningless
in the eyes of the lord
because he knows
what we really are
and that is all that matters

never mistake activity
for achievement

success comes from knowing
that you did your best
to become the best
that you are capable
of becoming

success is never final
failure is never fatal
It’s courage that counts

success
is peace of mind
which is a direct result
of self-satisfaction
in knowing
you did your best
to become the best
you are capable
of becoming

talent is god given
be humble
fame is man-given
be grateful
conceit is self-given
be careful

the main ingredient
of stardom
is the rest of the team

the worst thing
about new books
is that they keep us
from reading the old ones

there are many things
that are essential
to arriving
at true peace of mind
and one of the most important
is faith
which cannot be acquired
without prayer

things turn out best
for the people
who make the best
of the way things turn out

what you are
as a person
is far more important
that what you are
as a basketball player

young people need models
not critics

you can’t let praise
or criticism
get to you
It’s a weakness
to get caught up
in either one

you can’t live
a perfect day
without doing something
for someone
who will never
be able
to repay you

• • •

words by: John Wooden 1910 – 2010
opening by: rob kistner © 2010

• To learn more about John, please click here