Deep Indigo

…written for Day #7, NaPoMo 2011…


Deep Indigo

•

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

Limitless

…limitless talent, unfathomable spirit…

Limitless

•

• written for Writer’s Island

The Mourning

The Mourning

•

the hollow wallow
aglow in the spotlight’s heat
to boast odes of praise for him
in death
who had few words of warmth for him
in life

while those who love him
pay true tribute
with searing tears
of silent grief

• • •

rob kistner © 2011


Wedges

 

Wedges

•

he was slicing wedges
prepping for the night crew
when the stranger entered
walked quietly to the bar

it happened fast
no one saw him draw
the shot traumatized the patrons
no one saw his face

he vanished into the evening
before anyone comprehended
the frail thread of life
severed in a heartbeat

• • •

rob kistner © 3/1/11

…written for Magpie Tales

The Taste

This type of poem is known as a haibun, and combines prose with haiku. It is offered in response to the September 20th prompt at Big Tent Poetry.

The Taste

•

It was an embrace I’d wished had been endless, at our tearful farewell – your body supple and warm, pulsing with life.

lips lush as cognac
open softly to kisses
urgently linger

I passed through security, turned and fixed on your gaze – prayed it was not the last time I’d look into your eyes. I wandered dazed down the ramp, to the jet that would take me to the fury of hell. I locked your face of love deep in my heart.

That cherished image proved my grasp on sanity through two years of horror – through the sting of separation, the bitter taste of war, the foul stench of death.

I return this day, facing reality at 30,000 feet, the salt of sadness on my lips. I am ashamed, frightened to see and touch you again, but I burn to do so.

so different now
my hands angry with bloodshed
innocence is lost

I fear a kiss from my killer’s mouth, will forever defile your precious lips – lush as sweet cognac, that day we parted.

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

NOTE: this piece is by no means a condemnation of the men and women who are sent into the teeth of hell to fight, suffer, and sometimes die. Rather, it is an expression of my deep respect for what they endure, and a quiet tear for what is so often sadly lost in so doing.

Final Sentinel

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Final Sentinel

~

I watched
as generations
moved forward
as civilization
painstakingly
progressed
set foothold
knowledge
unfolded
slowly

I observed
the millenniums
of human endeavor
as they awakened
to self-reliance
less dependent
on hive mentality
mastering machines
eliminating conflict
striving for truth
ever evolving

I saw
nature
the world
reshaped
tempered
resilient

proud
I stand tall
thrust skyward
closer to heaven
than any living thing
a perpetual presence
the constant sentinel
a witness to triumph

would
that all that
were true

I watched helplessly
as generations receded
as empires crumbled
greed ran rampant
wisdom ebbed
civilization
imploded

I observed
millenniums
of human folly
misguided logic
flawed reasoning
as they flailed
stumbling
to a cold
isolated
world

disconnected

from one another
from the environment
serving their machines
serving their avarice
perfecting violence
racing to ruination
becoming aliens
in a mad eden
disillusioned
depraved
diseased

until
they were
no more

I watched through tears
as the natural world
slowly declined
diminished
withered
scarred
died

putrid
toxic air
permeates
burnt terrain
to far horizons
and now I stand
thrusting skyward
in this decaying hell
praying for a heaven
the only living thing
the pitiful survivor
the final sentinel
time’s witness
to tragedy
watching
the end

~ ~ ~

rob kistner © 2010
(revision © 2018)

  • Author’s Note: let’s strive to see part two never happens…

    _____________

  • What Do You See

    You & Me

    I offer this piece in response to prompt #69 at Carry On Tuesday,
    and prompt #18 at We Write Poems,
    also the September 6th prompt at Big Tent Poetry,
    and the September 8th prompt at Three Word Wednesday

    You &Me

    (a poetic quadratych)

    •

    The Secret

    what I said was
    don’t touch
    go away
    leave me be

    while inside
    I cried out
    draw near
    stay with me

    you are light
    you are pure
    you are joy
    you are free

    I am not
    I am dark
    I am beast
    can’t you see

    without you
    there is much
    you don’t know
    about me

    The Revelation

    I lived at the light’s edge
    that pooled in the night
    on the bleak back streets
    of the sad brokenhearted

    I hid in the anguish
    of the loveless who cowered
    in the dark nightmare alleys
    of the lost and forgotten

    I fed on the grief
    of the mourners who wailed
    for their horrific loss
    in the ruins of death

    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

    The Change

    ’til a 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 the blaze

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

    The Miracle

    you wrapped yourself ‘round me
    gazed into my eyes
    your kiss soft and serene
    was the essence of healing

    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 © 2010

    • photo above is of the GOASTT, digitally enhanced by: rob kistner 2010

    Too Still

    This piece is offered in response to prompt Mag 26 at Magpie Tales




    Still

    •

    it sits
    still
    atop the corner
    of our garden wall
    just where she left it

    how many lilies
    did it nourish
    how many fuscia
    lilac
    rose
    and morning glory
    did it quench

    it dispensed its
    life giving waters
    so gracefully
    in her hand

    such a delicate hand
    gentle in its task
    of planting new growth
    but rugged on the weeds
    that threatened her beloved garden

    she was the giver of life
    and the guardian
    of her realm

    but she could not
    stop all that threatened
    and I had not
    her gift of life giving

    and so it rests
    atop the wall
    no longer is it lifted
    by her tender
    hand of nurture

    that hand now
    is still

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    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

    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


    Questions

    …I wrote this in response to the June 28th prompt at Big Tent Poetry
    and for prompt #59 at Carry On Tuesday


     

    Questions

    •

    he lifts himself quietly
    from beneath the sheets
    soiled with neglect

    makes his way carefully
    past the shallow-breathed crumple
    that lay milky-eyed in a heap
    un-moving on the floor
    save a twitch of the sodden head

    this wreckage is his mother

    why do you just lie there mother
    my head is full of demons son

    the response only imagined
    she remains slack and death-like
    where nocturne angels of sweet release
    had laid down lush upon her
    in fevered embrace
    lustfully conjured
    by last night’s spoon and lance
    still skewered silver in the soured vein

    mother — why do you want to die
    the return is only silence

    he lingers but a moment
    verifying life
    then moves on
    head down

    he angles to the bathroom
    to the scum-brown bowl
    to wash his face
    a face lit sallow by the yellowed bulb
    that hangs bare and lonely

    eyes of knowing
    eyes of sadness
    stare into the mirror
    broken as his heart
    then close

    your eyes hold a story my son
    will you tell me your story

    yes mother
    if you really want to hear about it
    if you really could

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010


    Extinction’s Shadow

    …these are rewrites of prior drafts, edited fresh for the June 21st prompt at Big Tent Poetry
    and strongly influenced by prompt #7 at We Write Poems


    Extinction’s Shadow

    •

    smothered by big oil
    our blue planet is dying
    greed’s shadow falls hard

    •

    future is mortgaged
    to petrochemical lust
    fatal addiction

    •

    mankind is drowning
    in a flood of fossil fuel
    black tide of folly

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    • 3D color rendering at top entitled: “Too Long in the Shadow”
    by: rob kistner © 2008

    Anger – 3 Contemplations

    …I offer this 3-part contemplation on anger in response to the June 7th prompt at Big Tent Poetry

    • the first poem is a free verse conceptual perspective on the essence of anger
    • the second is a poem I would like to share, which touches the primal anger I felt at the time of the tragic death of my 18-year-old son, Aaron — written shortly after the horrible event
    • the third is the pantoum which was directly suggested by this prompt — it is based on a poem I wrote while in the early stages of my grief, also regarding the raw, unfiltered anger I felt, and still feel occasionally, surrounding Aaron’s death



    Anger

    •

    love
    bruised

    crying out
    to be understood

    so loudly
    that it cannot hear

    frustrated
    that its capacity to feel

    is far greater
    than its ability to express

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    ______________________

    Primal

    •

    i remember well the day he died
    the searing pain
    that fueled my rage
    setting fire to the skies

    primal power

    giving life to sorrowed hatred
    sustaining me no food or sleep
    while i cursed the cruel heavens
    in ringing spite that toppled mountains

    and leveled to despair
    every mocking face of care
    reaching out to touch me
    saying how they understood

    they sure as hell — did not

    or they’d have never gotten near me
    they’d have given me vast berth
    for all i wanted was to strike them
    make them scream
    make them hurt

    i would have given him my life
    with little thought have taken yours
    for if my son could no longer live
    nor would anyone on this earth

    • • •

    rob kistner © 1995

    ______________________

    This Cannot Be

    •

    this cannot be the way his story ends
    his youth snuffed out by someone’s mindless deed
    this cannot be the horror fate intends
    if life you want mine now I do concede

    his youth snuffed out by someone’s mindless deed
    if debt is owed please I will make amends
    if life you want mine now I do concede
    hell’s threshold now to where I stand extends

    if debt is owed please I will make amends
    anger grips me like a poison seed
    hell’s threshold now to where I stand extends
    my soul ablaze my heart begins to bleed

    anger grips me like a poison seed
    god your cold and heartless name offends
    my soul ablaze my heart begins to bleed
    a blackness here within me now distends

    god your cold and heartless name offends
    hatred of you deep inside does breed
    a blackness here within me now distends
    upon my very essence it does feed

    hatred of you deep inside does breed
    cruel god is this the horror you intend
    upon my very essence it does feed
    this cannot be the way his story ends

    please tell me this is not the way his story ends

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    • collage above entitled “Stages of Grief” by: rob kistner © 2010


    ______________________


    In loving memory of my son, Aaron Robert Kistner: 11/4/76 – 7/3/95

    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