Northwest Autumn

It is three weeks until Autumn Equinox 2022. I first wrote and published this piece in 2008, significantly revised it in 2018, sharing it again on dVerse in response to a wonderful prompt by Amaya Engleking. I now have further refined it in small ways, and choose to share it again here in 2022. Much has changed in the 14 years since I first wrote this, but not my love for the Pacific Northwest, and most especially — Oregon. It is in the light of this abiding love, that I now share this piece once more here on dVerse, for OLN, September 1st, 2022. Peace!

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Autumn is upon us, as we enter our season of nature’s rest and replenishment here in the Pacific Northwest. The cycle of renewal will begin in western Oregon, where I lived for 25 years. I moved in 2015 to Seattle to be near my young grandson. Still immersed in Pacific Northwest beauty here, but Oregon will always hold my heart.

The summer’s dry period has ended, and agricultural irrigation has ceased. Harvesting explodes in October into November, including the grape harvest in our many vineyards. Following the gathering of this autumn bounty, the soil is left to recover. The fruit and nut trees, the vines in the vineyards, and the crop fields will begin the slow period of winter revitalization, in anticipation of the growing seasons to come in the new year. The Great Mandala of life turns steady. The rains that begin sporadically in late October, increasing into November, will work their magic — plumping Oregon’s world-class Christmas tree and holly crops, renewing the sparkle of these holiday icons, readying them for harvest.

Wild nature will also enter a period of recovery and renewal. The flowering plants that have dropped their petals, and the grasses and brush, gone late-summer golden, seek these nurturing rains. Mighty evergreens pause, conifers drop their cones, and deciduous trees shed their leaves all go dormant, and rest. The vast Northwest forests are enriched by this period of rejuvenation.

Streams, whose water levels have dropped considerably, will come to new life when rains begin to replenish their flow. Sockeye and Chinook salmon start their run upstream to begin their spawn. Rainbow, Brook, German Brown, and Cutthroat Trout, as well as numerous other species become active as waters rise and cool. Bear, deer, cougar, elk, coyote, big horn sheep, pronghorn antelope, hawk, osprey, eagle; the varied and plentiful wildlife of our region begin preparation for their unique winter rituals.

Autumn nudges into winter, a peaceful time of rest and restoration here in this breathtakingly beautiful region. A regenerative calm lies upon the lush land, as the season of sky-water arrives to quench nature’s thirst, and revivify her energies in this utopia.

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Just as the gardener
nurtures her tend
bending close
to nourish
and protect

so too nature stoops
to embrace
and refresh
her pacific northwest paradise

her autumn shadow upon the land
she leans down
and lets flow life-giving waters
to enrich this lush realm

she covers her beloved eden
in a soft blanket
of moist cloud

a shelter from chilled winter
to insure a rich bounty
when spring returns

abundant fruits
vegetables
and nuts

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hill-climbing vineyards

towering trees
too numerous to imagine

endless grasses
bushes
berries
and flowers

all will be spring succulent
from buildiing winter waters

mountain streams
valley rivers
swell with migrating fish

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as they journey home
up these fresh waters
of new birth

birds and animals
flock and gather
embraced by this season
of quiet replenish

in balanced step
and close harmony
with this cycle
they too
will welcome next spring
with plentiful new life

a sustaining love
this affair

life
nurtured to flourish
in the eventual spring

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*

published: rob kistner © 2008
revised: rob kistner © 2018
final revision: rob kistner © 2022

* More poetry at: dVerse

photos (top to bottom):

  • Autumn at Multnomah Falls, Oregon
  • Oregon Autumn rain on conifer needles
  • Autumn at Sokol Blosser Vineyards, Willamette Valley Oregon
  • Sockeye salmon, Deschutes River, Oregon
  • Autumn Cascade Mountain Lake, Oregon
  • Aeropachydermicide

    Aeropachydermicide: recklessly causing the death of someone or something by actions that result from the foolish belief that one is so smart and powerful that one can make an elephant fly.

     

    Aeropachydermicide

  • Debunking the ridiculous theory of human dominion.
  • ~

    somewhere between our petrochemical insanity
    and our reckless dance with fractured atoms
    we believed we were the miracle
    and it all went seriously awry

    we fantasized we had dominion
    that we understood the vast unknown
    could control the raw chaotic
    that we had figured out the why

    so we delved into dark science
    with no regard for frail nature
    flailed our way across the planet
    belched our leavings into our sky

    we so bought into our egos
    that we perceived ourselves as gods
    that we were capable of anything
    perhaps make the elephant to fly

    but we humans lost sight of balance
    did not comprehend our place
    as only one of precious many
    we let the tipping point slip by

    now we wonder what will happen
    to our misbegotten dream
    stare through disbelieving tears
    as we watch it slowly die

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 10/3/11
    revised © 2019


     

  • Click below to check out more poetry at dVerse:

    Poetic: Theories of Everything and Anything


     

  • Check out more poems on Toads

     

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    Hi! I’m Edgrrr, rob’s shih tzu.

  • Rivers of Tears

     

    Rivers of Tears

    ~

    once lithe and vital
    nature’s great rivers
    lie choked and bloated

    buried misshapen
    in watery graves
    of reckless progress

    headstone’d
    by constructs
    of human folly

    their bones
    stained
    with the ghosts of salmon

    borne away
    on the tears
    of the ancients

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2012

    …inspired by the ecological damage being done by the ill-conceived hydro-electric dams now choking many of the Pacific Northwest’s, and the earth’s mighty rivers, and the pollution we dump so recklessly into our critical and dwindling fresh water tributaries…

    Unfazed

    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.

    …written for Day #29, NaPoMo 2011…


     

    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

    Burst

    …written for Day #13, NaPoMo 2011…


     

    Burst

    •

    sky pulls with spring rain
    sprouting seeds push seeking light
    sun stirs petal’s blush

    engorged buds burst to unfurl
    nature reaches tipping point

    • • •

    rob kistner © 4/13/11

    Kisses Crimson-Gold

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    Kisses Crimson-Gold

    ~

    the stir of autumn
    enwraps my heart
    as summer slowly wanes
    riding the early fallen leaves
    on the current of october waters
    whirling and bobbing on crystal ripples
    round and past the river rocks
    over rip rap in the stream bed
    carried vividly away
    into the setting sun

    days shorten
    shadows lengthen
    a quiet melancholy
    settles upon the valley
    as nature prepares itself
    for the slumber of renewal

    but not before the crackling
    joyous dance of harvest
    and a crisp crimson-gold
    kiss goodnight

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2010

    __________________

    Brightly coloured fall leaves in a forest stream

    Over The Edge

    This piece is offered in response to visual prompt Mag 33 at Magpie Tales seen at bottom of post,
    also prompt 22 at Writer’s Island,
    and prompt #135 at One Single Impression.

    Over The Edge

    •

    From down there, down there,
    it’s coming from down there.
    From where — down there?
    Yes Sis, I swear!

    That horrible smell
    that’s filling the air,
    the one that’s most certainly
    impossible to bear,
    is coming from that women
    with the massive blue hair
    sitting alone on the patio chair,
    on the deck of the house,
    that’s below us — right there!

    What a putrid aroma,
    you’d think that she’d care.
    There are simply some things
    that one never should share,
    like the stink that is rising
    from that patio chair,
    on the deck of the house
    that’s below us down there.

    And the hideous color
    of that mountain of hair —
    I can’t help it, can’t help it,
    I can’t help but stare.

    It’s a tangled and horrible monument to
    a disgusting and eye-blinding
    shade of bright blue —
    and it’s causing a feeling of nausea too!

    I must look away my heads starting to whirl,
    and I feel that my toes are beginning to curl,
    I fear over the edge here I’m going to hurl —
    and I don’t want to do that in front of a girl.

    Maybe I’m wrong
    but I would assume,
    if one’s going to bathe
    in a noxious perfume,
    they’d at least have the manners
    to exhibit some pride,
    and not foul the ozone,
    instead — stay inside.

    Not to be the forecaster
    of gloom and of doom,
    but keep the eco-disaster
    contained to one room.

    And if you’re chromatically challenged my friend,
    consider the others that you might offend.
    A monumentally grotesque rat’s nest of blue,
    is not something I care to look at on you!

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010


    Mag 33

    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

    True Work

    I offer this piece in response to prompt #18 at Writer’s Island.

    ______________

    AUTHOR’S NOTE: I had this incomplete 3-year-old draft of my poem “True Work” (loosely inspired by Gary Snyder’s “Real Work”). I had wanted, for some time, to edit it into a piece, with which I would be more satisfied. The above listed prompt inspired me to create a suite of poetry, threaded together by the phrase: true work. My focus for this suite being humanity, which was the crux of the “True Work” draft I already had. The digital rendering I created of the hand holding the world helped me finish my vision of this poetry suite.

    ______________

    “empty your love into the world”
    “the true work is never done”

     

    True Work

    ____
    I bend my back and squat
    then straighten at the waist
    hunkered ‘neath the weight
    I lift clean the load
    the warehouseman’s refrain
    always on my mind
    “back straight
    lift with the legs”

    the first test – no result
    I try a second
    then a third
    on and on
    day after day
    long hours in the lab
    the formula must be perfect
    only perfect will save lives

    drywall must be flush
    and plumb
    also square and seamless
    meticulously
    I set each sheet
    with the level and the bob
    then pause
    to wipe my sweating brow

    I curse the clay
    do battle with fatigue
    I coax my muse
    to commit to form
    the first draft of my vision
    to then modify
    and remold
    until the ultimate creation

    these are elements of the work I do
    or did
    or may yet do
    and I am you
    and you are me
    and we are all together
    in this endeavor of our daily life

    but this is not our true work

    to bend to lift someone in need
    to help carry their burden
    until they again stand steady

    to seek the components of peace
    to formulate the dialog
    that fosters understanding

    to measure well tolerance
    to stand squarely flush
    with truth and level justice

    to visualize universal love
    to create the enduring model
    for a free and vital world

    this — is our true work

    so little done
    so much to do

    * * *

     

    If Only
    ____

    stressed beyond limits

    earth’s fragile balance falters

    but this can be changed

    her future is in our hands

    if only we do true work

    * * *

     

    Endeavor
    ____

    abstain from false pride

    prayer does not a halo make

    that requires true work

    ____

    rob kistner © 2010

     

    * photorendering above entitled “In Our Hands”
    by: rob kistner © 2010

    Wilt

    This piece is offered in response to the August 16th prompt at Big Tent Poetry.




    Wilt

    •

    curtains hang limp
    at the front room windows
    through which no breeze
    has blown for days

    only the sound of tires
    crackling like slow-torn velcro
    as cars roll sluggish
    past our porch
    tugging the molten tar patches
    of our sizzled street

    watering the roses
    I see the gerbera daisies droop
    panting in their porcelain pineapple pots
    toasting on the withered wooden stoop
    paint cracked and dry
    scorched from neglect

    even the silk plant on the kitchen sill
    is wilted from the triple-digit heat
    the glowing zeroes stare red
    from the temperature display
    like a pair of burning eyes
    vacant as my baked brain

    I bring the cool stream
    from our garden hose
    to quench my thirst
    and moisten my parched lips

    they do not smile
    simmering deep in summer

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    Machine Mind

    This post is offered in response to prompt #14 at We Write Poems,
    the August 9th prompt at Big Tent Poetry,
    the August 11th prompt at Three Word Wednesday,
    and prompt #65 at Carry On Tuesday.




    “…scientists were so preoccupied with whether or not they could,
    they didn’t stop to think if they should…”

    Dr. Ian Malcolm


    Machine Mind

    •

    you wink awake at morning’s light
    beckoning me to focused task
    prompting me of promise

    you collaborate
    in my keeping touch
    in work dispatched
    in thoughts transcribed
    in matters pure creative

    you are my portal into virtual space
    to probe mysteries
    the vast unknown

    the tool I wield
    to unearth facts
    dig the dirt
    to search for truth

    tightly spun
    within the web
    you tend my life
    make all cogs turn

    my instrument of whim
    device of my distraction
    are you my submissive
    or master of my will

    when you’ve surpassed my vision
    will you serve me still

    have I the power to shut you down
    turn my back
    walk away

    to truly let you keep

    in the deep subconscious
    does your machine mind
    really sleep

    • • •

    TechReGret

    (a lighthearted tanka)

    •

    my laptop’s frozen

    and my cell phone’s out of range

    it’s at these times when

    I think how life used to be

    hand-written letters have soul

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    _________________________

    • photorendered collage entitled: “Machine Mind” – by: rob kistner © 2010

    IN CLOSING: We live a in a world immersed, if not drowning, in technology. The idealistic and naive early vision was to create technology to serve us, make life easier, less complicated – but the joke is on us. We now serve the technology, and life is more complicated — traveling at a pace we struggle to keep up with. We’ve leveraged our peace of mind in the misguided pursuit of leisure. Is there a remedy? If we do not open a global dialog focused at finding ‘balance’, the situation will, I believe, resolve itself – and the world will not like, and may not survive, the ultimate solution.

    As James Martin, one of our great modern thinkers and author of the “The Meaning of the 21st Century” points out in his most optimistic and uplifting book, man stands on the threshold of either the greatest era in human history, or the end of life as we know it – the outcome rests in our hands.

    I wrote an essay back in 2007 which deals with humankind’s strange relationship with the technology we’ve created. You can click here if you would like to read it. …rob

    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

    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

    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

    In A Heartbeat

    In response to prompt #52 at Carry On Tuesday, and prompt #115 at One Single Impression




    In A Heartbeat

    •

    the trip to visit you
    is filled with memories
    sweet anticipation
    knowing the warmth of your hello
    the strength of your handshake
    your fond embrace

    the stretch down I-5
    we’re laughing and singing
    miles zipping by
    till we spy your exit

    then west toward the coast
    a quiet buzz of excitement
    fills the car

    at last we catch sight of your vineyards
    as we crest big rock ridge

    then the left turn
    down your valley road
    so beautiful
    so familiar

    hands on the wheel
    I anticipate every bend and rise
    every dip
    exhilarating
    as I navigate the gorgeous vistas

    the sound of our tires
    as they trundle ‘cross
    the narrow wooden bridge
    that fords your stream
    boulder’d and crystal clear
    as it tumbles and falls
    brisk from mountain snow-pack

    coming round
    we see the corridor
    of faithful old-growth firs
    stepping back for us
    inviting our return

    the regal mountains reign
    high above
    granting us safe passage

    boughs bend
    branches sway
    celebrating that we are back
    when your gate comes into view
    swung open in welcome

    it’s left up your gravel drive
    the pebble and crushed rock
    crunch and clatter in stony rustle
    as we traverse your hill
    to see you and Michelle
    cuddled on your porch swing
    your family pouring down the steps
    into the yard
    beaming bright eyed
    arms open for embrace

    six hours and 300 miles
    separate us
    but the journey always goes by
    in a heartbeat

    the road to a friend’s house is never long

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010