~
Spring
(haiku)
~
wings flutter gently
spring breeze bends full flowered stems
meadow dance begins
~ ~ ~
Summer
(haiku)
~
green leaf on blue pond
turns in golden summer sun
red bird softly sings
~ ~ ~
Fall
(haiku)
~
stalks lie down in fields
arbors burst with ripened grape
fall is on the land
~ ~ ~
Winter
(haiku)
~
coarse lands cloaked in white
lakes bejeweled in crystal
winter’s dressing hand
~ ~ ~
rob kistner © 2007
_____________________
That Hollywood Sparkle
~
it’s not so much we resent the hungry
no more than do we despise the poor
rather we avoid and dismiss them
with the dull cough of apathy
we find them disturbing and dangerous
they disquiet our comfort
they disrupt our summer stroll downtown
we do not flow with the milk of kindness
our part is more the dark brandy of denial
afterall what is it we can really do
we do however praise our stars
for their sensitivity toward the downtrodden
it makes the less fortunate more glamorous
and we like the hollywood sparkle it imparts to tragedy
~ ~ ~
rob kistner © 6/26/18
this final edit inspired by prompt #24 at Writer’s Island,
prompt #23 at We Write Poems,
and prompt #74 at Carry on Tuesday.
•
from rippled sinew black as midnight
bores a stare of molten gold
a furious but calm inferno
searing deep to burn your soul
unyielding is this panther’s pace
held captive in this foolish zoo
cold eyes rivet snarled contempt
unfathomed pools of quiet rage
on this panther paces paces
turns and paces back he paces
graceful stride of brute resolve
presses on to test his bounds
proud this captive soul just paces
frustration turns anger retraces
this brutal prison of false environ
does not fool this mighty beast
observe how he continues pacing
instinct certain this is not home
his piercing gaze fixed well beyond
his suffered fate of cruel confine
see the panther pacing pacing
his nature steeled his spirit strong
relentless sorrow wild longing
drive on and on his constant stride
this will not break his fierce resolve
he tracks freedom he stalks life
imprisoned he will forever pace
and he will pace
and he will die
• • •
(haiku)
•
caged beast close your eyes
have no fear of letting go
dream of wild freedom
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
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.
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.
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.
•
no life without love
like a tree without blossoms
barren and fruitless
• • •
•
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
•
poet
do not weave
your fabric of myth
or speak to us in grand verse
telling of the song
of the spheres
or the days
before this dark time
help us see
the real place of light
hear the clear voice of truth
know the pure heart of justice
look poet
look at the terrible suffering
tell us where that is birthed
tell us how to see
with our own eyes
so that we might reach in
and tear out the pain
uproot the sorrow
crush the evil
you see many things poet
but you talk in riddles
you avoid the cold
and the hard way
for the soft path
of platitudes
and metaphors
of meter and rhyme
but this is not the time
look poet
look into the fire
feel it burn your eyes
char your soul
tell us how that feels
let us hear you scream
rally us
set us ablaze
lift your pen
like a sword
and strike down
the imbalance
show us the grip
and we will join the battle
but you must tell us
poet
tell us what is real
in the power
that is plain language
we will listen
• • •
•
fragrance of baked dough
aroma of warm butter
croissants tasty hot
• • •
poem and haiku by: rob kistner © 2010
•
it is this time every year
perhaps coaxed by the warming breezes of spring
that a flood of recall is unleashed
smell of leather oiled in neatsfoot
clatter of wooden bats in a canvass bag
rattle of metal spikes on concrete
snug feel of the ballglove
tuggin’ on the cap
rollin’ the bill just right
smoothness of the cowhide sphere
grip on raised seams
click and clack of the catcher’s gear
cheers, jeers and sometimes tears
right foot on the rubber
excitement of taking signs
leg coiled for delivery
the hey batter batter
pop of the ball in the pocket
anticipation of an onrushing grounder
launching the throw across the diamond
shielding my eyes in a high sky
relief of snagging one in the webbing
feel of polished hardwood
crack of the sweet spot
exhilaration of connecting solidly
breaking down to first
taking a good lead off
soft slide into the base
the thrill of swiping second
the joy of crossing home
my teammates in a dog pile
sweet sweet exhaustion
knowing I left it all on the field
your arm around my shoulder
the pride in your eyes
root beer at the soda fountain
with the team after the game
riding home on the tailgate
of our old Edsel wagon
it is every year
at this time
that I think of all of this
that I think of you
how you wanted me to try pro
how the scout felt I had the arm
it is the path I didn’t take
you never made me feel sorry
thank you for these memories
thank you for your love
• • •
•
chalk lines laid on dirt
crack of white ash on cowhide
son’s smile is a joy
• • •
poem and haiku by: rob kistner © 2010
•
the two red crests are busy
hammering away
peck peck peck
big chucks of the dead pulp
flying in all directions
the elusive couple has come
down into the yard
from the climbs
of the old-growth forest
that surrounds our home
to get their fill
of early-season insects
comfortable as two dancers
they circle each other
bobbing and weaving
on the old Douglas stump
peck peck peck
beautiful in black
bold scarlet topknots
vivid white to frame the faces
majestic in their size
and mystery
these life-mates
rule our woods
often heard
peck peck peck
seldom seen
save a passing glance
of red and wing
but here they are
resplendent in the Oregon sun
emboldened by mating season
and the spring bounty
they flit occasionally
in turn
to the nearby red cedar
centuries old
live and looming
but they return to the stump
peck peck peck
preferring the delicacies
in the decaying remains
• • •
•
each crest a new thrill
each fresh turn an adventure
hiking the forest
• • •
poem and haiku by: rob kistner © 2010
•
primo riffin’
smokin’ sacred
glorified ‘n sanctified
fused bruised and overused
the big axe jumped
pumped
and thunder thumped
lubed ‘n locked âN lugnut crazy
scene was pure
to the fringe
slammin’
jammin’
come to jesus
skins was raucous
reeds was rippin’ trippin- sanity slippin’
blood ‘n bone on broken tusk
brass ‘and n balls to the bell-tone edge
soul elation
elevation
riot smooooooth
‘n devastation
upright
‘n bottom tight
we brought down the house
this velvet night
• • •
•
first notes soar skyward
stars shine in the clear night air
jazzin’ has begun
• • •
poem and haiku by: rob kistner © 2010
____________________________________
•
fueled by the freedom of the open road
we race our way into the sunset
leaning tightly into curves
wind whipping our hair
our knees tucked
heads down
we rocket
thriving on the thrill of the throttle
embracing the magnificence
living in the moment
not counting time
or keeping track
just being
free
• • •
•
engine oil changed
grips cleaned tire pressure checked
spring’s highway beckons
• • •
•
(onomatopoeia)
kick down — kick down — kick down
rest
kick down — kick down
rrrroarrr
rev rev rev rev
• • •
poem, haiku, and onomatopoeia verse by: rob kistner © 2010
Phew
•
who knew lovemaking would end
with my lover breaking wind
oh god did that foul stench offend
we’ll not soon make sweet love again
here’s one thing that I’ll be hope’n
if we do the windows open
no refried beans next time we’re flirty
‘cause on a scale of ten that fart’s a thirty
(in tanka form)
our loving did end
when my sweet lover broke wind
a stench to offend
no beans next time we’re flirty
ten scale – that fart’s a thirty
Rhiannon had suggested in the day 6 NaPoWriMo prompt at Read Write Poem that we sort through a collection of our pictures as inspiration for this day’s poem. Although I veered a bit from her precise suggestion, the process of sorting brought me to the pictures I have of my fishing adventures, and that inspired this — so thanks Rhiannon!
•
cliff-climbing conifers
stir in the brisk dawn
as breezes swoop the gorge
rustle my jacket
nip my cheeks
across the casual rapids
near the stony shore
rainbows surface in slack water
hungrily gulping morning hatch
my most recent offering undulates past
in the glinting chatter of spring flow
unacknowledged
chuckling
I turn
elbow steady
I begin to rotate my lengthy bamboo
behind to two PM.
silently stripping the slender thread
from current’s surface
leaving a razor crease
disappearing quick as it comes
the lacquered rod bends forward as I lift
then slowly flexes back
the line arcs behind in flight
trailing silvery spray
backward pressure builds
as line nears full unfurling
but just before
a smooth return
slowly brings the shaft
again to ten AM
now
I feel the forward pull of the soaring mass
as overhead the line recoils
midair
the glass-green fiber
rolls out ahead
over azure ripples
the singing strand painting an “Sâ€
in the cloudless sky
quick
smooth
and quiet
the line is re-wed to stream
the feathered morsel at the tip
offered yet again
coaxing a ready trout
to rise
and strike
• • •
•
fly reel freshly oiled
new tippets cut and tied firm
spring trout on the rise
• • •
poem and haiku by: rob kistner © 2010
•
he has kept it locked for so long
none can pass
his grief makes certain none will try
this is a dark forbidden place
high-walled
cold and barren
unyielding
lifeless
brutal night has fallen
no sun can penetrate
the darkness soothes him
he retreats into its depths
hiding
shielded from any further pain
but see
a shadow falls across the threshold
someone approaches
a comely being
warm and alive
lays gentle siege
threatening to breach his hardened fortress
but this lovely creature
fair and fragile
can not possibly gain entrance
must not
he will resist
this is wrong
this is trespass
this is cruel betrayal of his lost beloved
he has no right to leave this place of sorrow
no right
but his stronghold is succumbing
falling to this delicate advance
he is vulnerable
terrified
but it is useless to resist
searching with a patient heart
she has found the key
grasped in her loving hand
fingers tenderly enfold it
gently
she slides it into the lock
turning with great care
he is defenseless
he feels his heart slowly open
the long forgotten stir of love
begins to warm his soul
• • •
•
sweet pink blossoms fall
red spring buds will take their place
soon will be cherries
• • •
poem and haiku by: rob kistner © 2010
Nelle Lytle put forth a fascinating and challenging prompt at Read Write Prompt for day #4 of NaPoWriMo. We were to look at things inside out. At first I was perplexed. I kicked a number of ideas around and was hitting the wall, when it struck that inside out is a condition of perspective – a point from which things are viewed. You see one from the other.
I started thinking about situations in which I view one from the other, when it hit me – time! I continually view the “other†aspect of time from where I am… looking at the past or future while being in the present. That’s all it took. My muse (and Ram Dass) carried me from there.
I not only wrote a new poem, I created a new collage. Thanks Nelle! 😉
•
the future — the past
tomorrow — yesterday
time’s not hard and fast
moments slip away
fretting what we miss
we ponder destiny
yet today is all there is
ever was — will ever be
days not yet arrived
ones that slipped away
not present in our lives
there only is today
can’t change what’s gone astray
or know what is to come
embrace what is this day
stop running to and from
forget the come and gone
all the who what when and how
don’t get lost looking beyond
learn to truly be here – NOW
• • •
•
turning clocks forward
evenings last longer now
so too will my smile
• • •
poem and haiku by: rob kistner © 2010
____________________________________
•
she need not be frightened
she knows the moves
sees the steps
clearly in her mind
she knows the stride
the position of her body
just before elevation
she understands the speed
the run up
the lead foot
the plant angle
the knee bend
the thrust
she has done this
literally thousands of repetitions
no need for trepidation
she knows the energy of the moment
of the crowd
as they anticipate
as she anticipates
the lift off
the rise
the glorious weightlessness
the thrill of flying
the feel of returning to earth
to her toes
her feet
how to offset the momentum
to snap to a graceful stop
come to point
straight and strong
arms raised and extended
the applause
that exhilaration
she knows this all
to her bones
she can do this
in her sleep
she has this mastered
she is a master dancer
but
that flash of doubt
and again
she fails
there is now one leap
she fears she cannot master
the leap
back through time
to her youth
to her glory
her invincibility
still
she leaps
she will always
leap
• • •
•
wife in her mud shoes
clatter in the potting shed
soon will come new life
• • •
poem and haiku by: rob kistner © 2010