~
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
_____________________
Cloistered
when another
tells you of yourself
you’re shown the dance they see
your outward choreography
but you hear not of the music
that rings true in your mind
that leads and drives the steps
to this inward dance they’re blind
you are shown the reflection
not the light that shines inside
that illuminates your soul
to guide your steps and stride
are we the I that we know
the self that we so treasure
or are we in fact the other
the one the others measure
for if the valid I
be the one that is most known
then we are in fact that I
the one to ourselves not shown
for surely when compared
the majority story shared
is of the outward other
the one seen by another
and so we live our life
cloistered in this other
and live this life alone
even when by many known
for the I that’s outward shown
is the I that’s not our own
~ ~ ~
rob kistner © 2012
Morphling
I will not be confined
always in motion
eternal ebb and flow
perpetual like the seas
my spirit an eternal liquid
in everlasting flux
expands unrestrained
seeking freedom
I will not be defined
my nature is fluid
my essence is turbulent
deep but ever changing
my heart in constant surge
challenges boundary
seeking balance that is mine
to change at will
reach not for me
I will not be held
do not name me
I will not be yours
~ ~ ~
rob kistner © 2012
~
had she not appeared in that clearing
so lost
had she not crossed my threshold
on that september day
had not her voice
drifted like silk on a summer breeze
to wrap sheer and sweet
around my heart
had not I been drawn
like a bloom to the morning sun
had not I been captivated
as a hummingbird
by a drop of nectar
crystal on a velvet petal
had not my love come down
soft as a rolling mountain meadow
had not this dream been born
had not my life begun again
~ ~ ~
rob kistner © 2012
~
on the boulevard
outside
last night’s rain
puddles
midst the chaos of metro-clutter
as if abandoned
by the waters of earth
it shoulders its way
through the culverts
in search of mother sea
this day begins golden and crisp
bird songs echo empty sunrise streets
lovers and their beloved
sit by morning windows
with tea
and curiosity
they talk
in these moments
their souls spill
one into the other
entranced
somewhere
tender lips
are sculpting sweet words
but here in this quiet
I drown in your eyes
fallen into azure pools
~ ~ ~
rob kistner © 2012
~
fallen into night’s embrace
held down by dark shadows
I writhe in the arms of nightmare
would that I could rise
into the light of dawn’s nod
but I’m flesh, weak, consumed by flesh
purity laid raw entangled in my sin
skin to skin with my obsession
restrained to roil in my transgression
but soon the light of morne
will fold itself upon me pardoned
oh pray I not be too far drawn asunder
~ ~ ~
rob kistner © 2012
~
this heart’s now yours
this damaged heart
this brittle fractured aching heart
broken by you, every part
I’ve no use for this ruined heart
plucked here from my chest
I seek a new and vital heart
one that’s far less stressed
a fresh heart that’s unbreakable
a heart able to forgive
unmarred unscarred yet tender
beating with the joy to live
~ ~ ~
rob kistner © 2012
•
golden lady in sensuous silk
a beauty sure to mesmerize
sculpted by a master’s hand
so seductive as to scandalize
a stare of comely crystal blue
floats above a ruby pout
spellbound by her magic eyes
she holds your soul with no way out
her tongue tip teases her top lip’s edge
like a supple paintbrush flowing
her smile will fire and hypnotize
then wrap around you knowing
you are now her helpless captive
quite hopelessly addicted
in the velvet grip of this smoldering waif
is she an angel — or is she wicked
• • •
rob kistner © 2011
____________
image by Bert Stern
•
beckoned to the final tide
called forth by the ferryman
spirit stirs to the distant voice
that draws you to the journey
caught still in this mortal realm
soul resigned to embarkation
time folding in upon
as slow you approach the vessel
• • •
rob kistner © 2011
____________
image by Mostafa Habibi
Something life’s experiences have taught me: seeing the world for what it is makes you smart, envisioning the world for what it can be – makes you wise…
•
there are countless contradictions
in the elements of the work we do
and conflictions as we strive
but bring these not to table
for I am you
and you are me
and we are all together
in this constant labor
for our daily bread
and this toil to sustain the body
this does not feed the spirit
this is not our true work
to lift someone in need
to measure well in tolerance
to seek the components of peace
to create enduring possibility
this is the true work
in the final sweep
‘round the face of time
this is what the soul eats
• • •
rob kistner © 2011
•
the virgin page taunts me
untouched
the bright white
throbs like a migraine
no burden of remorse
no weight of mystery
does it bear
no sting of anger
no wink of mirth
does it proffer
nothing sensual or sensitive to share
no tale to spin
no plot to thicken
no coin of phrase to turn
just vast blank space
tormenting nothingness
cruel emptiness
to drain my brain
dissonance spills through my open window
the scatter of autumn showers
stir of october wind
rustle of moist leaves
in the distance
muffled keens
bursts of barking
far off yelps
the edgy piercing din
of dripping prowling night
intrudes in damp insistence
to fill my head
fevered with frustration
to leave not one small space for wit
the search for insight all for naught
no spark to light this dark
no muse in sight
nothing clever or profound
in the air this night
chilled
slack
uninspired
• • •
rob kistner © 2011
•
to grow up
is to chase off
our innocence
our naïve belief
in the world as a beautiful place
to harden against the magic
of our childhood dreams
but if by chance
we can cling to just one
perhaps we can hold on
to our precious sense of wonder
• • •
rob kistner © 2011
•
he
a master of time and space
she
so young and trusting
he
a wizard of colors and words
dazzled her with danger and dreams
she
a nubile daughter of nature
anointed him with exotic pleasures
he
replaced the sun in her sky
with a fire he conjured and kept
she
warmed herself in its heat
came to his bed at its setting
they
the left foot and the right foot poised
to step forth in creativity’s dance
to whirl and glide persistent and true
in the measure and balance of love
• • •
rob kistner © 2011
These two poetic reflections are unrelated, beyond their focus on silence. The first reflection here considers what it is to fall into the deepening silence of old age. The second reflection looks at the silence that causes, and also results from repression…
•
shrouded by evening in waning october
as autumn tumbles towards winter
is to know the losing of the light
the ever growing darkness
the advance of the cold
the time of endings
death’s due vigil
deep silence
how do I abide this season
• • •
rob kistner © 2011
•
escape was an improbability
as was understanding
opinions regarding outcome
ignored altogether
fate sealed with no discourse
executed with an air of entitlement
when one has no arms to flail
no fists to clench
no fingers to point
gestures of dissent are sorely limited
rights easily wrest away
freedom falls beyond grasp
inevitable
when one has no voice
• • •
rob kistner © 2011
the graceful glide
engulfed by the spire
in a roar of golden orange
horribly beautiful
perversely mesmerizing
obscene
devastating images
torrents of humanity
raining down
desperation their only escape
masses of humanity
racing
to outrun the unbelievable
praying
to be delivered from the inconceivable
traumatic images
shrines of free commerce
consumed
by the unbearable weight
of their fragile significance
plummeting to earth
in a cloud of self-destruction
heartbreaking images
screaming
dazed
terrified souls
consumed
by the unbearable weight of the moment
staggering onward
to outdistance the surging roll
of all-engulfing
pulverized aftermath
courageous images
battered
determined
tireless heroes
those who were called
who served unselfishly
some
who gave the ultimate service
haunting images
color
gender
ethnicity
wiped away
from the ashen-grey faces
of the traumatized throngs
now just masks of calamity
all made equal
by horror and grief
one nation
under siege
inconsolable
with tragedy and sorrow
for all
unforgettable images
burned into our hearts