memories – Image & Verse

Pepper’d Memories

Yes — I was the walrus
so too the fool on the hill
I was the nowhere man
sometime I feel nowhere still

but when the Fab4 took the stage
and raised their voice in song
they roused my golden slumber
my spirit sang along

I strolled to strawberry fields
along sweet penny lane
and when miss Rigby died
I felt McKenzie’s pain

stowed in the submarine
and sailed beneath the waves
down with the octopus
among the coral caves

and when the sergeant
struck up his lonely hearts club band
I fell in step by step
to march off to Pepperland

but before I’d hit the road
I ended up wounded in my bed
a delinquent name of Maxwell
took a hammer to my head

he’d come through the bathroom window
I forgot to shut it tight
I should have known better
but it’d been a hard day’s night

my friends had called for help
doctor Robert came in time
I’d said doc don’t let down
he did not — and I feel fine

cops searched helter skelter
looked here there and everywhere
but they found clues for no one
I said let it be I didn’t care

leaving home, you won’t see me
I said heading out the door
when I saw her standing there
my lover from the night before

oh darling let’s go day trippin’
I want to hold your hand
down this long and winding road
it won’t be long to Pepperland

now we’ve come together here
me and my sweet belle Michelle
she’s been writing paperback novels
the kind the drugstores sell

we have no plans to get back
we’re swept up in the allure
of Lucy and her diamond skies
on our magical mystery tour

even with George and Johnny dead
that old magic’s not yet slipped away
because old Paully‘s discovered AI
so a brand new tune is on the way

it will be so very cool
to hear them once again
to remember those wondrous days
get to relive them now and then

*
rob kistner © 4/5/11
expanded version: rob kistner © 6/13/23

Poetry at: dVerse

https://youtu.be/oz3JlMhgfq0

Love’s Summer Serenade / Seaside

These first written & published for NaPoWriMo 2010

Love’s Summer Serenade

sing to me my sweet sweet lover
songs as soft as silk and satin
sensual as a bare embrace
warm summer sun upon our face

promise me the world is ours
that this perfect moment’s endless
lift me up on rapture’s cloud
my racing heart is pounding loud

make melody set sail our souls
fill our hearts with passion’s fire
smother me in scorched sweet kisses
oh what a fiery bliss this is

come to me and take me timeless
sweep me off to ecstasy
enfold me in your deepest dreams
simmering under summer moonbeams

so hot we’re looking for some shade
aflame in love’s sensual serenade

Seaside

soft sand warms bare toes

senses stirred by surging surf

summer at seaside

love as fresh as ocean breeze

kisses hot as sizz’ling sun

*
rob kistner © 2010
revised © 2023

More poetry at: dVerse

Although here in my Seattle home, I am only 200 miles away from my Oregon, the fact that health has prevented me from returning for a number of years, and makes it impossible for me to ever again trek the breathtaking wilderness of that region, that lives so vividly in my memories — it feels that it might as well be on the other side of the country, in a beautiful, unreachable dreamscape. This envisioning I’ve written here of my return is presented from that perspective. It is likely also sparked, in no small way, by a subconscious wish that I could return to the robust health I enjoyed most of the 25 years I lived and explored in Oregon, discovering and falling in love with its precious beauty.

”It is not down in any map; true places never are.” — Herman Melville

Across the chasm of time
and great distance
memories unfold
vividly rich
like elaborate origami sculptures
as the paper of this odd map
unfolds bewilderingly before me

even ‘cross this flat
boring land spread
I see in my mind’s eye
soaring ramparts
of sky-piercing mountains
forested tier upon tier
with enormous sitka spruce

scattered brewers
known as the weeping spruce
the most beautiful of the conifer
whose branches in summer
display sunlight
as a jeweler’s velvet
showcases gems

the whispers
of wind-stirred
lawson cypress
towering ponderosa pine
and douglas fir
waft down emerald climbs

tangerine-scented white fir
a fragrance rivaled only
by the rough-tufted red cedar

the dogwood’s brilliant leaves
big-leaf maples
pendulous western maples
tight ranks of dark-green sadler oak

the golden shimmer
and crisp crackle
of white-barked aspen

these live and breath
boldly in my heart
calling me forward

this morning’s sun comes crisp and bright
enfolding my waking in warmth
and vivid presence
the world fresh and fascinating

I embark toward noonday
the joy of homecoming palpable
senses saturated and alive
blissfully consumed
by a deep satisfaction
that permeates this afternoon

my soul is full
my mind is clear
my heart — overflowing

as dusk descends upon this place
painting its heady grace and expectation
my pace is smooth and steady
the downing sun — a gentle gold embrace

early shadows fall soft across my face
as vesper’s velvet blanket
drapes its comfort ’round my shoulders
splendid calm envelops me

yet there are other shadows
strange distractions
that disrupt my moments
they come unannounced
almost imperceptible

but I follow close
without fear
the way blazened in my mind
and there is still far to go

I am eager to journey
drawn by the beauty
that is the rising moon in sunset

facing into the evening breeze
I venture onward

rolling amber and coral
spreads across the horizon

again the shadows shift
dull confusion finds me
I lose my pace and focus

but I do not heed
this temporary distraction
nor the suggestions of this creased parchment
unfurled before me

for it is not what will lead me home
I do not let it sway or stray me
for my heart knows the way

yet
nagging concern
disquiets me
a stab of panic
pierces my solace
have I been gone too long
will it feel the same

unwelcome bewilderment
grips me
holds me
uncomfortable in my skin

a cloud of frustration
sweeps over me
obscuring briefly
my purpose and destination

then the fog wafts
and again I envision
across the veiled valley
of time
my hearth and home

twilight is coming
much too quickly
and my concern
at first a nuisance — mounts

a gathering feeling
gnaws inside
fear I will not make it home
before this sunset

I am afraid
to lose this evening light
that leads my way

but my way
is not on this map
not on any map
it lives in my heart
and in my soul

this calms the disturbance
of my reverie
quiets my mind
brings my fear to settle
as the ease of remembered beauty
and warmth of home
swell my soul

ahead are the mountains
and forests of my Oregon home
where I finally return
to reclaim my heart
this day

now I have
such sweet recall
pulling me forward
urgently

even in the faded light
of many distant memories
these visions have held me breathless
soon I will gaze upon them again

I redouble my pace

*
rob kistner © 2022
revision of draft © 2011

Poetry at: The Sunday Muse

Poetry at: Earthweal

Little jazz tune from Sanborn entitled “Comin’ Home”… plus a little Keith magic!

https://youtu.be/k84QxVJd0tIp

Spellbound

poet
you are enigma

darkness and shadow
you veil and shroud

fire and light
you burn and incandesce

torch my essence
burn deep my soul
trouble my spirit
unsettle my being

then poet
ignite my wonder

whet my seeker’s vessel
with need
to be filled full

poet
at once familiar
yet
exotically foreign
wonderfully strange

wrongly boxed but
exquisitely wrapped

in angst
indignation
longing
discovery
loss

in love

with all these
and infinitely more
you reach an empty place
deep within

echoing my past
awakening my myths

exposing
that which I embrace
in the moment
as truth

refocus me

stirring my pain
my anger
my loneliness

my hope

offering just enough answer
that I combust with question
sacred uncertainty

I’m held
suspended in inquiry
in memories of neverwas

enrapt by your careful words
transfixed by mystery
elevated by insight
impaled by vision

spellbound

This Night

As you read this Christmas poem, with its taste of bittersweetness, see it not in a dark light — embrace it as a tale of a long-awaited journey, to be with the one beloved.

B rushed my shoulder on this morning’s train
then at the market it was there again
while in line to get my breakfast tea
from our favorite table it beckoned me

in the crowd at the festive mall
glimpsed like a flicker of candle light
I swear I saw it fleeting fall
upon the gifts I did not wrap this night

upon the tree I did not decorate
the greeting cards I did not write
in frail voice I chastise fate
singing carols doesn’t feel right

this season I see it everywhere
the shadow of your love
elusive as a shopper’s smile
caught up in the crush and shove

but soon I’ll catch and hold it close
warmly to my breast
it will sweetly fill my heart
lay soft with me this midnight rest

for it returns this night each year
the same night you went away
in dreams you kiss away each tear
touch my lips that beg you stay

taken from my life in sleep
gone without a last goodbye
as we dreamed at midnight deep
each year I weep and wonder why

but this year I’ll not awaken blue
in the end an easy thing to do
this night I’ll make our dreams come true
this midnight deep I will come to you

*
rob kistner © 2011
update by rob kistner © 2021

Poetry at: dVerse

This poem originally posted 2011: at Magpie Tales

Ghosts

An old man remebering his days of young love.

— Summer of 1963 —

Author’s Note:
My inspiration for writing “Ghosts” was drawn from my youth, as represented by the images at the top. Also, strangely enough, from a wonderful novel by Peter Heller entitled “The Dog Stars”. It was reinforced by my awoken curiosity, which found me sampling the top 100 hits of 1963, which was the soundtrack for the summer of my 16th year. This was the summer of my ’57 Chevy Bel Air, of my ‘63 Triumph 650 Bonneville motorcycle, the summer of my first rock and roll band, and my first “girl”. This entire journey back in time was initially prompted by my stumbling upon an old picture of that Chevy.

Looking back at my early teen years, those years when I was waiting for my life to begin, I flashed on my memories of young love. The intensity of that tender pure unrealistic infatuation could perhaps have happened only then, in those times – in that summer of 1963. Before assasinations, collapsing economies, open social unrest, Viet Nam, before AIDS, COVID-19, rampant drugs, criminal presidents – the year of the Beatles on the Ed Sullivan Show, the Beach Boys took the world surfing, Annette Funicello playing beach blanket bingo, red Chevy ragtops, Triumph Bonnevilles, OpArt, and President Kennedy challenging us to go to the moon. This was a time, maybe the last time, when teens were truly naive and innocent.

I don’t know why that feels true. Perhaps it’s because we were so naive and so unsure as teens, in that post WWll, white-picket-fence, father-knows-best, american-dream, faux-utopia. We were tentative and waiting, wondering. It’s like love imagined that innocent needed that much room, that much “open” mental space, that much emotional “safety”, that much unbridled belief, for it to take root, and to bloom – even if but for a brief moment in time.

The not knowing anything really for certain, but hoping, with aching faith in the possibility of pure true love, was both thrilling and unsettling. It was a love full of passion and devotion, but scary. We were not completely certain how to navigate such an emotion, not really, so we left it alone, tried to let it unfold lightly, terrified we would lose it. And if it did manifest, it felt so big and beautiful, and unbelievable! It was most often short-lived, owing to our immaturity – but what intoxicating joy, such heady exhileration! Those were the times when the apparitional wings of young love did fly to the moon, and carried us along. Here is “Ghosts”…

Ghosts

strong slender legs
carry firm eager bodies
perfumed and cologne’d
around and across the dance floor
pulses racing

electrified — entwined — excited

young groping lust
craving
yet hesitant

swept up in innocent bliss
shadowed near the band shell
beyond the glow of incandescence

throbbing with the big beat
of scorching rock & roll

smoldering for some
longing for more
confusing for most

a pubescent play
beneath a high starry sky
sparking with carnal fantasies

humid as our urgent embraces
hot as our stolen kisses
as forever as our promised love
in that distant
sizzling
teenage midnight…

…sweet ghosts of my youth
haunt from long ago

~ ~ ~

— Me in 1963 —

— Like my car in 1963 —

Time’s Window

“This is the 4th anniversary of my wife Kathleen and I moving to Seattle to be with our grandson Alex. I posted this new piece containing mindful reflections on leaving our home in Oregon, and our new Seattle home. The photos are of our Oregon yard in the Cascade Mountain foothills. That is my wife Kathy standing under, and peering up into our 2 giant banana palms. The poem is just below the photos.“

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Time’s Window~

we now have a wonderful
new Seattle home
shared with family
ruled by my little guy
my precious 6-year-old grandson
and I know sweet happiness

but there are moments
with eyes closed
I can gaze back
through time’s window

I see my beloved Oregon home
of 25 amazing years
vividly alive this morning
here in my memories…

through my window this day
I see the scurry of creatures
warmed by the Oregon summer

I hear nature
in splendid voice

the chuff
of a tree’d red squirrel

the song
chirp
and trill of birds

chickadee
goldfinch
western bluebird
and others

fly
flutter
and flit

in a flash of orange
a striking northern flicker
momentarily eschewing insects
is peck peck pecking
cracking black-oil sunflower seeds
that spill from our feeder

a red-tailed hawk
calls
from atop a Sitka spruce
swaying
in the crisp blue sky

the muffled belling of a deer
wandering the safety of old-growth
whispers
through the foothills

the distant bark
of a neighbor’s dog
echoing the basin
up along our stream
reminds me
we have friends nearby

my wife’s
gentle laughter
validates the friendship

her tender smile
validates our love

the rustle of leaves
stirred by the breeze
wafting through the valley

smartly punctuated
by the staccato
of conifer cones
that fall
from time to time
wrested free by chickaree
and chipmunk
chattering high in Douglas fir
busy with their forage

wap wap wap

they bounce off our roof
striking the ground

closely followed
by the scamper
of their liberators
crunching their way
to the heart-meat of the cone
the delicacy
that elicits this furious industry

drifting in the window
intoxicating fragrances

cedar
pine
fir

lily
rose
lilac

grasses
loam
and more

a rich
earthy bouquet

caught in my reverie
I breathe in
deeply
to suddenly remember

…I’m not in my Oregon home
I am in my new Seattle home
and it’s filled to overflowing
with family
and love

for a moment
I do not open my eyes
I linger a bit longer
in my beautiful dream
of my Oregon

my heart will forever be there
but we will likely never go back
not until my ashes are spread
high in the Cascade Mountains
on Mt. Hood
across breathtaking Lost Lake

but here
now
on this day
filled with memories
and joy
a solitary tear
falls

~ ~ ~

This new write was a remarkably mind purifying write for me. Click to see how others are purifying their minds on dVerse:

Poetics- Purifying the Mind

Click to check out the haps at Toads

The Gift

unworthy fool am I

to ignore it
to abuse it
to mistreat it
to misuse it
to mishandle it at every turn

no way am I deserving

yet over and over
you lay it at my feet
to protect each step
on life’s harsh road

time after time
you wrap it round me
as shelter
from sorrow’s storm

again and again
it nurtures and sustains me
on my journey through
the wastelands of the lonely

this light
this precious treasure

no way do I deserve
but forever will I cherish
your soul gift
of selfless love

would I could give you
such a gift in return
it would be my purest
my most unselfish gift

a gift golden as the sun
tied in a tinsel of stars
to nurture you always
to keep you radiant

my most precious gift
of a love supreme

~ ~ ~

DAY 7

And So

“sweet memories of my youth”

And So

and so
I think of her
and wonder

what was the fire
that burned so bright
and raged so fierce
as to consume complete

our essence
left embered char
smoldered ashen

that in its heat
and fury
could not sustain

back I drift
to fall upon
the tenderness of youth

the satin skin
the comely gaze
the velvet touch

a silken voice
rising
to lust and longing

to impatience

to immortality

its soulful siren
so seductive
the nectar of all forbidden

the breathless joy
of sweet innocence

when the wonder
stirs to every mystery
and the spirit lights
to every spark

igniting passion’s pyre

to leave one spent
in blissful ruin
at story’s end

tender memory
of the throaty whispers
of promised pleasures
sweetly secreted
in her virgin kiss

and so
I think of her

remembering
with no regret

savoring the subtle linger
harbored in my heart
of the taste
of her lips

long ago
at seventeen

~ ~

“lips lush as cognac
open softly to kisses
urgently linger”

~ ~ ~

________________

click here to read more poetry at dVerse

Clarion Stones

revised for Lillian at dVerse Poet’s Pub

Clarion Stones

all those years ago
in the time of dangers
they were placed in secret
as a silent beacon
in that deepest night

waiting for the day
when the shadowed world
would waken from the nightmare
shed its narrow petty ways
and embrace the way of light

stacked by those of vision
blessed in hope and courage
one upon the other
like knowledge upon learning
these standing stones of peace

hear them call across the ages
and beckon us to rise
to step into the future
to envision a new dream
to let fear and hatred cease

~ ~ ~

stacked stones in Sedona red-rock desert

_______________________

These sculptures are called cairns. A cairn is a human-made balanced stack of stones. The word cairn comes from the Scottish Gaelic: càrn. Cairns have been, and still are used for a broad variety of purposes, from prehistoric times to the present. They are stacked as landmarks, direction finders, memorials, and also spiritual reasons, among other purposes.

Check out more shedding at dVerse:

Shed some light on this today!

The Sands

~
New Year’s Tanka
the glass nears empty
final grains are falling through
this year bids adieu

with love turn it right anew
may its fresh flow hold your dreams

~ ~ ~

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Daredevil’s Dread

~
to be shot from a cannon
into the cool night air
is really no big deal

to face a barrage
of flying knives
isn’t really that unreal

to leap through the fire
of a flaming hoop
the warmth is kind’a nice

jumping giant chasms
on two-wheeled fury
sure – let’s do it twice

to be blown up
in a speeding car
sort’a turns me on

falling 20-story
from a skyscraper
I’m up over and gone

riding upside down
on an airplane wing
it’s the only way to fly

the high trapeze
without a net
I wouldn’t bat an eye

buried alive
in a padlocked tomb
count 10 and I’ll cheat death

chained in steel
tossed in the sea
no need to hold my breath

the sphere of fear
the dome of doom
the bungee-cord freefall

to walk blazing coals
swallow deadly swords
no sweat — I’ve done them all

almost nothing scares
this bold daredevil
I am very proud to say

save the single thing
of which I’m terrified

to give my heart away

~ ~ ~

____________________________________

top 2 photos: Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus

bottom photo: source unknown

Lost Meditations

Lost Meditations

lost meditations resurface
in these november years

reflections of mysteries once pondered
beauty beheld
of veiled truth pursued

in quiet depth
disturbed only by faint breath
beckoning me inward
to the bright center of joy

where a flutter of understanding
in a snap-flash of oneness
shudders me conscious
in shivering anticipation
of that which is not known

that which cannot be named
in the twilight of this finite
as threads of evermore
bind fast my dreams
to carry them onward
effortlessly

I gently surrender
as lost meditations resurface
in my november years

~ ~ ~

__________________

Click here to read more poetry at dVerse

Touch of Love

Touch of Love

a quarter century ago
in the shadow of the tall ships
nestled inter-coastal
on the outer banks of Beaufort
our passion burst to flame

we bound that flashpoint moment
in a promise of forever
and a band of abalone
I found there in that sunset
on the Carolina sands

as ever-precious
as the diamond ring
that now encircles in its stead
that pearled bit of shell
immortalized our pledge

even to this day
it rests next to your heart
where it falls true and warm
on links of purest gold
my constant touch of love

~ ~ ~

Click below to read more poetry at dVerse:

Open Link Night #233

Evening Prayer

Evening Prayer

sun sits low on the horizon
dusk slowly advances
the breath of night begins to stir
all the daydreams are gone to bed

I sit quiet
on my ole bench
soothed by the cool breeze
warmed by the memories
that huddle ’round me

from far into the past
they drift
forward through the years

they visit gently
one by one

memories of those
I’ve been well to know
those I’ve been blessed to love
those that have got beyond
a tender tear for every one

a sweetness fills the air
just a touch of soft regret

my heart is full
my spirit calm
I surrender
to fate’s embrace

would this evening never end
but soon
the lingering day
will bow its head
twilight too will fade

as the waxing night
blankets my repose
I fall still
and pray

pray
when soon carried away
it be in deep
peaceful sleep

~ ~ ~

Tag: memories

Pepper’d Memories

Love’s Summer Serenade / Seaside

The Return

Spellbound

This Night

Ghosts

Time’s Window

The Gift

And So

Clarion Stones

The Sands

Daredevil’s Dread

Lost Meditations

Touch of Love

Evening Prayer