Equinox
•
winter’s journey ends
lengthening light bears witness
spring crests and breaks
here at the equinox
life bursts forth
poking through pliant soil
unfurling on barren branch
here at the equinox
nature stirs in song and call
celebrating new birth
sustaining the cycle
here at the equinox
my heart leaps
my spirit dances
to this rhythm of renewal
here at the equinox
• • •
rob kistner © 3/20/11
•
thoughts drift by gently
my mood is mellow this day
I linger at rest
dreaming of the spring breezes
that tickle my soul to life
• • •
rob kistner © 2011
Young Flower
•
velvet soft
passion’d purple
newly bloomed flower
full and succulent
tender plumped folds
glisten with dewy nectar
heady fragrance
pleasures the senses
luscious form
ripened blush
delights the eye
a gentle touch parts silken petals
reveals the inner bud
swollen with the urgency of life
intoxicating
such vital beauty
consumed
one savors slowly
exquisitely delicious
this young flower
full bloomed
• • •
rob kistner © 3/14/11
…written for Magpie Tales
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
early shadows fall soft
vesper’s velvet blanket
drapes ’round my shoulders
envelops me in calm
there is still road to travel
eager to keep the journey
I’m drawn by the beauty
of the rising moon in sunset
coaxed by a soothing breeze
I venture on toward my love
rolling amber fires the lane
spreads warm ‘cross the horizon
mist begins to rise and waft
nestled in the valley
I see my hearth & home
guilded copper in this eventide
my heart quickens
stirred by this gorgeous vale
the ribbon of its brook
entwines my soul in wonder
my smile sweetens
my pace livens
I hum a quiet evensong
in the grace of this splendid day
eyes droop and flicker
aflame with spoiled sleep
face slacked
head now dropped
held in my hands
heavy with confusion
skull upon the finger bones
in weighted indecision
procrastination presses down
where art thou muse
I seek weightless inspiration
to be lifted up by you
instead
the hum of cooling bytes
drones relentless in my ears
impossible to ignore
no matter how I try
thoughts like digits on a dollar slot
spin unsettled in my mind
they neither click nor lock in place
they tumble in a jumble
to roll and blur just out of focus
lost in mental fog
sunken in my writer’s chair
I remain immobile
paralyzed by perplexity
imprisoned by the chaos
awhirl in my mind
the freedom of decision
impossible to manage
I fear nothing will be writ
no first ink will be shed this day
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
This poem is offered in response to prompt #23 for 2010 at Writer’s Island,
the Ginsberg ‘american sentence’ is offered in response to prompt #136 at One Single Impression.
To Soar
•
to feel the warmth of early spring sun
to wander through old growth
to see the sunset into the pacific
to breath in the fragrance of summer
to see joy in another’s eyes
to hear my child’s laughter
to be breath-taken by art
to be dazzled by autumn’s palette
to taste the richness of chocolate
to immerse in the rhythms of music
to see the morning dew sparkle
to hear the sweet lilt of a thrush
to know the quiet of snowfall
to raise my voice in song
to drift on a clear mountain lake
to get lost in poetry
to feel your gentle touch
• • •
to just try to fly is to fall short, one must expect to soar, then leap
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
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
__________________
•
memories of you
ripples on a mirrored lake
rise and drift gently
into the golden sunlight
carrying me on their crest
• • •
Joie de Vivre
•
clear blue summer sky
deep azure crystalline lake
cool breeze on my face
fresh scent of water lilies
ripples gently lap the boat
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
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)
_____________
version 1
I taste you like a peach
sweet juice trickles to my chin
I bite you like an Apple
your crisp laughter fills my ears
I devour you like a strawberry
tart and succulent on my tongue
I drink you like thick nectar
you flow rich into my soul
I desire you completely
longing to be fulfilled
I consume you wholly
flushed with wanton pleasure
____
version 2
my mouth on you
soft
like a peach
you glisten
trickle from my lips
I bite you
sweet
like an apple
your hushed breath
staccato crisp
you taste
tart as a strawberry
succulent
as love’s nectar
a delicious
wanton pleasure
____
rob kistner © 2010
it is my coursing vital
stirs my spirit
steels my resolve
drives me on
into the fray
emboldened
“to thine own selfâ€
resonates
the chambers
of my soul
sweet
as the song
of angels
if one is not
author
of the life
one lives
it is
plagiarized
and its essence
forged
it is my pen
scribes my epitaph
the spark
must be authentic
or the fire
arson
the flame
that burns within
is mine
do not expect
I will ignite
for you
or blaze
to your vision
you are not
my flint
do not attempt
to chart
my course
I search
my own
horizon
do not
contain me
I live
outside
do not
seek me
on the surface
I break deep
below
the negative
do not
summon me
to your queue
yours is not
my grid
or file
you are not
my piper
this
I know
I stand in line
for no one
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
______________
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.
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
•
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
•
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