Images

Could I but glide
through the clouds
like a bird in flight

I would soar skyward
in sweeping circles
lifted on mighty thermals

I would not be earthbound
not a prisoner of these feet
not captive of gravity

each day
would be thrilling
would be freedom

living in
and for
the moment

soaring
and swooping
and giving thanks
for feathers
and hollow bones

*
rob kistner © 2022

More poetry at: Sunday Muse

We are temporal beings
our awareness
awaking slowly
from some infinite place

we flow forth
on a current
of pure energy
in the stream
of all consciousness

our coming to be
unknown to us
as any mystery

learned in stories
in waiting relationships
gradually
we open to our identity

our essence
an enigma

awareness dawning
like the rising
of a newborn sun

we feel its warmth
grow slowly

we see not over the horizon
because we see no horizon
yet

we comprehend no end
immersed only
in our beginning

it is therein exists
the miracle of life
and the quandary of life

our unfolding self awareness
questioning how
where
why

questioning infinity

we are finite beings

but in those moments
infinite beings
dreaming
to sustain the moments

we everflow
from the waters of time
as we flow into eternity

watchers
adrift
on the river of life

flow into me
my love
and we will be the waters
of timeless life

indivisibly immortal

lovers
in an eternal love

*
rob kistner © 2022

More poetry at: Sunday Muse

A ghostly fine lookermiz
with softical smile
swings legnously swell
in rare gurlyghost style

such a scorchiful bodiface
as might burnlybad be
enstokes sultrification
that erosinates me

my steamliful brightenblinks
are maxfirenly dazened
by the beautifalicity
she orbinously blazened

I shoun’t slobbernly droolenate
over her poutifuss chubens
nor tenderliciously ogglenate
her mygodly bububbins

it’s lewdaciously nixicated
to starezing lovlustingly
so as gurlyghost swingulated
I mindated my biznessity

but in dreamyton’s realmenhood
as my memoraticus rememberated
I rezoomefied sweet gurlyghost
as my bloodpumpinator enthrobinated

when morninsun returnified
I wokenated all infatucated
and immediously pledgified
gurlyghost’d be reanimated

enthrobinating bloodpumpinator

*
rob kistner © 2022

Even more fragrant poetry at: Sunday Muse

Jabberwock’n Luv (phonetically)
~
A ghost-lee fine look-er-miz
with a sof-ti-cal smile
swings leg-nous-lee swell
in rare girl-lee-ghost style

such a score-chi-ful bo-di-face
as might burn-lee-bad be
en-stokes sul-tri-fi-cay-tion
that e-row-za-nates me

my steam-lee-ful brigh-ten-blinks
are max-fi-ren-ly day-zened
by the beau-ti-fa-li-ci-tee
she or-bi-nous-lee blay-zened

I shoun’t slah-bern-lee droo-le-nate
over her pow-ti-fuss chu-bens
nor ten-der-li-cious-lee og-gla-nate
her my-god-lee bu-bub-bins

it’s lew-day-cious-lee nix-i-cated
to stare-zing luv-lus-ting-lee
so as girl-lee-ghost swing-you-lated
I mine-da-filed my biz-nes-si-tee

but in drea-me-ton’s rel-men-hood
as my mem-or-a-ti-cus re-mem-ber-ated
I ree-zoo-ma-fied sweet gur-lee-good
as my blood-pum-pi-nay-tor en-thraw-bi-nay-ted

when more-nin-sun ree-tur-ni-fied
I wo-ke-nay-ted all in-fa-chew-cay-ted
and im-me-dee-ous-lee pled-ji-fide
girl-lee-ghost-’d be re-a-ni-may-ted

~ ~ ~

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!”

“ Basket of Apples” — by: Levi Wells Prentice
 
PROLOGUE
~
By her fateful death — dreams matter little
freezing solid my beating heart of love
passion has been made fragile and brittle

at this tragically fatal moment
its confusion’s turmoil I feel inside
blossoming to my soul’s searing torment

by virtue of moon’s cold careless beaming
freezing hard my tears of sorrowed grieving
passion is shattered beyond redeeming

at the frigid depth of my dark sorrow
its unclenching fist has dealt a deathblow
blossoming dreams will have no tomorrow

~ ~
 

Moonlight
keeps dark at bay
relentlessly pressing in
as night wind stirs
coldly mocking
my sorrow

her life now lost
beyond this chill
that envelops me

this night
has made rigid
my longing heart
by freezing passion
at its blossoming

no emotions
save grief

and guilt

I was not here
you were alone
I did not hear

I found you there
by the broken stair
apple basket spilled

was there a grasp-less hand
on the wooden rail
was an ankle bent
did a sure step fail

was there a futile cry
that fell silent
in the sunset

those tender lips
will not know again
sweet fruit

nor love

once softly kissed
now lifeless

blackness presses in
as my tears
begin again

*
rob kistner © 2022

More poetry at: dVerse

Friday writings at: Poets & Storytellers

Still more poetry at: earthweal

My footfalls
drum the root chambers
of the old growth

each step
cushioned
by centuries of needle-drop
in this ancient forest

I’m enjoying the rise and fall
twist and turn of the trail

my walking stick is smooth
clutched comfortably
in my right hand

tensions dissipate
soothed
by the enchanting rustle
of a gentle zephyr
in the treetops
of these old growth

Ponderosa Pine

it carries on it
that enticing fragrance
of this bewitching conifer

a hint of butterscotch
maybe cinnamon
or is it vanilla
perhaps even coconut

I’m drawn to this stand
these amazing giants

they’re visually breathtaking
and they remind me
endearingly
of grandma’s baking

the aroma
and the stir of the breeze
wafting down the western slopes
of these Cascade Mountains
invigorates me
to wander further

the steady rhythm of my footsteps
is the pulse of my soul

rounding a bend in the trail
brushing through waist-high fern
passing into another section
of this captivating forest
I crest a knoll
and stop

mesmerized

filtered by the towering woodland canopy
sunlight drifts down softly
dreamlike

it settles golden
into the peaceful clearing
that beckons me

a presence is tangible
it is familiar

I’ve encountered it
in this forest
times before

it is the spirit
of these ancients

in this moment
the breeze enfolds me
filled with new intoxicating scents
of living earth

an addictive bouquet
of Cascade Red Cedar
Douglas Fir
moss
bark
loam
gentle sweet pungence
and ionized mountain air

perching atop a log
a downed Douglas
I swoon
taking it all in

my spirit rises
my being grows weightless
any sense of self
floats away
lifted into oneness

wholeness

timeless

bliss

*
rob kistner © 2022

Even more fragrant poetry at: dVerse

Fallen into night’s embrace
held down by dark shadows
I writhe in the arms of nightmare
purity entangled in my sin

but soon the light of morning
will fold itself upon me pardoned
pray I fervently now
not to be too far drawn asunder

*
rob kistner © 2022

Even more poetry at: dVerse

I see you afar
approaching on the path
backlit by sunrise

I sit
warmed in morning’s window
watching you
as you stop to rest

in this moment
I’m consumed by you

as your lips sculpt a smile
I’m swept away
on love’s sweet tide

*
rob kistner © 2022

Even more poetry at: dVerse

 
Melancholy’s grey
the black of loss
fear’s dark ebony
the violet of regret
the purples of pain and anger
sorrowful blues
peaceful greens
golden joy
laughter’s bright amber
love’s ruby red
the scarlet of passion
the white of knowledge

these are the colors
of my life
painted by the brushstrokes of time
blended in the palette
that defines my essence

by these
you know me

*
rob kistner © 2022

More poetry at: The Sunday Muse

 
He feels the weight of her thigh
pressing against his

the flesh of her hip
urgent against him

the warmth
as he responds involuntarily

a heat spreads through him
a quickening of pulse

he swells and swoons
growing rigid and eager

a deep need overtakes him

he reaches ’round her
firmly encircling her waist
with his strong arm
bending her forward
with the power of his body
as begins a dance of desire

consumed by her passion
his urges hot and husky
on her ear and cheek
they churn in slow pleasure

building in lustful pace and tension
they dance and dance
spinning into a carnal fury

a great release
sweeps over them

they melt together
in fevered bliss
matching breath for slowing breath

his lips
soft on the nape of her neck
they drift to earth
entwined in the joy
the afterglow
of love’s lingered embrace
of the rich red wine
of passion

now
it’s passion’s memory
of love lost

*
rob kistner © 2022

More poetry at: The Sunday Muse

 
T his epiphany
incandesces my essence
burns deep my soul
stirs my spirit
unsettles my being
ignites my wonder

and whets my seeker’s vessel
with need to be filled full

at once familiar
yet exotically foreign
strangely boxed
but exquisitely wrapped
in longing
loss
love
and infinitely more

it reachs to a hollow place
deep within
echoing a past
awakening a myth
exposing that which I embrace
in the moment
as truth

stirring my pain
my loneliness
my hope

offering just enough answer
that I combust with questions
sacred uncertainties

suspended in inquiry
in memories of neverwas
recognition of evermore
enrapt in blissful cognizance
of that which was once not known
but now love breaks like a golden dawn

once transfixed by this mystery
I am now elevated by insight
impaled by love’s vision
aflame in ecstasy

the portal is thrown open
love rises like the sun
it is a good day

*
rob kistner © 2022

More poetry at: The Sunday Muse

Poet
do not weave
your fabric of veiled myth
or speak to us in tangled metaphors

help us see
the real place of light
hear the clear voice of truth
know the pure heart of justice
feel the strength of courage

look poet
look at the terrible suffering
tell us where that is birthed

tell us how to see
with our own eyes
see clearly

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
of uncluttered
truth speak

instead you shade
with dense metaphor
with esoteric imagery
but this is not that 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

we wish not a troubadour
we seek a warrior

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
we can be brave

*
rob kistner © 2022

Clackamas River — Oregon

 
~ inspired in part, by Gary Snyder’s “How Poetry Comes to Me” ~

Peering over cliff’s edge
into the glass-green stream
down river
from the cascading falls

I watch trout
slide in
then out
of the soft break of a bolder’s shadow

across the stone canyon
cut by this persistence of current
an Osprey alights
treetop

a focused sentinel

measuring the timing
and tactic
of his imagined next meal

drawn by this breathtaking canyon
down the steep stone face
through the White Aspen
Douglas Fir
giant Golden Chinquapin
and Oregon Madrone
I descend

keeping a steady pace
bent-knee’d and cautious

with boot tread
and leather palm
I throttle and steer
through an ample incline
of base gravel

I’m followed
by a fine dusted slide
of clattering pebbles
and dry conifer needles

down down
I come
to a stream-side grass patch

then alertly
hop — rock to rock
‘cross the dance of crystal chill stream
to a small clearing

Pearsony Falls — Oregon

in this wilderness canyon
midst the quiet rush
of the Clackamas waters
the hushed murmur
of breeze
through tall Ponderosa bough
and the ambiance
of living breathing nature

I make camp

here to rest
and meditate
in this sacred realm
of the 4 directions
mesmerized by this eden

Vale’s Bend, Clackamas River — Oregon

an unburdening begins
in commune with the 4 elements

with the forested earth
the brisk mountain air
the pure clear waters
of glacial melt

and I
have brought the fire

The Narrows, Clackamas River — Oregon

night falls
star-cast and chill

settled by this night’s fire
I sense spirits approaching
carefully

rip’ling ‘cross the crisp white water
hesitant over the moonlit boulders
staying just outside my campfire’s light
just out of clarity

my muse invites them
to come

to join
inside the ring of light

in my heart
I feel words
whispering like a song

I listen openly

carefully

peacefully surrendering
to the inspiration
for which I’ve come

I breath out
a quiet thank you

then I write
as these words
begin falling to my paper

*
rob kistner © 2022

More poetry of the elements at: dVerse

Even more poetry at: dVerse

Friday writings at: Poets & Storytellers

Still more poetry at: earthweal

More prosery at: dVerse

 
I never thought I would ever see this again — Joni Mitchell singing live! WOW!

https://youtu.be/b5OIlK1g3yA
https://youtu.be/lDzybU85ZXc

I love you Joni, you ARE a goddess! You are still magic! Bless you Brandi for this.

Through the Looking Glass — Lewis Carroll

Photo by Brooke Shaden

 
When Nancy seeks worlds fantastic
beyond wonderland she’ll go
her imagination is so elastic
her spirit so enthusiastic
she opens and lets her mindscape flow

to magical fanciful ports of call
no longer merely earthly mortal
she floats high above the dreamer’s wall
in wing-ed fantasy’s enthrall
she flits through mystery’s portal

she sees visions quite enchanted
worlds her rich dreams beget
marvels she takes not for granted
forever in her soul implanted
wonders she will not forget

*
rob kistner © 2022

More prosery at: The Sunday Muse

 

* recommend you expand to full screen for next two*

NEXT — peek inside Nancy’s mind to see…
~ Dragon’s Tail ~ a fascinating brief 5-minute fractal journey

FINALLY — join Nancy on…
A psychedelic mind-blowing 90 minute voyage into and through infinity?