while inside
I cried out
do draw near
stay with me
you are color
you are pure
you are joy
you are free
I am not
I am blank
I am beast
can’t you see
you are warm
I am frigid
I am torn
please don’t flee
you are breath
you are life
am I death’s
finality?
at the edge
of your love
I am either
— dichotomy
without you
there is much
you don’t know
about me
rob kistner © 2021
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you were so innocent, such a gentle, sweet gift
my shattered heart broken, my dreams now must shift
as back through precious memories I lovingly drift
grief tugs hard my heart, lil’ buddy, you’re so missed!
On 3/6/21 I lost lil’ Edgrrr, my forever buddy!
the ebb and flow
the rise and fall
the come and go
of centuries
wave by wave
day by day
pure might incarnate
the power of indifference
the surge of perfect apathy
and I
insignificant
as a grain of sand
bounced and tumbled
helpless in the undertow
and that fringe of froth
on the silken azure blue
rolls in powerfully
then rises up
beckons me
then slides smoothly
down the sloping back
of the ever surging wave
dancing on the deep
reaching to forever
how easily I could slip
into that fathomed realm
down
down
ever down
into the waiting silence
without so much
a noticed sound
absorbed
into the churn
into the roar
without so much
a ripple
to disturb
the steady surf
a subtle crease
irrelevant
invisible
erased
gone
\/
https://youtu.be/K5oAf7bs7_U
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My dad’s gentle nudge, and deep quiet voice, were urging me from under the warm covers. ”Wake up Bobby, I’m going to make breakfast before we go.” After his muffled footsteps, I heard the creak of the iron door, followed by the wooden thunk of fresh-cut kindling being loaded into the fire chamber. Then the scuffing sound of the poker, stirring the bed of red-glowing embers, encouraging them to ignite the fresh logs. There were then soft “phufts” as the lengths of virgin fuel burst to flame.
As the big black stove groaned to full life, I felt the growing heat permeating the cabin. I could hear dad clunking and sliding the bulky iron skillets into place, working by soft lantern glow that clutched at the darkness. Breakfast was coming, signaled by early sizzles of Canadian bacon. I was hungry, and excitedly slid from bed, dreaming of the day of fishing that lay ahead.
Breakfast behind us, I shivered, smiling through the damp darkness of the Ontario predawn, as we stepped carefully, by the light and hiss of the Coleman lanterns, down to the dock, where dad’s fishing boat waited. My fingers tingled to the metallic cold of the aluminum hull, as I climbed aboard. I was already bundled as a bear, but over that still went the life jacket, in the event of a tumble into the freezing water, still rippling under the morning moon.
My heart soared as I heard my dad tugging on the starter rope, bringing the Evinrude to spark then roar, readying it to propel us into the dawn that would soon slowly roll over the chop-water. I lovingly gripped the cork handle of my favorite pole, as I felt the mist of hull-spray light on my cheeks. Another slight shiver brought me further awake, but not from the chill — this one was glorious anticipation. I loved fishing with dad!
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a glaring hallucination
a pulsing passion play
of a polarized reality
dual worlds
close enough to touch
but too far apart to engage
through which truth
stumbles blind
beyond reach
or reason
or connection with either
walking as wraiths
through fevered empty streets
moving in these worlds
captive to the bone-white lies of both
implicit in their toxic grins
of inflexible conformity
lethal tradition
revered in mindless trance
change
shackled to the stone of fear
with a grip rough as rope
change
bound at the shadowed edge
of dark and light
plague and cure
repression and justice
ignorance and knowledge
change
bruised
disillusioned
but possible
so beckon the dawn
summon the morn
there is far to go
and much to learn
rising from this dark night
someone needs first
release the light
perhaps torchbearers emerge
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This poem is inspired by two lines, the end couplet, which I had scribbled down in 2009, in my volume of writing notes. I rediscovered them this winter, and wanted to use them since. This is the time. I do not remember if they are mine.
my gaze held fast
until there was nothing
just the rising sun
that segued our tender night
to the promise of another
but promises
are so frail and fleeting
like the brittle leaves of autumn
like tears of joy
like the taste of you
sweet on my lips
if you are lucky
you will carry one night with you
~ ~ ~
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the slag-shattered
glass of the future
moves frail and slow
through the arc of the ages
who’ve waited and watched
at the waning of truth
‘neath the brittled moon
of deliberate ancients
a fractured orb
that revolves in the void
of the others that see
what we knew to be
ever the voice of the lost
in plaintive cries
to the light of the dawning
that heralds the word
of this time that’s upon us
I am the bud and the blossom
I am the late-falling leaf
I am the arc fulfilled
of the here and the now
to hold us firm in the fire
of visions and longing
for what we were
and for all that we are to be
here in our heart
of this moment eternal
that seeks to flee
like a squandered teardrop
forever away from
our failing grasp
hold fast
NOTE: italicized lines are from Paul Dunbar’s “The Paradox”.
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spend more time trashin’
than I do replyin’
the shit keeps comin’
it’s so damned tryin’
scams and porno
just on and on
fuckin’ frustrating
keeps up — I’m gone
I wanna write poetry
not fight stupidity
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fiercely knowing — worldly wise
sleek as steel — tall and strong
swift and cunning — motor running
she might let you in, but not for long
her soul is free — she’ll not be caged
no mortal man will keep her tied
her spirit a prrr-fect beast enraged
she’s crushed all those who’ve ever tried
poor fool who craves this comely goddess
is hopelessly addicted
there’s only one word for this life-force
that word, my friend, is — wicked!
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it’s
my
birth day
february 18th
the date
of the month
I was born
74 years ago
so — wha’cha’ thinkin’?
happy — birth — day
well
not if you’d been there
I was an “undesired”
an inconvenient child
a discard
to be thrown away
though I was healthy
had all my fingers
all my toes
and lungs of a tenor
no matter
I was labeled — MISTAKE!
misbegotten
unfortunate
a problem
ultimately
to be left behind
alone
abandonned
so
I was placed
in a cold metal orphanage crib
frequently
with others
like me
in a big
sparse
cold room
overseen
by strange
grey-habit’d
amorphous figures
I had been tried
convicted
sentenced
for my early life
to know confusion
know shame
know the sorrow
of the unwanted
without ever
seein’
my accusers
we’d won the big war
over there
in here
my battle had just begun
and for the next few years
struggle I did
but some of that’s
for another story
which does include a hero
here I was
condemned
guilty only
of the crime
of inconvenience
so
today
it is my birth day
some
happy / birth / day —- huh?
well
apparently not for all
who were present that day
happy birthday?
hmmm…
lotsa ole friends have passed away
COVID-19’s running astray
normal life is on delay
the world’s nerves are in a fray
but hey
as for me today
I’m doin’ — OK!
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When green met blue and the moon, things got real surreal teal.
I’m the shade
wandering your dreams
but pieces of me
stick to whomever
I deep delve
you may have seen me
silhouetted against your sky
in coldest February
howling green
with the blue frozen moon
a duet
to make colors run
and coyotes
cower in their dens
I am teal
a trickster
some know me as blue
others as green
in fact
I am not quite either
yet both
moon and I are friends
we run through your dreams
from room
to imaginary room
your whole world
close enough to touch
we eat a midnight lunch
embellished with foreign lands
seasoned by your thoughts
onion layered
your thoughts
are too heavy to hold
show mercy
peel back the layers
thin by thin
skin by skin
peel them
to the quivering quick
the blue-green quick
my thoughts
split deep
the bone-white lies
of morality plays
open for you to see
hope they’re not terrifying
in your sight
hope they do not
make you cry
hope they do not
make you blue
or green
as you peel back
all the layers
onioned thought layers
held firm
like a carapace
to which
I’m stitched
and welded
and can no more leave
than you can enter
they tie me down
sometimes
but sometimes
barely so
survivor that I am
the inescapable optimism
in my barebones grin
flashes teal
in the brittle moonlight
exposing forgotten creases
and clandestine gateways
to your mind
someone can learn
a thing or two tonight
if someone
will ignite the light
the real teal light
She invites me in demurely, beautiful in her velvet robe, which she wears stunningly, stroking it with delicate fingers of soft silken hands.
I’ve watched her linger, gliding into it, embracing it to her breasts, and wrapping it ’round her slender shoulders. I’ve seen her tingle with excitement, surrendering to its touch.
Oh would this night I were that velvet, that drapes her lilting essence, falls in graceful folds, fondling her lithe form, as she ascends the stairs. The lush fiber rises on her breasts, with each soft subtle sigh, caressing her enticingly. This sunset evening it keeps her perfect body warm.
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When a powerful love runs its course, heartbreak pulls no punches.
you hit like a cloudburst
a thunderstorm of love
kisses hot as lightning
striking from above
your tempest pulled no punches
I was swept up in its force
but now the winds have died
this storm has run its course
my thoughts are chilled and cloudy
my eyes are steady rain
my heart’s caught in a cold front
bad weather’s bringing pain
warm winds may return
perhaps so clear blue skies
but my heart will ever yearn
t’see that sunburst in your eyes
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