| CARVIEW |
…inspired by this Kyknoord illustration, offered as a visual prompt at “readwritepoem”.
This Heart is Yours
•
this heart is yours
this damaged heart
this brittle
fractured
aching heart
broken
in your cold cruel hands
abused
then cast aside
I’ve no use for this ruined heart
I plucked it from my chest
I seek a warm and vital heart
now begins my quest
• • •
rob kistner © 2008
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Relentless Repetition
•
hostage to a hopeless din
of relentless repetition
clarity
held captive
in confusion’s grip
trapped in a whirl
of brute cacophony
shouts
screams
wails
bellows
stuttered stammered curses
the chatter wells
inside my head
unbearably insistent
oh
to squelch the jibberish
but
puppet does not listen
• • •
rob kistner © 2008
• written in response to a prompt from ]]>
Please!
•
•
inquiries of heart
from summer red lover’s lips
float like butterflies
• • •
rob kistner © 2008
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Too Long in the Shadow
•
•
smothered by big oil
our blue planet is dying
trapped in greed’s shadow
•
future is mortgaged
to petrochemical lust
fatal addiction
•
mankind is drowning
in a flood of fossil fuel
swept t’ward extinction
•
•
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3D color rendering at top depicts a piece entitled: “Too Long in the Shadow”
by: rob kistner © 2008
Detail displayed below the depiction is 1/4 scale of actual size
Original artwork is 24″Tall x 30″Wide
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• • •
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Dark Dock
•
the lone light
hanging heavy
in the night dew
from the bow ring
searches its beam
fractured
‘cross the chop water
for the dark dock
for home
• • •
rob kistner © 2008
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Summer
•
•
green leaves on blue pond
float in golden summer sun
red bird softly sings
•
• • •
rob kistner © 2008
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Curious Elf
•
an angel-eyed velvet-clad curious elf
was sitting alone on a leaf by himself
quite lost and he didn’t see anyone else
he was scared and cried in the woods by himself
I want to be home with my fam’ly of elves
6 sisters 5 brothers – in all I’m the twelfth
this is no a place for an angel-eyed elf
and damp woods are not very good for my health
sometimes it’s hard being a curious elf
curiosity is why I wandered off by myself
and I’m not big enough to get home without help
please somebody come find this small frightened elf
so if you’re no bigger than a wee little elf
don’t go wandering off in the woods by yourself
take somebody else and your cell phone as well
so you don’t get lost like this curious elf
cause it’s scary being lost all alone by yourself
• • •
rob kistner © 2008
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Orchid
•
young orchid fresh-bloomed
engorged with succulence
bursting with life’s urgency
vibrantly seductive
dewy lips of supple petal
lay open in offered sweet delight
velvet pistil of gentle blush
enwrapped in throat of fiery hue
this vision of tender ecstasy
entices with a lilting sway
a fragrance to intoxicate
wafting from the luscious folds
breathing in the rich bouquet
all senses stirred and tantalized
my eyes embrace this visage rare
pleasured in the heady moment
captive by such vital beauty
consumed, one savors slowly
exquisitely delicious
this tender bud, full bloomed
• • •
rob kistner © 2008
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photo above of: Phrag Eric Young orchid — composite by: rob kistner © 2008
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• • •
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Bohemian Nightfall
•
when night fell on bohemia
the streets were set ablaze
in black light
in strobe light
it was tie-dyed psychedelia
when night fell on bohemia
jack and neal were on the road
ridin’ with the fire-whores
of angst and indignation
like combustin’ carnal fireballs
when night fell on bohemia
allen was howlin’
pal’n with corso
and long’n for peter
hunter, groin deep
in the brain-drug flesh festival
…hunter was fearful
and loathing it all
when night fell on bohemia
bill, stark naked
was lunchin’ with the devil
jelly-rollin’ in a demon’s fire
when night fell on bohemia
gary headed for cold mountain
to watch it all from sourdough
electric bob went subterranean
when night fell on bohemia
ken and tim
gathered up the faithful
on the magic bus
and stole off with the future
like pranksters
ever further
• • •
rob kistner © 2008
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collage above entitled: “Bohemian Nightfall” — by: rob kistner © 2008
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• • •
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recorded author’s reading available below
Not Since Then
•
this turn down our country lane
I could make it in my sleep
so familiar
I anticipate every bend
rise
and dip
they are welcome as a friend
like the sound of my tires
as they trundle ‘cross
the narrow wooden bridge
that fords the feisty brook
and coming round, I see
the corridor of faithful old-growth Doug’s
stepping back for me
inviting my return
guarding my safe passage
they sway — as if to celebrate
that I am back again
now — it’s left up our gravel drive
the pebble and crushed rock
crunch and clatter in stony rustle
as I traverse our hill
swing onto our concrete carport
pause – and key the engine off
all is silent – save the tick and popping
as the engine cools
this is my favorite moment
just before I open the door
to step up and approach the house
approach you
this moment of anticipation
knowing you are waiting, bathed and fragrant,
warm and soft – dressed in something that will whisper
welcome home my love —
I’ve missed you
then I take you in my arms, fall into your loving eyes
pull your willing body close
to wrap ‘round you, and drink you in – intoxicated
these moments melt into sweet love making
that continues until exhaustion
we both love when I return, from a business trip
but tonight
I do not key the engine off
I do not reach for the handle
do not open the door
I simply sit
you are no longer waiting – not in quite sometime
not since you lost your battle brave
not since I held you, that final time
your body still warm and soft
not since then
now my business trips are longer
my returns
fewer – and farther between.
• • •
rob kistner © 2008
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To hear “Not Since Then” read by the author, CLICK HERE…
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note: Doug’s are Douglas Firs
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Awe
•
they rise
gargantuan
icons
of the clever human
they vibrate
with the rush
and chaos
of synapse
and sinew
they hum
with
networked urgency
data
outdistancing
comprehension
‘we can’
beyond the reach
of ‘should we’
bedecked
in stainless
stone
and such
a halogen blaze
of neon fire
they surge
with the impulse
of power
and greed
temples
of
avarice
embellished
here and there
by art
and
true creative touch
though
sadly
short fallen
they are erected
englassened
and festooned
in varying shape
and differing size
they flank
in concrete corridors
that criss
and cross
blink
beep
and ring
that buzz
belch
hiss
and stink
they regiment
the like-minded
that submit
huddled within
college’d clones
connected
protected
directed
and inspected
in their daily dealings
haughty monoliths
that intimidate
and amaze
with cold
calculated
majesty
but
they are
ego’s folly
for they do not
cannot
touch the soul
nor offer solace
to the human core
that seeks
the folded petal’s mystery
that marvels
at the smallness
of a changing frond
at the might
of gnarled bark
the magic
of budding branch
they do not
touch the spirit
soothed
by wind and water
thrilled
by song of birds
or swoop of hawks
enlivened
by the yelp
or bark
or bleat of beasts
they cannot
reach the soul
that needs
to know and see
a salmon’s trek
the dolphin’s arc
an open sky
the roll of unobstructed clouds
or fall of stars
they have nothing
for the soul
that needs to hear
the crack of thunder
resound for miles
across the plain
then off the mountain’s face
they fail
the human core
that needs
the fresh embrace of rain
the crisp and quiet
drift of snow
the hues and sway
of living fields
They leave the spirit cold
that needs
to watch the orchard’s blossoms
bloom to fruit
see forests
thick beyond horizons
or feel
the lift of cresting surf
no…
there are no human constructs
that satisfy
this need to know
evolving natural wonders
that inspire
resonate
the heart
that liberate
the soul
to leave one
truly filled
with awe
• • •
rob kistner © 2008
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A darker reality of Mother’s Day.
Motherless
bastard’s lament
•
undesired
discarded
thrown away
though whole
sound
and useful
no matter
labeled mistake
misbegotten
unfortunate
left behind
alone
by the side
of life’s road
to endure
the harsh weather
of abandonment
tried
convicted
sentenced for life
to suffer confusion
shame
the sorrow
of the unwanted
condemned
guilty only
of the crime
of inconvenience
• • •
rob kistner © 2008
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This Journey
•
this journey
has been fraught
with wonder
joy
sadness
awe
and tears
it’s carried me
‘cross boundaries
borders
mass of lands
‘cross time
and space
it’s shown me
mysteries
marvels
good & evil
the best
the least
the unfortunate
it’s brought me pleasures
fame
and fortune
to claim them back
with no remorse
I’ve known satisfaction
adulation
a woman’s love
a child’s passing
it’s been true
and faithful
genuine
to turn away
and
break
my heart
it’s been fact
fiction
and fantasy
I’ve been
ignored
I’ve been
betrayed
honored
as a man
of standing
then
left behind
to cry
alone
I’ve traveled
light
I’ve traveled
fast
I’ve stumbled
burdened
weighed with grief
I’ve lead
and followed
lost my way
regained direction
then disappeared
I’ve walked hand in hand
with fear
and death
stared down
depression
to be consumed
then arose
to once again
go forth
without a clue
my destination
with no regard
the fated outcome
nor consideration
of my plight
long ago
I lost my worry
having learned
it’s of no use
I’ve realized
despite
our difference
at the core
we’re all
the same
this realm
we entered
all alone
and here we’ll leave
alone again
but
all of this
is of no matter
foolish so
to dwell upon
of no concern
of no regard
most certainly
not worth the measure
because
in reflection
one sees too late
it was
this journey
that was the treasure
• • •
rob kistner © 2008
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Faithful
•
time is a tyrant
it will chill the spring blue jay
yet still I am true
• • •
rob kistner © 2008
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Gaia Suite
• • •
The Balance
•
mother gaia
you embrace us
carry us safely
as we hurtle
thousands of miles
every hour
of every day
through infinite space
you provide for us
our every need
sustain our bodies
with your abundance
nurture our spirits
with your beauty
and endless wonders
your need is simple
that we live in balance
with your rhythms
with our fellow travelers
on this amazing journey
that we know gratitude
humble stewards
of your countless gifts
for millennium
upon millennium
we lived
in harmony
attentive
reverent
but we’ve grown arrogant
foolishly
we believe
we have dominion
over you
over all in your realm
in pursuit of intellect
we lost our sense
our equilibrium
lost our way
even as we watch you suffer
we cling to our ego
to our destructive delusion
of supremacy
we do not see
do not understand
please forgive us
be patient
do not forsake us
we can learn
we must learn
love for you
is still strong
among your wayward children
this voice of love
cries out
please listen
it resonates
more loudly
with the passing of time
precious mother gaia
grant us time
to again find our way
our humility
our center
the balance
• • •
_______________________________
Gaia Weeps
(haiku)
•
man seeks dominion
frail balance has been disturbed
gaia is weeping
• • •
_______________________________
Gaia Yields
(haiku)
•
seeds push seeking sun
sky is pulling with spring rain
gaia yields new life
• • •
• • •
rob kistner © 2008
_______________________________
artwork at top entitled “Gaia•Evo (earth evolving)” by: rob kistner © 1997
artwork at bottom entitled “Gaia Yields” by: rob ksitner © 2007
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• • •
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True Work
•
I bend my back
squat
then straighten at the waist
hunkered ‘neath the weight
I lift clean the load
the warehouseman’s refrain
always on my mind
back straight
lift with the legs
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 my keyboard
do battle with fatigue
I coax the vision
to commit to screen
the first draft of my design
to then modify
and refine
until — the ultimate creation
these — and countless others
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 constant labor
for our daily bread
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 my tolerance
to stand squarely flush
with truth and level justice
to visualize a free world
to create enduring possibility
for universal love
this — is the true work
in the final sweep
‘round the face of time
• • •
rob kistner © 2008
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collage above entitled: “Soul Currency” — by: rob kistner © 2007
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• • •
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Kiting
•
a whispered zephyr
tosses my hair
brushes soft my cheek
hope gently stirs
a promise of breeze
begins to freshen
it wafts
and builds
gathers strength
heartbeat quickens
anticipation
spirals anew
the building currents
draw taut the line
then
an urgent tug
the moment arrives
my kite fills
then billows
it stands and dances
sculpted tight
against the frame
caught full
by this mounting breeze
it lifts with grace
rises with purpose
with deft hand
and careful eye
I guide it
safely airborne
further
faster
it ascends
carried skyward
on friendly drafts
empowered
by winds of good fortune
this day my kite
has taken flight
bold aloft
in the clear bright sky
with a constant wind
my kite
fragile as a dream
soars strong
and steady
a sudden gust
my kite is tossed
but a nimble touch
keeps it skyward
should winds
like fortune
turn
and the sky grow still
my kite
like fate
will falter
weather
like life
makes no guarantee
but such is the thrill of kiting
• • •
rob kistner © 2008
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collage above entitled: “Soaring” — by: rob kistner © 2007
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• • •
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Courage
•
he lifts himself
quietly
so quietly
from beneath
the sheets
soiled with neglect
makes his way
carefully
past the shallow-breathed
crumple
that lay milky-eyed
in a heap
un-moving
on the floor
save a twitch of the head
which head
now harbors demons
where nocturne angels
of sweet release
laid down lush
upon her
in fevered embrace
lustfully conjured
by last night’s
spoon and lance
still skewered
silver
in the soured vein
this wreckage
is his mother
he stops
but for a glance
verifying life
then moves on
head down
he angles
to the bathroom
to the scum-brown bowl
to wash his face
a face
lit sallow
by the yellowed bulb
that hangs bare
and lonely
eyes
of knowing
eyes
of sadness
that stare
into the mirror
broken as his heart
in the dank
foodless morning
of this ruined
single room
he gathers up his books
steps lightly
through the door
down the damaged stairs
into the hostile streets
heavy
with a childhood
of strangled dreams
he ducks and dodges
in and out of shadows
his prayer
to once again
avoid the evil
that lurks and slinks
among the garbage
and graffiti
of these crumbled
brickened canyons
seductive as a smile
deadly
as a snake
evil which
if diligence should fail
will consume
his youthful soul
deliberately he continues
until at last
he finds his way
into the building
into the classroom
into his desk
into the only hope
to which
this innocent dare cling
• • •
rob kistner © 7/3/05
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Powerful photo at top is of the Hope Street Wall graffiti in Philadelphia
captured by: Eugene Martin
Wonderful mural at bottom also from Philadelphia, on a school at 27th & Cecil B. Moore
captured by: Shackamaxonbaby
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• • •
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“you’re forever on my mind”
Finish Line
•
(In loving memory of my son, Aaron Kistner: 11/4/76 – 7/3/95)
It is my favorite picture of you son,
the one I treasure most
since your passing.
A simple snapshot,
taken at the airport,
upon your return
from having run the New York City Marathon.
A gentle, triumphant smile,
eyes beaming behind those ‘cool’ shades,
jacket sleeves rolled in casual hip-ness,
bag thrown carefree over your shoulder,
medal dangling proudly from your strong neck.
The victor: gentle, cool, hip, carefree, proud, and strong,
– fiercely handsome!
How profound this captured moment proved to be.
Taken just before the finish line of your 18 years,
it said it all.
Your race is run,
your bag is packed,
your reward’s in hand.
Fly my sweet angel – fly!
• • •
rob kistner © 7/3/05
_____________________
Aaron Robert Kistner, 18th birthday, returning from NYC Marathon
Shortly before he was killed
photo edited by: rob kistner © 2008
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• • •
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On the Edge
•
It has all come to this. No turning back now, no room for doubt, no fear –– no place for mistakes. Years of preparation, visualizing my dream, of tenacious conditioning, practice, of sacrifice, of hope –– is finally culminating in this one moment in time.
I hear the winds whistle in the shell of my headgear, the snow crunch crisp and fresh underfoot as I step off the aerial tram and stride to the starting gate. My skis, waxed to perfection, are thrown over my right shoulder, both poles gripped in my left hand. I vibrate with nerves and pure, refined energy.
As I make the short walk I reflect, “over 90 miles per hour for 90 seconds, airborne –– hurtling down the mountain like a rocket, freefalling just at the edge of control, at the edge of disaster… at the edge of euphoria! I love this! I can do this, just don’t catch an edge!” I push that brief slip of negativity out of my head, and begin to visualize, while repeating, “tuck tight, knees flexed, eyes down the mountain, fearless… fly!”
I sit to tighten my boots and affix my skis. I hear the chatter of coaches and officials, the mantra-like self-talk of my competitors –– and the clamor of the crowds that collect along the course, gathered exuberantly dense at the bottom.
I begin to slowly tune all that into a background monotone buzz, then a quiet hum, squelching –– until finally, I tune it out altogether. I focus, dialing myself into my personal space, my place of vivid concentration, intense presence –– my zone.
Here I wait until my coach comes to lead me to the starting gate, where I check in with the race officials, and queue up. It seems just a blink of an eye and he comes, and I go –– go to what I believe will be victory, my time of destiny. I am ready!
Standing behind the next racer poised to start, I acutely envision the entire course, racing section by section, successfully making and re-making the run in my head –– the same one I’ve made many times in practice. I imagine the gate fly open, see myself push off, thrusting with all my might into that first steep drop, accelerating fiercely into the first turn, building a torrid pace, knifing down the mountain –– as if an apparition, a vapor, a blur… gone 90/90!
At last, alone in the gate, I see the mountain stretch out below me, the crystalline white falling and twisting –– down, down. This is it, it’s here; my dance with fate –– but this is no gamble. I am so totally ready for this –– ready to roar down the icy slope, surge across the finish line… ready to fly!
The starting tone begins to pulse. My mind links into the cadence, my body feels the rhythm. My vision grows sharp, my senses keen, my surroundings –– vibrant. Time is folding into slow motion, honing down to the long-awaited instant, the critical split-second. My legs are wound springs, my arms and shoulders are powerful pistons, my heart –– a thunderous locomotive. The brink is reached, then crossed. The gate swings away as I launch –– in one mighty explosion…
• • •
rob kistner © 2008
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collage above entitled: “On the Edge” — by: rob kistner © 2008
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• • •
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