…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

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 readwritepoem

Please!

•

•

inquiries of heart

from summer red lover’s lips

float like butterflies

• • •

rob kistner © 2008

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

•

•

_____________________

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
_____________________

• • •

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

Summer

•

•

green leaves on blue pond

float in golden summer sun

red bird softly sings

•

• • •

rob kistner © 2008

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

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

_____________________

photo above of: Phrag Eric Young orchid — composite by: rob kistner © 2008
_____________________

• • •

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

_____________________

collage above entitled: “Bohemian Nightfall” — by: rob kistner © 2008
_____________________

• • •

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

__________________________________________

To hear “Not Since Then” read by the author, CLICK HERE…
__________________________________________
note: Doug’s are Douglas Firs

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

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

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

Faithful

•

time is a tyrant
it will chill the spring blue jay
yet still I am true

• • •

rob kistner © 2008

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
_______________________________

• • •

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

_____________________

collage above entitled: “Soul Currency” — by: rob kistner © 2007
_____________________

• • •

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

_____________________

collage above entitled: “Soaring” — by: rob kistner © 2007
_____________________

• • •

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

_____________________

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
_____________________

• • •

“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
_____________________

• • •

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

_____________________

collage above entitled: “On the Edge” — by: rob kistner © 2008
_____________________

• • •