Earth (celebrate Earth Day 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

 

 

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

This is a rewrite of a rewrite of poem I first wrote in the Fall of 1997, inspired by the wonderfully consistent Pacific Ocean kiting winds so prevalent on the Oregon Coast.

 

 

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

 

 

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
_____________________

 

• • •

 

Finish Line

 

“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 taken by: rob kistner © 1995
_____________________

• • •

 

On the Edge

 

 

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
_____________________

• • •