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!
This is presented in fairy tale form, but this is not fantasy. This is based on a true story, no happy ending. A tale of woe, and a tale of warning. The tale of Sir DaVied, the musical wizard, and the dragon he was fated to battle for seven (7) years. Sir DaVied fought bravely, and fully accepted that this battle was his responsibility. This tale is not told lightly, but with genuine sadness, and enduring love.
he was a keyboard wizard
who conjured hard won magic
on a daily basis
riding persistent sentry
over his mighty sleeping dragon
keeping it at bay
protecting himself and loved ones
from its ravaging fire
this dragon had held him captive
for a number of years
having overtaken him one day
in a careless moment of weakness
when this wizard had been foolish
and let down his guard
but the brave wizard
Sir DaVied as he was known
had again found his courage
and fought back the dragon
driving it into submission
difficult and tentative as it was
sadly though
the cunning dragon
would not be held down
and in a moment
when the wizard’s vigilence
had sadly waned
the dragon pulled Sir DaVied
once more under his evil spell
on this fateful day
the wizard’s infectious laughter
had become infected lunacy
his beautiful dreams
had again become dread
as the nightmares returned
the dragon imprisoned the wizard
in its dark and haunted lair
it was reported
Sir DaVied’s rants
could be clearly heard
above the bustle
of the homeward privileged
that passed unaware
of the wizard’s dilemma
the battle had raged
coarse rants and ramblings
rose from the rancid shadows
until in final desperation
fetid hands lit the fateful fire
that brought to boil
the white magic potion
of the wizard’s deliverance
he’d slipped the cold steel
into the froth of sweet promise
still warm with transformation
and drew the white magic potion
into the glassen’d vessel
of ultimate escape
tied and tapped into submission
distraught from battle
this magical musical wizard
impaled his demons
with the dragon’s dagger
hoping the potion
would drive back the dragon
saving himself yet again
but not this time
no deliverance this time
the dragon claimed the wizard
as silver-white dreams
carried him away
the wizard was gone
gone on his white horse
for his final ride
to the realm of no return
now the wizard’s castle
is in abandoned disarray
no lights to stave off darkness
the piano is broken-keyed
caked with time snd neglect
no more does the wizard
descend the marble stairs
and glide the black lacquered bench
nor lay hands on the polished ivory
to control the mighty Steinway
no more does he confidently caress
and coax those keys to his commands
no more do the beautiful strains
of the gold-framed spiral-string soundboard
waft tenderly up the staircase
or ring proudly from the atrium
no, the wizard DaVied has passed
and with him, the music has died
rob kistner © 2021
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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