Twilight Approaches

In the news, 11 April 2008 14:49

“Terry Pratchett ‘angry’ at Alzheimer’s diagnosis”

I have a friend of many years, who received this same diagnosis as author Terry Pratchett. When I came across this sobering headline above, it put me in mind of my friend.
Inspired by Terry, I wrote this poem remembering my friend, caught in the horrible grip of Alzheimer’s

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

 

Twilight Approaches

•

this morning’s sun comes crisp and bright
enfolding my waking in warmth
and vivid presence
the world fresh and fascinating

I embark toward noonday
the joy of discovery palpable
senses saturated and alive
blissfully consumed

by a deep satisfaction
that permeates this afternoon
my soul is full my mind is clear
my heart — overflowing

as dusk descends upon this place
with heady grace and expectation
my stride is smooth and steady
the downing sun — a gentle gold embrace

early shadows fall soft across my face
as vesper’s velvet blanket
drapes its comfort ’round my shoulders
splendid calm envelops me

yet there are other shadows
strange distractions
that disrupt my moments
they come unannounced – almost imperceptible

but there is still far to go
I am eager to journey
drawn by the beauty
that is the rising moon in sunset

facing into the evening breeze
I venture onward
rolling amber and coral
spreads across the horizon

again the shadows shift
dull confusion finds me
I lose my pace and focus
to draw up in momentary halt

nagging concern
disquiets me
a stab of panic
pierces my solace

unwelcome bewilderment
grips me
holds me
uncomfortable in my skin

a cloud of frustration
sweeps over me
obscuring briefly
my purpose and destination

then the fog wafts
and again I see
across the veiled valley
my hearth & home

but I wander
and once more lose the path
as the mist settles
like a shroud

twilight is coming
much too quickly
and my concern
at first a nuisance — mounts

a gathering fear
gnaws inside
fear I will not make it home
before this sunset

I am afraid
to lose this light
I am afraid
to lose my way

• • •

rob kistner © 2009


. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

• I chose to write this piece to reflect the very early stages of Alzheimer’s when the individual is not certain what is happening and has not yet been diagnosed – but is beginning to become concerned, and the fear begins to rise.

In some ways, this is the disease at its most devious. It is manipulating the person, yet they’re not aware what evil is overtaking them.

This piece was written to emphasize that devious nature. Alzheimer’s is a sneak thief that subtly begins to disrupt our daily life, and steal pieces of time, creating a fractured reality — that gradually grows more and more unsettling. It then begins to rob us of our life-learned skills, our talent, our grace, and our dignity. Finally it kidnaps our memories, our loved ones — and then takes our life.

The stanzas are of gradually diminished size to reflect the diminishing nature of this killer •

…poem written in response to prompt #89, found at “readwritepoem”

Gone

 

Gone

•

his rant can be heard above the bustle of the homeward privileged
coarse ramblings from the rancid shadows
as fetid hands lift flame to spoon
and bring to boil the milk of his deliverance

he glides cold steel into the froth of sweet promise
still warm with transformation
to impale his demon with the blessed dagger
as silver-white dreams carry him away

gone – long before the battered wound will coagulate

• • •

rob kistner © 2009

…poem written in response to prompt #88, found at “readwritepoem”

…and one at Sunday Scribblings

My Hand

 

My Hand

•

I bring my hand
gently to your mouth
quiet your voice
for I am certain

if you loose your words
into this twisted world

they’ll be distorted

if you raise your song
over this deafened land

it will be lost

should your truth escape
into this barren place

it will die
of loneliness

if you free your love
in this frigid time

there will be no place
it can find warmth

save here
within my hand

• • •

rob kistner © 2009

The Feast

This is a seond draft of a piece I wrote quickly in response to a prompt on Sunday Sribblings which proposed we create a dinner party for anyone we wish — living or dead.

I intend to continue to edit this in place here to tighten it up. It’s fun, enjoy it!

 


The Feast

•

welcome to this night’s festivity
a dinner to praise creativity
the main course is vision with a fresh side of wit
it’s time to get started, please everyone — sit

our first guest is Salvador Dali
his work’s ‘out there’ but it’s not folly
he sees life in abstract and paints with great flair
he’s taken his work where few artists would dare

may I present Mr. John Lennon
you might know the band that he plays in
clever and candid what he thinks he will say
I think he might make a difference one day

please greet Mr. Kurt Vonnegut
he cuts to the truth quite literate
his writing is brilliant, his mind so alive
hope you get the chance to read Slaughterhouse Five

this gifted woman’s Joni Mitchell
much talent and wit – she’s insightful
a beautiful mind with a magical soul
the white queen of wisdom and sweet rock’n’roll

the man to my left’s known as Ghandi
his courage is truly beyond me
he rejects violence — it’s peace he does seek
confronts anger with patience — but he’s not weak

this lady’s Amelia Earhart
she’s bold and brave – yes, she stands apart
she’s committed to a great undertaking
solo trans-global’s the flight she’s soon making

our last guest is seated beside her
a beat poet – meet Gary Snyder
honest and spiritual, incredibly smart
his poems about nature stir the mind and heart

this dinner party’s purposely small
and I hope that it satiates all
so relax and enjoy and after we’ve dined
there’ll be one final course, a feast for the mind

• • •

rob kistner © 2009