Category: dark drama

Dark Love

WARNING! This is dark!


Original DDE™ surrealistic art: “Love’s Sin” by: rob kistner © 11/16/23

 

D o you think
you’re not still my slave
since digging yourself
from that earthen grave

since you sullied
your delicate hands
clawing up and out
of my bottom lands

do you think
you’re safe

think perhaps
that I don’t know
where you are
as you come and go

do you think
that I don’t feel you
with my every breath
that I don’t breathe you

do you not understand
that I hold your life
in my clenching hand

really – don’t you

do you think at all
foolish girl

anytime I want you
you are mine

anytime

you know I love you
you love me too
with a love uncommon
you know you do

don’t you

you are mine
it’s true

forever

you are not free
your every move
is known to me
your every thought
is mine to see
your every fear
mine to trigger

feel your terror
as it’s growing bigger


Original DDE™ surrealistic art: “Dark Love”
by: rob kistner © 11/16/23

I watch you walking
every dark late night
while I hide under
my dim street light

you will not know
whence I may come
I am the shadow
you are running from

the stranger hidden
across the street
the sudden sound
that startles you
from your sleep

so cling mindlessly
to your false hope
as ‘round your slender neck
my fingers grope

you think I’m mad
well that may be
but that’s too bad
for you
not me

you pray
they catch me
we’ll see
won’t we

your nightmare is
I’ll not be caught

well
that dream’s come true
for I will naught


Original DDE™ surrealistic art: “Dark Love’s Captive”
by: rob kistner © 11/16/23

you hope I make
a big mistake
dare a close call
risk my downfall

foolish girl
there is no risk

for I am brilliant
wicked cunning
you’ve felt my power
is it not stunning

does my magnificence
make you afraid
as staring in my eyes
you feel resistance fade

you will not see me
in the cold dark rain
but you feel me squirming
in your troubled brain

as I’m creeping quiet
from behind
to steal your mortal life
as I am so inclined
as terror shivers
up and down
your spine
remember always

you — are — mine


Original DDE™ surrealistic art: “Devil In A Downpour”
by: rob kistner © 11/16/23

*
rob kistner © 2021
edited rewrite © 2023

Poetry at: dVerse

 





Castle Walachia

~ I originally published this October of 2018, again Oct. 2019, now Oct. 2022. ~
Happy Halloween

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This castle is most ominous
since becoming Voivode of Wallachia
Vlad II has not followed his father’s example
no joy and celebration reverberates
through the greattooms, hallways, and towers
of this venerable old structure

it has become dark and foreboding
and rumored dangerous
even deadly

but I know they are not just rumors
there is a murderous evil dwells here
undead and otherworldly
bloodthirsty and cruel
a ruthless predator
whom I have come to slay

I must move quickly from this light
that pools incrementally
in this long
pungent
segmented hallway

there is some safety in the shadows
that linger tight
to the arch walls
so I bolt
through the full moon’s glow
that seeps silvered through the windows

I press myself
against the damp irregular surfaces
that are the stacked-stone
boundary breaks
of this eerie chiseled passage

I pause at each
listening
casting glances all ’round

this monster moves like a vapor
so what I can see
is far more important
than what I can hear
but still
I listen

this demon has servants
soul sworn to loyalty
that must move on foot
their approach I could hear
so fully alert
I employ all my senses
in my critical vigilence

stealthily I move
from archway to archway
until I reach the last

I halt
E3610F00-F899-4D98-B180-D31F9E59E23E
relaxing the tension
in my right hand
I carefuly open my fingers
very slightly
to close them tight again
feeling the smooth wooden shaft
of the stake I have carved
securely in my grasp

this is the weapon I’ll wield
to bring and end
to the ungodly bloodlust
of this ghastly creature
the good people here call
Dracula

as I stand here
back to the dampened wall
relief seasons my trepidation

nothing in my being
wants this dire mission
to which I am shackled

but it is only my hand
on the carved wood dagger
tightly in my sweating grip
that can bring an end
to my uncle’s unholy
reign of horror

I am the youngest male
of our cursed bloodline
so the brutal deed
falls to me

creeping ever forward
like a shade on the dank wall
I move cautiously closer
to the iron-laden
dense wood door
of his sleeping chamber

my heart pounding
my diaphram starved for breath
I feel I may pass out

but still I pursue
the evil incarnate
that lies coffin’d
in undead repose

suddenly
a noise
immediately behind me

it echoes through these catacombs
pierces my taut raw nerves
and instantly paralyzes me

trembling
I turn

no one there

hushed
I listen intently

no other sounds
save the blood
pulsing as a roar
in my ears

I begin to move
but again
I hear it

panicked
I jerk my head around
and see

in this frozen moment
my stressed mind deduces
the source of the noise

moisture
collecting on the stone ceiling
gathers overhead
into sagging condensation

it released
as a weighty droplet
splattering on the floor
just behind me
with a sharp startling slap

I relax a bit
enough to again draw
tensioned breath

several more labored
careful steps
and I place my hand
gently on the wrought handle
of the immense door

confirming the lethal dagger
quivering in my right hand
I reach
steadily as possible
into my pocket
and withdraw a strange key
I have secreted there
that allows me access
to his chamber

it is unnaturally heavy
and seems to emanate
an unearthly energy

I clutch it firmly
fearing if I lose my grip
I will lose my nerve

I guide the key
into the slot
of the ornate handle plate
seating it fully

slowly I begin to turn it

I feel the resistance
as the key’s teeth
engage with the bolt
and begin to grudgingly
draw it from its secure well

just before I have fully retracted it
I pause
my mind racing
blood pressure soaring
overcome by the magnitude
of what I am about to do

no turning back now
this must be done
and I must do it
but I am terrified

still I hesitate
attempting to gain
my much needed composure

I slow my heartbeat
steady my breathing
steel my resolve
and turn the key
its final quarter inch

the lock clicks
the handle releases
and the door unseats inwardly

this is it
fate has dealt the deck
I am both prisoner
and executioner
in this horrible game

I swing the door open
ever so gradually
eyes rapidly scanning
this vampire lair

and step in

this fate
my destiny


Vlad the Impaler – Dracula

*
rob kistner © 2018
revised © 2019
republished © 2022

Poetry at: dVerse

 


Tanka Tragedy



UH OH!

 
I am a lion
I want to maul you to death

not me — I’m a lamb

but I’m just a reflection

so I’m sorry — you are …screwed!


rob kistner © 2021

 

Can you please sing, while you — RUN?!

 

Poetry at: Sunday Muse

Poetry at: Poets & Storytellers

Day 4 poetry at: NaPoWriMo 2021

Crows of Castle Keep

“Castle Keep is my metaphor for the mind.”

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Crows of Castle Keep

my contemplation on dementia

~

my memories gather and squabble
like the crows of castle keep
they pick the bones
of my recall

bones against the cruel clay
of an arid
barren mind

littered with the harsh forgotten
like the bones of the dinosaur
I’m becoming

struggling
with what letters are made of
my words crack and crumble

my thoughts
parch and wither

lonely silhouettes
against an unforgiving skyline

fading visions of my past
of my life
my home
of yesterday

harder and harder to remember
the degrees of separation
growing ever greater
smoldering in the fog
of my reflected past

splashes of vivid color
on scraps of paper
blown in the mounting winds
of my confusion

dread rising
that I will soon not remember
what it all meant to me
a stirring fear I will forget
lost in tormented emptiness
that all will go black

this is not just a poem
it is much more

this is a light
searching in blackness
for familiar things
for persons beloved
that I do not recognize

this is a fractured tome
a cry of frustration
a tear of loss
a whispered prayer

an epitaph
to my fading map of then

of cherished memories
that now falter
and dim

slowly slipping
unintelligible
into the cacophony
of the crows of castle keep


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~ ~ ~

rob kistner © 2019

 

  • Click below to heck out more poems of blackness on dVerse:

    dVerse Poetics: On Shades of Black

    • The Secret

    IMG_8614
    photo collage: “The Secret” — by: rob kistner © 1997

     
    The Secret

    ~

    from the dawn of awareness
    through the dark times
    beyond the ages of change
    into these times

    they have kept it
    the keepers of the secret

    and now
    with great fortitude of will
    to safequard frail truth
    they must keep it still

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2019


     

  • Click for more dVerse poetry:

    Quadrille #91 – Keep

    • Golden Lady

     

    Golden Lady

    •

    golden lady in sensuous silk
    a beauty sure to mesmerize
    sculpted by a master’s hand
    so seductive as to scandalize

    a stare of comely crystal blue
    floats above a ruby pout
    spellbound by her magic eyes
    she holds your soul with no way out

    her tongue tip teases her top lip’s edge
    like a supple paintbrush flowing
    her smile will fire and hypnotize
    then wrap around you knowing

    you are now her helpless captive
    quite hopelessly addicted
    in the velvet grip of this smoldering waif
    is she an angel — or is she wicked

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011

    • linked at Magpie Tales

    ____________

    image by Bert Stern

    Images – a ten year vigil

    …lest we ever forget

     

     

     

    Images


    •

    images

    unreal
    unfathomable images

    the graceful glide
    engulfed by the spire
    in a roar of golden orange

    horribly beautiful

    perversely mesmerizing

    obscene
    devastating images

    torrents of humanity
    raining down

    desperation their only escape

    masses of humanity
    racing
    to outrun the unbelievable

    praying
    to be delivered from the inconceivable

    traumatic images

    shrines of free commerce
    consumed
    by the unbearable weight
    of their fragile significance
    plummeting to earth
    in a cloud of self-destruction

    heartbreaking images

    screaming
    dazed
    terrified souls
    consumed
    by the unbearable weight of the moment

    staggering onward
    to outdistance the surging roll
    of all-engulfing
    pulverized aftermath

    courageous images

    battered
    determined
    tireless heroes

    those who were called
    who served unselfishly

    some
    who gave the ultimate service

    haunting images

    color
    gender
    ethnicity
    wiped away
    from the ashen-grey faces
    of the traumatized throngs

    now just masks of calamity

    all made equal
    by horror and grief

    one nation
    under siege
    inconsolable
    with tragedy and sorrow
    for all

    unforgettable images
    burned into our hearts

    • • •

    rob kistner © 9/11/09

     

    The Box

    This piece is offered in response to prompt Mag 29 at Magpie Tales,
    and the August 25th prompt at Three Word Wednesday,
    and prompt #18 at Writer’s Island.




    The Box

    …a short story of intrigue…

    •

    “What do you mean Taylor,” Gwen inquired, the strain obvious in her weary voice. “Who exactly is going to confront Dylan… and why?”

    Her voice trailed off to an exasperated whisper. The why was not so much a question, as an exhalation of confused frustration. She seemed to know the answer was much too complicated to address at this hour, and she was too spent, physically and emotionally, to want to hear it.

    Gwen turned away from Taylor, head lowered. Her arms fell limp at her side, fingers splayed. She was trying her best to process what Taylor was saying, to understand him – to understand the recent events that had brought her to this place in time… trying to make sense of anything. Her head was spinning, and she could feel the fatigue deep in her bones.

    She dropped back onto the sofa, half sitting, half lying down – an exhausted slouch. She felt paralyzed, thoughts racing through her mind – fragmented, disconnected thoughts. If only she could clear her head. She was in trouble.
    Continue reading The Box

    Lupus Luna

     

    Lupus Luna

    ~

    wolf moon hangs heavy
    in the damp night sky

    I feel its powerful tug

    bulbous moist pearl
    rolling in a cold chromium fog

    forging my steely urges
    hardening my unspeakable needs

    wet slivers of cloud
    smear themselves across its face
    irregular
    dappling my perverse metamorphosis

    translucent sacks of moonbeams
    glide the blue black sky
    breathing

    the hoarse breath of the beast
    festers a howl
    rumbling deep in my throat

    in the heavens
    glassine billowing pillows
    oozing
    soaked with midnight

    stars float and spark
    glinting
    dripping
    shivering

    as I shudder
    in dread of this witching hour
    engorged with unearthly power

    frozen splintered crystal tips
    diamond chips
    pinprick rips in blackened space

    piercing
    white hot
    my ungodly eyes
    seared with bloodlust
    probing
    hunting

    stars wink and wane
    and glisten
    shattered bits of silvered light
    snapping here then not
    behind the ghostly white vapor
    that slithers through the firmament

    I slink the midnight mists
    eternally cursed
    driven by a horrible hunger

    the world
    devoid of color
    aglow in sterling grey
    a negative of day

    thick and chilled

    filled with the sound
    of stalking
    after-dark things

    abominations of nocturne
    in this sorrowing hour
    to lay bare your soul
    in periled introspection

    in grief of secrets

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2010

  • collage above entitled “Lupus Luna” by: rob kistner © 2010

    • The Key

    • In response to the 3rd prompt on the newly re-opened Writer’s Island, I offer a gothic tale…
    • I also offer this in response to prompt #116 at One Single Impression…




    The Key

    •

    I must move quickly from this light
    that pools incrementally
    in this long
    pungent
    segmented hallway

    there is some safety in the shadows
    that linger tight
    to the arch walls

    so I bolt
    through the full moon’s glow
    that seeps silvered through the windows

    I press myself
    against the damp irregular surfaces
    that are the stacked-stone
    boundary breaks
    of this eerie chiseled passage

    I pause at each
    until I reach the last

    I halt

    sliding two fingers
    of my right hand
    into the small pocket of my waistcoat
    to confirm that it is still there
    I feel the cool brass
    of the oddly carved key

    relief seasons my trepidation

    nothing in my being
    wants this dire mission
    to which I am shackled

    but it is only my hand
    on the inscripted dagger
    gripped tightly in my left
    that can bring an end
    to my uncle’s unholy
    reign of horror

    I am the last surviving member
    of our cursed bloodline
    so the brutal deed
    falls to me

    creeping stealthily forward
    like a shade on the dank wall
    I move cautiously closer
    to the iron-laden
    dense wood door
    of his sleeping chamber

    my heart pounding
    my diaphram starved for breath
    I feel I may pass out

    but still I pursue
    the evil incarnate
    that lies
    locked away
    in undead repose

    suddenly
    a noise
    immediately behind me

    it echoes through these catacombs
    pierces my taut raw nerves
    and instantly paralyzes me

    trembling
    I turn

    no one there

    hushed
    I listen intently

    no other sounds
    save the blood
    pulsing as a roar
    in my ears

    I begin to move
    but again
    I hear it

    panicked
    I jerk my head around
    and see

    in this frozen moment
    my stressed mind deduces
    the source of the noise

    moisture
    collecting on the stone ceiling
    gathers overhead
    into sagging condensation

    it released
    as a weighty droplet
    splattering on the floor
    just behind me
    with a sharp startling slap

    I relax a bit
    enough to again draw
    tensioned breath

    several more labored
    careful steps
    and I place my hand
    gently on the wrought handle
    of the immense door

    transferring the lethal dagger
    to my quivering right hand
    I reach
    steadily as possible
    into my pocket
    and withdraw the strange key

    it is unnaturally heavy
    and seems to emanate
    an unearthly energy

    I clutch it firmly
    fearing if I lose my grip
    I will lose my nerve

    I guide the key
    into the slot
    of the ornate handle plate
    seating it fully

    slowly I begin to turn it

    I feel the resistance
    as the key’s teeth
    engage with the bolt
    and begin to grudgingly
    draw it from its secure well

    just before I have fully retracted it
    I pause
    my mind racing
    blood pressure soaring
    overcome by the magnitude
    of what I am about to do

    no turning back now
    this must be done
    and I must do it
    but I am terrified

    still I hesitate
    attempting to gain
    my much needed composure

    I slow my heartbeat
    steady my breathing
    steel my resolve
    and turn the key
    its final quarter inch

    the lock clicks
    the handle releases
    and the door unseats inwardly

    this is it
    fate has dealt the deck
    I am prisoner
    in this horrible game

    I swing the door open
    ever so gradually
    and step in
    toward my destiny…

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010


    My Words

    NaPoMo poem #24

    This is the twenty fourth of the poems I will write this April, in honor of National Poetry Month, as proclaimed by the Academy of American Poets.

    This is about a poet struggling with inspiration, pressing to break through writer’s block.

    • NOTE: these poems will all essentially be early drafts, so edits may occur after their initial posting.

     

    My Words

    •

    I released my words into the cold
    they froze and cracked and splintered
    which made them sharp and edged
    and piercing

    too difficult to handle

    I thrust my words into the fire
    they scorched and warped and blistered
    which made them hot and rough
    and coarse

    too difficult to touch

    I abandoned my words in the storm
    they soaked and swelled and sagged
    which made them bloat and droop
    with heft

    too difficult to hold

    then I left my words quite well alone
    in no adverse conditions

    and light they rose up from my heart
    and soft they rolled from off my tongue

    and true they drifted through the air
    where suspended souls could find them there

    to take them in
    and keep them safe
    and treat them in a manner fair

    to befriend them
    in an honest way
    until it was their time to share

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2009

    ___________________________

    • you can find other NaPoMo offerings at read write poem

     

    Dissonance

    NaPoMo poem #24-A

    This is poem twenty-four-A of the poems I will write this April, in honor of National Poetry Month, as proclaimed by the Academy of American Poets.

    This, like poem #24, is also about a poet struggling with inspiration, trying to block out the night noises and cacophony that surrounds him on a hot sticky night.

    • NOTE: these poems will all essentially be early drafts, so edits may occur after their initial posting.

     

    Dissonance

    •

    relentless whir
    in cycled pulse
    drones overhead

    coarse whisper from above
    promises relief
    in vain

    blades disturb page edges
    at rest before me

    in irregular rustle they taunt

    impatient
    untouched

    no burden of remorse
    no weight of mystery
    do they bear

    no sting of anger
    no wink of mirth
    with which to be dispatched

    no coin of phrase to spend

    dissonance
    spills through the open window
    the buzz, chirr, and leggy rasp
    muffled keens
    distant yelps

    the edgy din of crawling
    prowling night

    intrudes in damp insistence
    to fill my head
    and leave not one small space
    for wit or insight

    all in vain
    there is no relief

    nothing clever
    or profound
    in the air this night

    hot, sticky, thick

    uninspired

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2009

    ___________________________

    • you can find other NaPoMo offerings at read write poem

     

    For Granted

    NaPoMo poem #22

    This is twenty second of the poems I will write this April, in honor of National Poetry Month, as proclaimed by the Academy of American Poets.

    This poem is an homage to Gaia, our mother earth, in celebration of Earth Day 2009. Embedded within this free verse poem are a trio of haiku, each focused at our earth.

    • NOTE: these poems will all essentially be early drafts, so edits may occur after their initial posting.

     

    Earth Day 2009

    For Granted

    •

    you prepare for sleep
    each night

    consciously
    or unconsciously

    confident of gravity

    that it will keep you
    anchored
    in your bed

    snug in your bed

    that you won’t wake
    to find yourself
    having floated off

    now entangled
    in the sweeping branches
    of the willow
    in the backyard

    that wonderful weeping willow
    always bending
    and swaying

    like some sinewy
    sap-laden
    great elephant

    trundling
    great elephant

    trundling
    and swaying

    on the lookout
    for water
    in the arid
    african bush

    such majestic
    mysterious
    beautifully dangerous bush

    in africa
    the amazing dark continent

    with zebras
    and giraffes
    and lions

    and of course
    elephants

    in africa
    in the earth’s
    southern hemisphere

    and all of this
    kept firmly aground
    by earth’s gravity

    pretty astounding
    when you consider

    earth hurtles through space
    eighty times the speed of sound
    racing toward hope

    our frail earth needs hope
    desperately it needs help
    it is in trouble

    our earth’s crying out
    it’s balance has been disturbed
    we humans don’t hear

    all we ever think about
    is bed

    money and bed

    and gravity

    and then
    often only in passing

    when we’re not
    simply
    taking it for granted

    the earth
    and all these incredible things
    for granted

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2009

    ___________________________

    • you can find other NaPoMo offerings at read write poem

     

    I will Not Forget

    NaPoMo poem #19

    This is the nineteenth of the poems I will write this April, in honor of National Poetry Month, as proclaimed by the Academy of American Poets.

    This poem is an edited rewrite of an older poem I’d written, but not completed to my satisfaction. Today’s prompt brought such deep feelings flooding into my heart, I was compelled to revisit the draft of this work and bring it to a fitting completion. I am very pleased with how it has turned out.

    • NOTE: these poems will all essentially be early drafts, so edits may occur after their initial posting.

     

    I Will Not Forget

    (rappelé toujours)

    •

    there are days I still can feel
    the breeze of youth gently stir my soul

    days remembered of grace and lightness
    when faith in truth sparked splendid dreams

    those days of you

    when all we touched was fresh and new
    and the world was full of wonder

    when we were certain we’d live forever
    our strength made each day a great adventure

    those carefree days

    the days we witnessed one for the other
    as we made vows to our chosen life mates
    raised our children
    grew our careers
    our families close through these days of joy

    but not these days

    I’ve grown unyielding
    rigidly braced
    against the winds of time and fate

    my soul is rooted in life’s demands
    I search its blessings
    curse its burdens

    these brittle days

    I am bent by the yoke of worry
    heavy with the weight of loss

    I am haunted by the ghost of memory
    the lonely days when I think of you

    these empty days

    how can this void be filled
    when one so vital has departed

    this world was denied much wit and wisdom
    kindness and love lost
    when you passed

    how can this void be filled
    when one so rich in these is gone

    one who understood the need for giving
    in a careless world darkened by greed

    a tender heart
    truly unselfish
    whose warm embrace included all

    how can this void be filled
    when a brilliant light has been snuffed out

    I will not forget

    I will remember you
    and all those days
    that’s how I will fill this void

    with the seeds of friendship
    you planted deep inside my heart
    now filled with grief

    may they grow to make me gentler
    and me — the world a better place

    good-bye my friend

    ever will I tend these seeds
    and think of you

    I will not forget

    • • •

     

    rob kistner © 2009

    ___________________________

    • you can find other NaPoMo offerings at read write poem

     

    Stir of Love

    IMG_8652

     

    Stir Of Love

    ____

    he has kept it locked for so long
    the horror of that night
    holds the seal tight

    the memory riveted
    securely barring entry
    none can pass

    his bitter resolve
    makes certain none will try

    this is a dark forbidden place
    high-walled
    cold and barren
    unyielding
    lifeless

    a wasteland of the lost
    inhabited by the dead

    the gate grown over
    by a tangle of grief and anger

    any memory
    of a once vital presence
    of a living breath
    of warmth
    of joy
    forever gone

    brutal night has fallen long ago
    that no sun can penetrate

    the blackness soothes him
    he retreats into its depths
    embraces its lightless void
    hiding
    sulking

    shielded from any possibility
    of further pain or remorse
    he is unfeeling
    safely lifeless

    but see
    a shadow
    falls across the threshold

    someone approaches

    a comely being
    warm and alive
    lays gentle siege
    threatening to breach
    his hardened fortress

    but
    this lovely creature
    fair and fragile
    can not possibly gain entrance

    must not

    he will resist
    he must

    this is wrong
    this is trespass

    this is cruel betrayal
    of his lost beloved

    he has no right
    to leave this place of sorrow
    to step into the light

    no right

    but it grows inevitable
    all seems lost
    his stronghold is succumbing
    falling to this delicate advance

    he is vulnerable
    terrified
    but it is useless to resist

    searching with a patient heart
    she has found it
    the key

    grasped in her loving hand
    fingers tenderly enfold it

    gently
    she slides it into the lock
    turning with great care

    he is defenseless
    he feels his heart slowly open

    the long forgotten
    stir of love
    begins to warm his soul


    IMG_8653

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    rob kistner © 2009