Category: dark

Machine Mind

This post is offered in response to prompt #14 at We Write Poems,
the August 9th prompt at Big Tent Poetry,
the August 11th prompt at Three Word Wednesday,
and prompt #65 at Carry On Tuesday.




“…scientists were so preoccupied with whether or not they could,
they didn’t stop to think if they should…”
Dr. Ian Malcolm


Machine Mind

•

you wink awake at morning’s light
beckoning me to focused task
prompting me of promise

you collaborate
in my keeping touch
in work dispatched
in thoughts transcribed
in matters pure creative

you are my portal into virtual space
to probe mysteries
the vast unknown

the tool I wield
to unearth facts
dig the dirt
to search for truth

tightly spun
within the web
you tend my life
make all cogs turn

my instrument of whim
device of my distraction
are you my submissive
or master of my will

when you’ve surpassed my vision
will you serve me still

have I the power to shut you down
turn my back
walk away

to truly let you keep

in the deep subconscious
does your machine mind
really sleep

• • •

TechReGret

(a lighthearted tanka)

•

my laptop’s frozen

and my cell phone’s out of range

it’s at these times when

I think how life used to be

hand-written letters have soul

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

_________________________

• photorendered collage entitled: “Machine Mind” – by: rob kistner © 2010

IN CLOSING: We live a in a world immersed, if not drowning, in technology. The idealistic and naive early vision was to create technology to serve us, make life easier, less complicated – but the joke is on us. We now serve the technology, and life is more complicated — traveling at a pace we struggle to keep up with. We’ve leveraged our peace of mind in the misguided pursuit of leisure. Is there a remedy? If we do not open a global dialog focused at finding ‘balance’, the situation will, I believe, resolve itself – and the world will not like, and may not survive, the ultimate solution.

As James Martin, one of our great modern thinkers and author of the “The Meaning of the 21st Century” points out in his most optimistic and uplifting book, man stands on the threshold of either the greatest era in human history, or the end of life as we know it – the outcome rests in our hands.

I wrote an essay back in 2007 which deals with humankind’s strange relationship with the technology we’ve created. You can click here if you would like to read it. …rob

Blood Moon

This piece is offered in response to prompt Mag 25 at Magpie Tales,
prompt #13 at We Write Poems,
and the August 2nd prompt at Big Tent Poetry.




Blood Moon

•

icy round
the wolf’n eye
soft and round
the riding breast
roundness
in the grande dame’s fear
a circle round
the blood moon’s crest

there are lies
within that circled moon
that surround
this cruel charade
they gather
and collect the tears
‘til midnight’s debt
is fully paid

‘til innocence
is found to want
and purity
so deep defiled
that cold and soulless
lupen eyes
will cleave the sweet
in red and wild

and all that once
was tender
will on this night
turn beastly raw
and guilted
hearts be locked away
to deny at dawn’s light
the truth they saw

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

Burn

…in response to the 13th prompt of 2010 on Writer’s Island, I offer a piece I wrote inspired by Joni Michell’s album entitled “Don Juan’s Reckless Daughter”. Embedded in this work is the title of every track that appears on that album / also for prompt #126 ‘Angel’ at One Single Impression…



Burn

•

come to me
talk to me otis
and
marlena
reveal your mystery

I am your brood
sired by your seed
bloodied
from your womb

whisper
in a scorching breath
tell me about
the tenth world

taunt me
in scalded apparition

tell me how
to get to dreamland
to cotton avenue
on a hot off night
back street in jericho

tell me of the fires
on paprika plains
that consumed your souls
in flames of hunger
to lust
for immortality

made you dance
at midnight
wrapped in
the silky veils of ardor
on prurient
smoldered embers

I want to go
I am ready

an inferno burns
inside me
desire rages strong
to ride the bliss of sin

son of concupiscence
I am
your son

your lifeblood
courses through me
hammers in my temples
sets my heart ablaze

impassioned
I wil prowl
the shadow’d haunts
of jericho

the dark places
of the tenth world
following your ghosts

seeking
don jaun’s reckless daughter
my scarlet jezebel
my nocturne angel
to take me
in a fever

to whirl me ‘round
to burn me down
to ash

to scatter me
by moonlight

forever
in the winds
of memory
on those plains
of ardor

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

• photorendered collage entitled “Dance of Ardor” by: rob kistner © 2010

The Quiet • The Strike

…I’ve written two pieces in response to Three Word Wednesday July 21st prompt • the first is entitled “The Quiet” • the second is entitled “The Strike”…

The Quiet

•

left like spent bait
in the disapproving sun
to rot from apathy

the carcasses of constituents
foolishly quiet
curl brittle and crack

victims of their trust
they did not jump
their chance for change

and so they wither
hollowed by ignorance
and purposeful neglect

while the dark beast
slouches off with eden
marrow dripping from a smile

• • •

The Strike

•

warm
familiar
comfortable in my palm
my fingers wrap natural cork
index raised
gauging line tension

precision brings the willow’d shaft
high above my shoulder
rod flexing expectantly

a flick of my wrist
and the line arcs forward
increasing the pressure
on my fingertip
as it rolls ahead
accelerating

then
a careful pluck
like a string
on a guitar

it is released

the golden lure
at line’s end
sails silent
into the squinting summer sun

with a subtle plick
the barbed hunter disappears
slipping ‘neath the sparkle
of the undulating steam

seductively
with quickening pulse
eagerly visualizing
I retrieve the bait
anticipating the strike

patience draws the lure
dancing ever nearer

I long for the sharp
powerful tug

for the slender thread
unreeled before me
to rise
and dart away
in a sliver of silver spray

for my heart to jump
as a proud trout
breaks water
victim to my seduction

in this moment
mind focused
breath steady
senses heightened
awaiting sudden contact

I reflect

there is a simple truth in fishing
in life

the thrill of possibility
can be as rich
as the reward

• • •

rob kistner © 2010


Questions

…I wrote this in response to the June 28th prompt at Big Tent Poetry
and for prompt #59 at Carry On Tuesday…


 

Questions

•

he lifts himself 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 sodden head

this wreckage is his mother

why do you just lie there mother
my head is full of demons son

the response only imagined
she remains slack and death-like
where nocturne angels of sweet release
had laid down lush upon her
in fevered embrace
lustfully conjured
by last night’s spoon and lance
still skewered silver in the soured vein

mother — why do you want to die
the return is only silence

he lingers but a moment
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
stare into the mirror
broken as his heart
then close

your eyes hold a story my son
will you tell me your story

yes mother
if you really want to hear about it
if you really could

• • •

rob kistner © 2010


Extinction’s Shadow

…these are rewrites of prior drafts, edited fresh for the June 21st prompt at Big Tent Poetry
and strongly influenced by prompt #7 at We Write Poems…


Extinction’s Shadow

•

smothered by big oil
our blue planet is dying
greed’s shadow falls hard

•

future is mortgaged
to petrochemical lust
fatal addiction

•

mankind is drowning
in a flood of fossil fuel
black tide of folly

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

• 3D color rendering at top entitled: “Too Long in the Shadow”
by: rob kistner © 2008

That Hollywood Sparkle

…I wrote this in response to the June 14th prompt at Big Tent Poetry…


 

That Hollywood Sparkle

•

it’s not so much we resent the hungry
no more than do we despise the poor
rather we avoid and dismiss them
with the dull cough of apathy
we find them disturbing and dangerous
they disquiet our comfort

we do not flow with the milk of kindness
our part is more the dark brandy of denial
we do however praise our stars
for their sensitivity toward the downtrodden
it makes the less fortunate more glamorous
and we like the hollywood sparkle it imparts to tragedy

• • •

rob kistner © 2010


Maneater

• In response to prompt #6 of the newly opened We Write Poems, I find arrogant, manipulative divas to be difficult to tolerate, or to understand…



Maneater

•

auburn mane with sable streaks
frosted ermine — lush with pride
a bounce and whip, and tiply snap
with each stiletto’d wanton stride

taught hips roll on slender stems
that part in ripples then enmesh
a brushing sigh of stirring heat
toned thighs gliding flesh on flesh

a stare of comely crystal blue
floats above a ruby pout
that takes you in devouring
has its way, then casts you out

tongue tip teases top lip’s edge
like supple paintbrush flowing
a smile to burn and hypnotize
that wraps around you knowing

luscious wench — worldly wise
sleek as steel — tall and strong
swift and cunning, motor running
she might acquiesce, but not for long

poor fool who tastes this lusciousness
is hopelessly addicted
there’s only one word for this life-force
that word, my friend, is — wicked!

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

Anger – 3 Contemplations

…I offer this 3-part contemplation on anger in response to the June 7th prompt at Big Tent Poetry…

• the first poem is a free verse conceptual perspective on the essence of anger
• the second is a poem I would like to share, which touches the primal anger I felt at the time of the tragic death of my 18-year-old son, Aaron — written shortly after the horrible event
• the third is the pantoum which was directly suggested by this prompt — it is based on a poem I wrote while in the early stages of my grief, also regarding the raw, unfiltered anger I felt, and still feel occasionally, surrounding Aaron’s death



Anger

•

love
bruised

crying out
to be understood

so loudly
that it cannot hear

frustrated
that its capacity to feel

is far greater
than its ability to express

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

______________________

Primal

•

i remember well the day he died
the searing pain
that fueled my rage
setting fire to the skies

primal power

giving life to sorrowed hatred
sustaining me no food or sleep
while i cursed the cruel heavens
in ringing spite that toppled mountains

and leveled to despair
every mocking face of care
reaching out to touch me
saying how they understood

they sure as hell — did not

or they’d have never gotten near me
they’d have given me vast berth
for all i wanted was to strike them
make them scream
make them hurt

i would have given him my life
with little thought have taken yours
for if my son could no longer live
nor would anyone on this earth

• • •

rob kistner © 1995

______________________

This Cannot Be

•

this cannot be the way his story ends
his youth snuffed out by someone’s mindless deed
this cannot be the horror fate intends
if life you want mine now I do concede

his youth snuffed out by someone’s mindless deed
if debt is owed please I will make amends
if life you want mine now I do concede
hell’s threshold now to where I stand extends

if debt is owed please I will make amends
anger grips me like a poison seed
hell’s threshold now to where I stand extends
my soul ablaze my heart begins to bleed

anger grips me like a poison seed
god your cold and heartless name offends
my soul ablaze my heart begins to bleed
a blackness here within me now distends

god your cold and heartless name offends
hatred of you deep inside does breed
a blackness here within me now distends
upon my very essence it does feed

hatred of you deep inside does breed
cruel god is this the horror you intend
upon my very essence it does feed
this cannot be the way his story ends

please tell me this is not the way his story ends

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

• collage above entitled “Stages of Grief” by: rob kistner © 2010


______________________


In loving memory of my son, Aaron Robert Kistner: 11/4/76 – 7/3/95

Eve’s Eyes

• In response to prompt #5 of the newly opened We Write Poems, this is a surrealistic poem I created using a technique of creative omission called erasure. I am generally not a fan of fashioning a poem to or from a form or device — but this was interesting. The original poem I “mined” was entitled “Pointed Roofs”, by Dorothy Miller Richardson. You might find it interesting to compare Dorothy’s piece with my finished piece…



Eve’s Eyes

•

plentiful
the long faces

the girls
numerous
brought the sense of misery

the girls
nervous
were part of the remuneration

the very first
eve
playing a melody

swollen
her fingers weak
unexpectedly stiffened
her trembling hands
dreadful

she stood
angry

stupid people
had made her play

her discomfiture forgotten
she simply poked the piano

almost unrecognizable
she played with burning eyes

thumping
and thumping again
she played afresh
laughed into the air
back to the wall
behind the piano

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

________________________________

…the painting above is entitled “HOMAGE for GILLES CARLE”, by: Estelle St-Pierre…

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

    • Trouble Comes to Dry Gulch

    • In response to the 4th prompt on the newly re-opened Writer’s Island, I introduce you to my imaginary childhood friend. In the heart of a terrified young boy, he was more than real…




    Trouble Comes to Dry Gulch

    •

    you were my truest friend
    my steady rock of safety
    my captain of escape
    you were always there

    the amazing man of magic
    the hero of the weak
    defender of the helpless
    my always gentle friend

    when the footsteps in the hall
    woke me in the night
    I would feel you tug my hand
    and under we would go

    through the secret passage
    you kept beneath my bed
    to the waiting viking ships
    and off to fight the dragons

    in the land of snow and castles
    carved from clear blue ice
    in our robes of fur
    we struck with swords of gold

    you were very brave
    in the face of fear
    I knew you would appear
    never laughing at my tears

    when the grating metal rasp
    of door latch in the dark
    would bolt me from my sleep
    you would have the horses ready

    we would thunder off to dry gulch
    to wrangle up our posse
    save the townfolk from the bad guys
    and return when all was calm

    you were very swift
    in a snap you would arrive
    in time to get me out alive
    helping me survive

    below the ocean we would dive
    in your crystal submarine
    down to the coral world
    marveling at the creatures

    we would leave the sub
    to swim among the wonders
    to dart and spin and float
    far from pain and worry

    you were very smart
    my midnight flight arranger
    to rocket us from danger
    far from the evil stranger

    we would soar to venus
    in your silver ship
    or to some distant star
    and do battle with space monsters

    and when they all were slain
    we would fly the milky way
    circle all the planets
    thankful to be weightless

    no matter how afraid
    I knew that you would find me
    knew you’d never judge me
    I knew how much you loved me

    knew you’d have me back by day break
    with the dark night far behind us
    and the warmth of welcomed sun
    would once again embrace us

    the midnight footsteps now are quiet
    the ships and rockets sailed away
    no more trouble comes to dry gulch
    the crystal sub now long in dry dock

    I’m not sure I ever thanked you
    perhaps took your love for granted
    without you I’d never have made it
    I never will forget you

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010


    Boxes – Contemplation in 3 Parts

    In response to the Ist prompt on the newly opened We Write Poems, I contemplate boxes




    Boxes

    Contemplation #1

    •

    my memories gather and squabble
    like crows in fallow fields
    they pick clean
    the bones of my recall

    bones against the cruel clay
    of an arid barren mind

    bones spilled from soul boxes
    in which I’d desperately collected
    the scarred and damaged pieces
    of my broken dreams

    dreams now parched and withered
    dried brittle in the coarse winds
    of my dire confusion

    their promises scratched and raspy
    slowly slipping unintelligible
    into the chaos and cacophony
    of the crows in fallow fields

    • • •



    Contemplation #2

    •

    tanka

    wonder’s trapped within
    a box within more boxes
    so deeply buried
    by the years of failed dreams
    you must not lose your wonder

    • • •



    Contemplation #3

    •

    tanka

    love is sealed within
    a box locked inside your heart
    lost in the rubble
    of years of broken promise
    you can find it if you look

    • • •



    rob kistner © 2010

    Stowaway

    In response to the 2nd prompt on the newly re-opened Writer’s Island, I step from my place of hiding




    Stowaway

    •

    slowly
    with great caution
    in halting measured step
    I creep from sanctuary dark
    to leave this place of safety

    to sidle in uncertainty
    into the chafing
    cutting light

    head bowed
    spirit crushed
    tensed for flight

    emerging
    visible again
    though barely

    poised to recoil
    from any sudden emotion

    long now in hiding
    stowed away in sorrow
    fragile as a newborn bird
    unsteady as a fawn
    just as frightened
    as unsure

    my wounded soul
    took refuge in aloneness
    dug in
    resolved to disappear
    become invisible
    perhaps to die
    the weight of life too great

    simple breaths
    a considered labor
    but still I drew them
    hesitantly

    long I lay
    shallow breathing
    unwashed
    unfed

    resigned to simply vanish
    from this hopeless realm

    despaired I would never find
    a reason to go on

    yet slowly I emerge

    but please
    no impulsive expectations

    permit me slow and careful evolution
    from my chrysalis of anguish

    let me find my way
    back into the light
    from my place of hiding

    offer only patience
    and safe distance

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010