(bastard’s lament)
•
undesired
discarded
thrown away
though whole
sound
and useful
no matter
labeled mistake
misbegotten
unfortunate
shown the back
outside
looking in
left behind
alone
by the side
of life’s road
to endure
the harsh weather
of abandonment
tried
convicted
sentenced for life
to suffer confusion
shame
the sorrow
of the unwanted
condemned
guilty only
of the crime
of inconvenience
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
(a poetic quadratych)
•
The Secret
what I said was
don’t touch
go away
leave me be
while inside
I cried out
draw near
stay with me
you are light
you are pure
you are joy
you are free
I am not
I am dark
I am beast
can’t you see
without you
there is much
you don’t know
about me
The Revelation
I lived at the light’s edge
that pooled in the night
on the bleak back streets
of the sad brokenhearted
I hid in the anguish
of the loveless who cowered
in the dark nightmare alleys
of the lost and forgotten
I fed on the grief
of the mourners who wailed
for their horrific loss
in the ruins of death
this was my heartscape
black as mid-winter night
a lightless horizon
no glimmer of hope
trusting was toxic
no foothold for love
relations were carnage
scattered lifeless and cold
The Change
’til a beautiful being
eyes brilliant and true
approached from afar
bearing tinder of love
the graceful arrangement
was deftly ignited
and patiently tended
the fire gently stoked
afraid to come forward
I held outside the glow
but your kindness drew me
we stood by the blaze
with passion it roared
its light pierced my blackness
its heat thawed my soul
my cold heart was warmed
The Miracle
you wrapped yourself ‘round me
gazed into my eyes
your kiss soft and serene
was the essence of healing
with you in my life
I am darkness removed
soaring and weightless
radiant and rising
vital and caring
my spirit’s renewed
illuminated wholly
by a new dawn of dreams
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
•
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
…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”…
•
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
•
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
•
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
•
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
• 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…
•
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!
• • •
• 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
•
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
•
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 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
~
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
•
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
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
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
• • •
• • •
• • •
the shuffle of feet
with their different sounds
according to their shoes
I see wan faces of unsmiling lips
their void curves denounce this night
yet unseen
is the gossamer curtain’s fall
that defines their soul’s duality
the divergent reality
through which truth stumbles blind
to move in the world rough as a rope
taut as every promise made
frayed as wisdom
leaned in whispered from behind
grab at time like dropped money
I might learn something tonight
if someone will release the light
so I can shine like a child
who likes ice cream most of all
this child reads old mens’ minds
and notices the shoes
the belts all made of leather
I feel a shiver of sad imbalance
a confliction in my soul
so I will watch the shoes
and practice non-attachment
because I can
but pieces of me
stick to whoever gets too close
you may have seen me
silhouetted against the sky
the coldest night in January
howling with the frozen moon
then moon and I
sneak through fate’s construct
among cages of studs & trusses we run
from room to imaginary room
the whole world close enough to touch
we eat a midnight lunch of damaged bread
seasoned by caution and foreign lands
with onion’d thoughts layered deep
show mercy
peel back the layers
peel me away thin by thin
skin by skin
to my quivering soul
I hope I am not ugly in your sight
these thoughts become too heavy to hold
to tough to chew or swallow
my thoughts
bone-white lies of morality plays
open for you to peek
hope they are not ugly in your sight
hope they do not make you weep
as you peel back all the layers
onion’d thought layers
held fast and firm
like a carapace
to which I’m stitched and welded
and can no more leave than you can truly enter
they tie me down sometimes
but sometimes barely so
inescapable optimism in my bare-bones grin
flashes in the brittle moonlight
a stranger comes to where I sit
to see
his stare blinds the stars from my eyes
behind his fey smile
his radar dreams scan the forgotten creases
the clandestine getaways in my mind
standing over
he peers down with probing gaze
one of us
will learn a thing or two this night
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
____________________________________________
…an edited re-write of an earlier draft…
•
like the disembodied
hands of Neptune
reaching from a rocky confine
breaking surface
into the watery realm
seeking
grasping
needing
but entombed
in a glassened globe
a crystal cage
cruelly shut away
from that which is most desired
contact
connection
prisoner
in brutal isolation
banished
even from the lesser gods
condemned eternally
to never know
the redemption of touch
• • •