Category: suspense

NaPoWriMo #18 – Human Arrogance

This is my eighteenth post for National Poetry Month 2010
• one free verse poem
• one tanka

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• inspired by Irene’s day 18 read write poem prompt / and #49 at carry on tuesday

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…a thing of beauty is a joy forever, a captive wild soul — is a tragedy…


 

Pacing

•

from rippled sinew black as midnight
bores a stare of molten gold

a furious but calm inferno
searing deep to burn your soul

I watch helpless this panther’s pace
held captive in this foolish zoo

cold eyes rivet snarled contempt
unfathomed pools of quiet rage

on this panther paces paces
turns and paces back he paces

graceful stride of brute resolve
presses on to test the limit

proud this captive soul just paces
frustration turns anger retraces

this brutal prison of false environ
does not fool this mighty beast

observe how he continues pacing
instinct certain this is not home

his piercing gaze fixed well beyond
his suffered fate of cruel confine

see the panther pacing pacing
his nature steeled his spirit strong

relentless sorrow wild longing
drive on and on his constant stride

this will not break his fierce resolve
he tracks freedom he stalks life

imprisoned he will forever pace
and he will pace

and he will die

• • •

 

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Out Of Step

•

nature is a dance

transcendent syncopation

rhythmic side by side

but the chorus line falters

humankind is out of step

• • •



• poem and tanka by: rob kistner © 2010

…collage just above entitled “Nature’s Anger” by: rob kistner © 2006
…panther image digitally rendered & edited by: rob kistner 2010 — base image source anonymous…

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…check out what’s prowling over at readwritepoem…

NaPoWriMo #12 – Look Poet / Croissants

This is my twelfth post for National Poetry Month 2010
• one free verse poem
• one haiku



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…this piece was inspired by a prompt by Carolee Sherwood over at read write poem…

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Look Poet

•

poet
do not weave
your fabric of myth
or speak to us in grand verse
telling of the song
of the spheres
or the days
before this dark time

help us see
the real place of light
hear the clear voice of truth
know the pure heart of justice

look poet
look at the terrible suffering
tell us where that is birthed

tell us how to see
with our own eyes
so that we might reach in
and tear out the pain
uproot the sorrow
crush the evil

you see many things poet
but you talk in riddles
you avoid the cold
and the hard way
for the soft path
of platitudes
and metaphors
of meter and rhyme
but this is not the time

look poet
look into the fire
feel it burn your eyes
char your soul
tell us how that feels

let us hear you scream
rally us
set us ablaze

lift your pen
like a sword
and strike down
the imbalance

show us the grip
and we will join the battle

but you must tell us
poet
tell us what is real
in the power
that is plain language

we will listen

• • •

 

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Croissants

•

fragrance of baked dough

aroma of warm butter

croissants tasty hot

• • •

poem and haiku by: rob kistner © 2010

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…for more poems about other roads left untraveled, go to readwritepoem…

NaPoWriMo #6 – The Cast / The Rise

Rhiannon had suggested in the day 6 NaPoWriMo prompt at Read Write Poem that we sort through a collection of our pictures as inspiration for this day’s poem. Although I veered a bit from her precise suggestion, the process of sorting brought me to the pictures I have of my fishing adventures, and that inspired this — so thanks Rhiannon!



This is my sixth post for National Poetry Month 2010
• one free verse poem
• one haiku
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The Cast

•

cliff-climbing conifers
stir in the brisk dawn
as breezes swoop the gorge
rustle my jacket
nip my cheeks

across the casual rapids
near the stony shore
rainbows surface in slack water
hungrily gulping morning hatch

my most recent offering undulates past
in the glinting chatter of spring flow
unacknowledged

chuckling
I turn

elbow steady
I begin to rotate my lengthy bamboo
behind to two PM.
silently stripping the slender thread
from current’s surface
leaving a razor crease
disappearing quick as it comes

the lacquered rod bends forward as I lift
then slowly flexes back
the line arcs behind in flight
trailing silvery spray

backward pressure builds
as line nears full unfurling
but just before
a smooth return
slowly brings the shaft
again to ten AM

now
I feel the forward pull of the soaring mass
as overhead the line recoils
midair

the glass-green fiber
rolls out ahead
over azure ripples

the singing strand painting an “S”
in the cloudless sky

quick
smooth
and quiet
the line is re-wed to stream

the feathered morsel at the tip
offered yet again
coaxing a ready trout
to rise
and strike

• • •





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The Rise

•

fly reel freshly oiled

new tippets cut and tied firm

spring trout on the rise

• • •

poem and haiku by: rob kistner © 2010

• photorendering at top of this post is entitled “The Cast” – by: rob kistner © 2010
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…for more NaPoWriMo 2010 poems: readwritepoem…

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

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• 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

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• you can find other NaPoMo offerings at read write poem

 

Morning in the Neighborhood

NaPoMo poem #12

This is the twelfth of the poems I will be writing each day here in April, in honor of National Poetry Month, as proclaimed by the Academy of American Poets.

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

 

Morning in the Neighborhood

•

he lifts himself quietly
so quietly
from beneath the sheets
soiled with neglect

he 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 head

which head now harbors demons
where nocturne angels
of sweet release
laid down lush upon her
in fevered embrace
lustfully conjured
by last night’s spoon and lance
still skewered silver
in the soured vein

this wreckage is his mother

he stops but for a glance
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

in the dank foodless morning
of this ruined single room
he gathers up his books
steps lightly through the door
down the damaged stairs
into the hostile streets

heavy with a childhood
of strangled dreams
he ducks and dodges
in and out of shadows

his prayer
to once again avoid the evil
that lurks and slinks
among the garbage and graffiti
of these crumbled brickened canyons

seductive as a smile
deadly as a snake

evil

which if diligence should fail
will consume his youthful soul

deliberately he continues
until at last he finds his way
into the building
into the classroom
into his desk

into the only hope
to which this innocent
dare cling

• • •

rob kistner © 2009

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• you can find other NaPoMo offerings at read write poem

 

Val

NaPoMo poem #10

This is the tenth of the poems I will be writing each day here in April, in honor of National Poetry Month, as proclaimed by the Academy of American Poets.

Suggested by read write poem as a poem for day 10 of National Poetry Month; this type is known as a ‘found poem’. Passages here are borrowed from the pages of Robert A. Heinlein’s science fiction masterpiece, “Stranger in a Strange Land”. While still holding fast to the spirit of Heinlein’s novel, I’ve slightly rearranged, and mildly embellished the text to create this piece entitled “Val”.

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

 

Val

•

valentine michael smith
was a most intelligent creature
a son
of deep space pioneers

he lived an alien
on the far frontier
his ancestry was human

raised on mars
by planet natives
he thought and felt
quite martian
he’d never laid eyes
on man

brought to earth
by scientists
who knew not
how to grok* smith
who knew not
how not to
and quickly grokked
the madhouse planet

he understood earth
and its suffering
so thoroughly
it became his own

it nearly drove him crazy

heartfelt
val reached out
to spread enlightenment

for this
he was despised

feared and hated
quite ungrokked
smith was sadly slain

his death was brutal
he died as he lived
a stranger
in a strange land

• • •

rob kistner © 2009

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*Grok – to understand so thoroughly, the observer becomes part of the observed

• you can find other NaPoMo offerings at read write poem

 

Love & War (two poems)

 

Love & War

 

The Nightmare

•

my eyes

crisp from the day’s cruel sun
burnt by devastation’s fires
scorched by images of relentless horror

take refuge
in this late-evening fog
settling heavy as a shroud

clinging
opaque
mercifully obscuring

I am sustained
by this damp pall
that descends cool upon me

wraps ‘round my pained countenance
fevered with fatigue
twisted with despair

drawn
by a faded memory of honor
a faint echo of duty
a frayed thread of human dignity

I stumble
broken by this sin I shoulder

not of my making
but of my charge

my sin

unleashed by others
who would impose their delusions
to advance their evil agenda

those who would rule the world

a world now broken
corrupted by their illusions
spoiled by their vanity

a world in chaos
as darkness deepens

this nocturne
I have but this ruin-riddled
highway of blood

of dying dreams
violated innocence
merciless destruction

of horrific death

this path of my duplicity
of my guilt
my shame

and so
I stumble on
bent by the weight of this falling evening
drowned in its drenching sorrow

my spirit hollow and empty
I slink exhausted
into this coming night
and
the next night
and
the night that follows
that always follows

captive on this road of murder
of brutal
human
arrogance

a prisoner
of this lost highway

seeking forgiveness

• • •

 

The Return

•

distant
slurred
reverberant

like a voice in a canyon
I hear you calling
from the past

my name
rolling sweet as nectar
from your lips
soft as orchid petals
full as a bursting peach

glistening deep coral
as they wrapped softly
‘round each pouted syllable
when you bid me tender farewell
so long ago

our fingertips had strained to grasp
until the final sensation of warmth
of touch
had faded

and they drifted apart

I had struggled
to tear my eyes from your tears
that glistened on your lashes
and around your swollen eyes
blue as a deep summer sky

to slip softly
over the crests of your velvet cheeks
down the contour of your face
flushed as sunset
to lightly salt your quivering lips

numb and dazed
I tunneled down the loading gate
toward the jet
that took me to hell

in those final moments
I locked the image
of your sorrowed face of love
deep in my heart

there it lives as my salvation
my only grasp on sanity
in these horrific years

my lips too
had quivered on that day
from the sting of separation

from the chilling knowledge
I would soon taste
the bitter blood of war
foul with the stench of death

not yet departed
I had longed
on that day
to gaze once more
into your brilliant blue eyes
and taste your sweetness on my lips

as I return this day
trying to face reality at 30,000 feet
I taste the salt of sadness

I fear a kiss from me
with my killer’s mouth
will forever defile
the fragile innocence of your lips

soft as orchid petals
full as a bursting peach

that glistened
and quivered
when last we parted

• • •

rob kistner © 2009

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…photorendering entitled “Blood Orchid” by: rob kistner © 2008

 

Through Time & Space

 

…the following is an excerpt from a science fiction novel I’m writing

 

• • •

 

Through Time & Space

•

“I have watched
golden fire clouds,
hanging in pale green skies,
over the azure seas of Toluras”

“I have seen the copper leaves
of the parmus fronds
flashing from indigo mountains
in the crystal mists of Gemin.”

“I have beheld exquisite beauty
in my rich, full life
but none so beautiful
as your eyes tonight”

Artheo whispers these bewitching words, his breath warm on the tender lobe of my ear. Searching the depth of my eyes, plumbing my very soul, he presses his lips softly to mine, and with gentle passion — bids me farewell with a kiss.

The exchange of poetry, at times of high emotion, is a longstanding tradition on our planet – and my lover’s words were especially moving as we parted tonight.

This intimate moment now three hours past; I linger in the bittersweetness, still tasting his lips, smelling his hair, feeling the heat of his body – I ache for him.

But here I stand on the aft deck of the Thadius, hurtling through space, gazing into star-clustered blackness, cherishing the pleasures of our parting embrace.

A sudden chill shocks me sober. I’ve been here, done this, precisely this in every detail. But I know that is not possible. It is my first time aboard this particular ship.

I am gripped by foreboding. I shiver as I watch the sapphire-jade orb that holds my fascination, grow smaller, being slowly swallowed by the eternal night of space. It continues to recede, its form becoming softer, less clearly defined in the carbon-composite observation bubble, as zero-g frost clouds and obscures this breathtaking view of this lush planet, our home planet – Gemin.

Some now on board will not again see this precious sight for fifteen years, if they are counted among the fortunate who do return.

We race, exceeding light-squared, toward a distant call for help, an unknown destiny, in the far reaches of uncharted space — with no idea what we will encounter. The call made it certain that no good lay ahead for those aboard who now rush to respond to the enigmatic distress signal.

I am Sephias, on an ecological research mission, to return home in a year’s time. My team and I disembark at Topiarus, the first stop on this voyage.

Although I am off-ship before we reach the origin of the urgent summons — I am nonetheless distraught. It is the anxiety of separation. It is also the result of the intense stress that permeates the crew who are going the distance, to the edge of space, to answer the cry for help. The pressure is palpable, contagious — I feel it to my core. It terrifies me.
Continue reading Through Time & Space

The Strike



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
flexing expectantly

a flick of my wrist
and the rod arcs forward
increasing the pressure
on my fingertip
as it bends ahead
urgently
seeking release

then
a careful pluck
like a string
on a guitar

it is launched

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

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

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

patience draws the offering
alluringly
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
as in life

the thrill of possibility
can be as rich
as the reward

• • •

rob kistner © 2008

• photorendering entitled “The Strike” by: rob kistner © 2008