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

34 thoughts on “Gone”

  3. Barbara –

    Thank you… this prompt was difficult to deal with for me. From the moment I read the word choices, “spoon” screamed out to me and a very sad period of my life embedded itself, unsettlingly animated, in my mind’s eye — but I resisted writing this poem.

    I tried quite a few different topics, and penned quite a number of other drafts — but they were insincere and empty… this is the poem that insisted I write it.

    I had a rock band, that evolved through many personnel changes, for more than two decades — beginning in the early 60’s. I had the painful misfortune in the early years, to have lost three different talented mates to heroin, from among the musicians whom I knew as close friends — and there, but for the grace of god…

    So this was a very emotional write, and difficult to post once completed. That’s why it’s late…

    …rob

    Reply

  5. Strong use of alliteration — lots of repeating consonants at the beginnings of words in almost every line. Maybe a skill you developed as a musician? I’d love to hear this set to music.

    Reply

  9. Rob,

    I especially liked the lines:

    he glides cold steel into the froth of sweet promise
    still warm with transformation

    Very evocative, as is the whole poem. You were able to dispatch the prompts much more economically than I did :).

    Reply

  10. rob – a terrific write here, depressingly noir in nature and feel. the gutters provide great inspiration, whether or not that “gutter” is located in suburbia or the back alleys of the city’s bowels. fancy that your spoon delivered heroin, as mine cradled hash. this is very enveloping, enjoyed. -lawrence

    Reply

  12. Lawrence –

    Thank you, your enthusiasm is much appreciated.

    Yes, it was smack. As I wrote to Barbara above, sadly it became, in too many instances, a lethal sidetrack for a number of my fellow musicians — back in the day.

    I lost friends to the needle, as well as to a bullet in Viet Nam. I often marvel, and rejoice, at the fact I’m still aboard this mortal orb…

    …rob

    Reply

  13. wonderful write rob….like Lawrence bowl was my choice not spoon…..I was around many musicians and actually promoted a few from vancouver area….and a few of them are gone from abusing themselves…mostly from H….dint attract me …so guess Im a lucky one…keep writing my friend

    Reply

  14. Thank you Wayne for the kind words, and the encouragement…

    Like you and Lawrence, I was more a bowl and paper man, occasionally a line — but too many of my band-mates and friends went the way of the cook spoon… and succumbed ultimately. I loved them, and didn’t then and don’t now judge, because as I wrote above to Barbara — there but for the grace of god…

    I don’t even drink now and haven’t for over 20 years. For me, I’d seen enough, so almost overnight, the pendulum swung the other way — and it has never swung back.

    And no need to worry Wayne, I have no choice but to write — it’s the well I draw from for clarity and sanity… 😉

    …rob

    Reply

  16. Hi Joanne –

    I’m pleased you were moved…

    I was difficult to post because it touches on very sad memories of good friends lost. Thank you for being sensitive…

    …rob

    Reply

  22. Wow, I think your poetry is getting better each time I read it. The obvious image is a homeless guy stabbing at shadows; however, I also see some personal images of a normal man fighting demons… (domestic violence).
    Cyn

    Reply

  24. I wasn’t a musician but back in the day it didn’t matter. Music was everything and all of us lost friends to “the damage done”. It resonates.

    Reply

  31. If you read my blog, you will see I’m completely out of my element here. I’m very grateful for the explanation I saw in the comments.

    My husband, who is older than me, is a musician and also in a band during the late 60s/early 70s. He lost several friends very young to drugs.

    Thank you for sharing this. As painful as it is, the friends of your youth deserve to be remembered.

    Reply

  34. of all the writing advice that is given, “write what you know” is the best. I was lucky not to get involved in the world of drugs. I have no first hand knowledge of it’s use or how it administered and yet I was there with the first word you wrote. It gripped me and made he shuddered in fear and feel empathy for the user. Both of these feelings consumed me as I read your words. Awesome writing.

    Reply

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