Reaper Groom

A MURDER MYSTERY

I’ve always been fascinated by who-done-it’s and classic horror stories, so I was inspired to write this piece with a ‘retro’ gothic feel.

Lyle, the socially awkward, seemingly milquetoast villain of this tale has a ‘killer’ obsession. A shy, mild-mannered church organist; he is ‘changed’ into a murdering menace — by loneliness and rejection.

BE WARNED: This poem, and the collage I created to accompany it, are both a bit graphic — in a noir-tongue-in-cheek sort of way.

I invite you to enjoy, “Reaper Groom”.

reaper-groom500d.jpg

collage above entitled: “Thief of Hearts” — by: rob kistner © 2008

___________

Reaper Groom

~

backlit by a lightening flash
a figure scurried ‘cross the yard
between the gravestones he did dash
head down low, and running hard

dressed in cape of velvet black
he seemed to vanish from our sight
but then we saw him double back
he would not escape tonight

elusive as a demon’s shadow
ghost-like — he could disappear
but no more, this scourge of sorrow
finally, we were drawing near

surround and capture, was the plan
the hounds had tracked him to this place
this had to be our wanted man
though none had seen his evil face

we were sworn to bring him down
bloodthirsty was this man — and cruel
he’d caused such horror in our town
if he escaped, we’d look the fool

the target of our townsfolk’s hate
he must be caught this beast of doom
he’d killed so many brides to date
we knew him as the “Reaper Groom”

he took the lives of countless bride
murdered them by dark of night
once betrothed they couldn’t hide
death was sure to be their plight

marriage took an awful blow
as one by one our maidens fled
our bachelors’ ire began to grow
there were no wives to share their bed

this had to stop — no maids for men
it wasn’t natural, wasn’t right
this curse would never be again
it would end, right here, tonight

we had him cornered in our net
he’d not escape our clutch this time
he owed this town an awful debt
he’d pay quite dearly for his crime

we closed in slowly, with great care
we’d make sure he couldn’t run
we deftly caught him in our snare
and gathered round him, every one

we took him roughly in this place
and chained him to a stony block
and brought a torch to light his face
then gasped, and staggered back in shock

this couldn’t be, not this poor fool
this shy man of timid smile
we sought a monstrous evil ghoul
this was bashful lonely Lyle

Lyle played organ every Sunday
and lead the hymns, as we would sing
our fiend escaped, we’d get him one day
and when we did, for sure he’d swing

it wasn’t Lyle, it was another
Lyle was not the type, you see
Lyle lived with his aging mother
so we’d set lonely Lyle free

but Lyle spoke up in quiet voice
don’t turn me lose, please, I forbid it
you see you really have no choice
cause I’m your man, that’s right, I did it

I killed these maidens everyone
I’ve charged this town a heavy toll
but my spree is over, I won’t run
this weigh’s too heavy on my soul

sentenced to hanging at his trial
Lyle was shortly going to die
looking sadly stern at Lyle
the judge inquired of him why

had he slain all this beauty
made so many families cry
he felt an answer was his duty
so this was Lyle’s cold reply

for many years I’d been denied
until my soul was heavy laden
god knows how often I had tried
to win the love of a fair young maiden

I was so consumed with bitter grief
that, though I’ve caused much pain and strife
this was my only true relief
to take from them their tender life

as mama’s words rang in my head
I’d cut out their precious part
there’s more than one way, mama said
to steal a lovely lady’s heart

~ ~ ~
rob kistner © 2008

Seasons

  • Suite of four haiku reflecting the seasons…

  • collage entitled “Four Seasons” by: rob kistner © 2007

  •  
    Seasons

    ~

     

    Spring

    (haiku)

    ~

    wings flutter gently

    spring breeze bends full flowered stems

    meadow dance begins

    ~ ~ ~

     

    Summer

    (haiku)

    ~

    green leaf on blue pond

    turns in golden summer sun

    red bird softly sings

    ~ ~ ~

     

    Fall

    (haiku)

    ~

    stalks lie down in fields

    arbors burst with ripened grape

    fall is on the land

    ~ ~ ~

     

    Winter

    (haiku)

    ~

    coarse lands cloaked in white

    lakes bejeweled in crystal

    winter’s dressing hand

    ~ ~ ~

     

    rob kistner © 2007

    _____________________

  • Click here to read more poetry at dVerse

  • The Sync

     

    The Sync

    •

    connection
    to make contact
    searching for the sync
    the heart of the matter
    in this solitary journey
    from womb to tomb

    a stranger
    on the bus of days
    seeking distraction
    chatting them up
    to suppress
    the voice of isolation

    immersed in the small talk
    of love
    and accomplishment
    to drown
    the incessant murmur
    of alienation

    the chant of abandonment
    ever there to remind
    that we board alone
    to make our way
    toward an enigmatic destination

    clinging
    to a vague vision
    of home

    to disembark
    as we began

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011

    • collage entitled “The Sync” – by: rob kistner © 2011

    __________________

    • linked at Carry On Tuesday and Magpie Tales

    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

    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

    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

    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
  • NaPoWriMo #18 – Human Arrogance

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


    ____________________________________

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

    ____________________________________


    …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

    • • •

     

    ____________________________________


     

    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…

    ____________________________________

    …check out what’s prowling over at readwritepoem

    NaPoWriMo #4 – Now / Time To Smile

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

    ____________________________________

    Nelle Lytle put forth a fascinating and challenging prompt at Read Write Prompt for day #4 of NaPoWriMo. We were to look at things inside out. At first I was perplexed. I kicked a number of ideas around and was hitting the wall, when it struck that inside out is a condition of perspective – a point from which things are viewed. You see one from the other.

    I started thinking about situations in which I view one from the other, when it hit me – time! I continually view the “other” aspect of time from where I am… looking at the past or future while being in the present. That’s all it took. My muse (and Ram Dass) carried me from there.

    I not only wrote a new poem, I created a new collage. Thanks Nelle! 😉

    ____________________________________




    …collage above entitled “Time” by: rob kistner © 2010…

     

    Now

    •

    the future — the past
    tomorrow — yesterday
    time’s not hard and fast
    moments slip away

    fretting what we miss
    we ponder destiny
    yet today is all there is
    ever was — will ever be

    days not yet arrived
    ones that slipped away
    not present in our lives
    there only is today

    can’t change what’s gone astray
    or know what is to come
    embrace what is this day
    stop running to and from

    forget the come and gone
    all the who what when and how
    don’t get lost looking beyond
    learn to truly be here – NOW

    • • •

    ________________________




     

    Time To Smile

    •

    turning clocks forward

    evenings last longer now

    so too will my smile

    • • •

    poem and haiku by: rob kistner © 2010

    • graphic rendering of smiling clock configured and colorized by: rob kistner

    ____________________________________

    …for more poetic perspectives on NaPoWriMo 2010: readwritepoem

    The Collector

     

    The Collector

    •

    this day as I journey
    I come upon a stranger
    standing by the road looking sad
    heavy box held in his arms
    clutched close to his breast

    he stares into my eyes expressionless
    his gaze stops me still
    fixes me in place

    his face is tired and drawn
    etched in withered worry

    when at last I move
    I draw close enough to see
    this sullen man is me

    everyone is born with some special talent
    he sighs
    I am a collector
    of tears shed in moonlight
    the pain of love’s betrayal
    the grief of empty lives

    he concludes
    and offers out his hands
    that open on the box

    he beckons me retrieve
    this container he protects

    filled with apprehension
    I reach and grasp the case
    lift it cautiously from his grip
    lay it gently at my feet

    it opens as I do
    slowly
    to reveal its strange contents

    three lone broken hearts


    mute with wonder I behold
    confused yet riveted
    I ponder haunted as I do
    then inquire of the meaning

    these are yours
    I am told

    created by your deeds
    cruelly left behind
    as coldly you moved on

    each belonged to one who trusted you
    a trust you did betray
    without a second thought
    love you tossed aside
    abandoned carelessly

    now the burden of this box
    is mine beyond the grave

    eyes lowered in fatigue he exhales

    it was on a road like this
    that it was passed to me
    I have carried it too long
    I am weary from the load

    looking into my eyes he points

    now you must bend and lift
    and clutch it to your breast
    to struggle with its weight
    until you pass it on

    searching the distance he goes on

    someday a stranger will approach
    over that horizon
    he will stop and stare
    transfixed by your presence

    you will charge him with this chest
    then he will lift and carry
    as I do
    in this cycle of forever

    for he too
    will be you

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    • photo collage entitled “Broken Broken Broken” – by: rob kistner © 2010
    _______________________________

    …see other special talents at Carry On Tuesday

    Unyeilding

     

     

    Unyeilding

    •

    my muse is hard to capture
    though I do try each day
    just goes so fast

    I turn around
    it’s past me in a blur
    leaving little inspiration

    each day becomes each night
    here I sit in the wee hours
    while the sane sleep
    steeped in contradiction

    thoughts vague
    filled with doubt
    words tossed about the unyielding page

    I start then stop
    I write then not
    caught mercilessly unclear
    in terminal hesitation
    in quiet rage

    fickle muse – please…
    a spark to light this dark
    that grips me like a cage

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    • photo collage entitled “Seeking the Muse” – by: rob kistner © 2007
    _______________________________

    …see who is going fast at Carry On Tuesday

    …discover who is hesitating at One Single Impression

    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

    ___________________________________

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

     

    The Legend

    …this is a bit of retro-melodrama written just for fun…

    ___________________________

    he never quit on his dream, or his humanity

     

    The Legend

    •

    permit me to share the legend
    of the man who rocked the world
    luminescent — larger than life
    his bold banner of fame unfurled

    with confidence he took each stage
    flashed his skills with pride and power
    his celebrity rocketed skyward
    enormous talent, in his finest hour

    a humble tempering childhood
    helped him hone his mythic dream
    a bright young man with wicked ‘chops’
    he could make his guitars scream

    his glory spread round the globe
    renown and fortune grew unbound
    like a rampant roaring wildfire
    nothing it seemed would take him down

    but terror struck while touring England
    unleashing panic, fear & strife
    bombs tore through the concert hall
    to save his fans — he risk his life

    the first blast ripped the back wall
    mike in hand, he stood firm and fast
    directing the people to safety
    they all escaped — now he was last

    it was horror in high definition
    TV broadcast the heartbreaking sight
    a question hung heavy over the chaos
    did their hero meet death tonight

    the sad truth was the top news story
    the brave mega-star had died
    all the world was seen to mourn
    at candle vigils the people cried

    so permit me to share this legend
    of this remarkably brave young man
    who, possessed of wealth and fame
    truly never forgot the fan

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2008

    …photo-collage entitled ‘Hero”, by: rob kistner