Tag: loss

Sea Song

• this poem linked at Writer’s Island and One Single Impression

 

Sea Song

•

sad she comes
everyday
to these empty shores
on wings of memory
to serenade this sea

a song of longing
bowed on strings
of a broken heart
mournful for the one
lost to these silent fathoms

her tears
steady as the mists
relentless swept away
by these cold
indifferent waves

only they
know where her lover lies
so everyday she comes
taunted by these tides
to seek their mystery

and every night
darkness falls
chill upon this deep

her forlorn refrain
shatters in the moonlight
the sea holding cruel tight
to its precious secret

• • •

rob kistner © 2011

_________________________

TWO OTHER RECENT POEMS:


“And So”


“The Sync”

Limitless

…limitless talent, unfathomable spirit…

Limitless

•

• written for Writer’s Island

La Nature du Feu


…per this week’s prompt at Big Tent Poetry, this is a gentle rewrite of a poem of mine
originally published in the 2010 RWP Anthology…




 

La Nature du Feu
The Nature of Fire

A Poem Using Three Lines from Norman Dubie’s “Of Politics & Art”

(the borrowed lines are italicized)

•

here
on the farthest point of the peninsula
an office building is burning
ignited by a single match
careless or criminal
not yet known

inconceivable
that such a structure
can be so wholly engulfed
but the fire was too fierce
and the distance too great
for rescue

but what of the fury
in that single first flame
to have leapt so viciously to consume
to ravage
to devastate so absolutely

it is always there
la nature du feu

like the rage of a repressed
and violated being
too long held down
unjustly deprived
confined

all potential denied
where there is great potential

spirit squelched
where there is great spirit

sometimes a whole civilization can be dying
until finally a single incident
the spark
unleashes a righteous inferno
that has no bounds

it is always there
la nature du feu

all around the good people gather
stare in disbelief
how is this possible here
not realizing that such power to combust
to blaze so brilliantly
can only be suppressed for so long

it is always there
la nature du feu

ready to explode
like the fury in the head of that match
and when the smoulder becomes full flame
all will burn
out here on the peninsula
and in here
at the still and protected center

• • •

rob kistner © 2011

…visit Big Tent Poetry…

The Mourning

The Mourning

•

the hollow wallow
aglow in the spotlight’s heat
to boast odes of praise for him
in death
who had few words of warmth for him
in life

while those who love him
pay true tribute
with searing tears
of silent grief

• • •

rob kistner © 2011


Wedges

 

Wedges

•

he was slicing wedges
prepping for the night crew
when the stranger entered
walked quietly to the bar

it happened fast
no one saw him draw
the shot traumatized the patrons
no one saw his face

he vanished into the evening
before anyone comprehended
the frail thread of life
severed in a heartbeat

• • •

rob kistner © 3/1/11

…written for Magpie Tales

No First Ink

Offered in response to prompt #136 at One Single Impression,
and in response to prompt #73 on Carry On Tuesday,
also in response to prompt #189 at Three Word Wednesday.




No First Ink

•

I lean upon my folded fist
cool against my temple
elbow solid on my cluttered desk

eyes droop and flicker
aflame with spoiled sleep

face slacked
head now dropped
held in my hands
heavy with confusion

skull upon the finger bones
in weighted indecision
procrastination presses down

where art thou muse
I seek weightless inspiration
to be lifted up by you

instead
the hum of cooling bytes
drones relentless in my ears
impossible to ignore
no matter how I try

thoughts like digits on a dollar slot
spin unsettled in my mind
they neither click nor lock in place
they tumble in a jumble
to roll and blur just out of focus
lost in mental fog

sunken in my writer’s chair
I remain immobile
paralyzed by perplexity
imprisoned by the chaos
awhirl in my mind

the freedom of decision
impossible to manage

I fear nothing will be writ
no first ink will be shed this day

• • •

rob kistner © 2010


The Taste

This type of poem is known as a haibun, and combines prose with haiku. It is offered in response to the September 20th prompt at Big Tent Poetry.

The Taste

•

It was an embrace I’d wished had been endless, at our tearful farewell – your body supple and warm, pulsing with life.

lips lush as cognac
open softly to kisses
urgently linger

I passed through security, turned and fixed on your gaze – prayed it was not the last time I’d look into your eyes. I wandered dazed down the ramp, to the jet that would take me to the fury of hell. I locked your face of love deep in my heart.

That cherished image proved my grasp on sanity through two years of horror – through the sting of separation, the bitter taste of war, the foul stench of death.

I return this day, facing reality at 30,000 feet, the salt of sadness on my lips. I am ashamed, frightened to see and touch you again, but I burn to do so.

so different now
my hands angry with bloodshed
innocence is lost

I fear a kiss from my killer’s mouth, will forever defile your precious lips – lush as sweet cognac, that day we parted.

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

NOTE: this piece is by no means a condemnation of the men and women who are sent into the teeth of hell to fight, suffer, and sometimes die. Rather, it is an expression of my deep respect for what they endure, and a quiet tear for what is so often sadly lost in so doing.

Mute

This piece is offered in response to the September 13th prompt at Big Tent Poetry.




Mute

•

there is no half-eaten answer
with which to embellish
or to skirt the evidence

the stench of truth
permeates the debris of proof
in a swarm of crusted guilt

the orphaned child of supposition
abandoned on the dock of iniquity
impaled by the chant of sterile innuendo

wearing a temporary backbone
fashioned of suffering
and the tears of innocence

to witness the violent clash
of malevolence and courage
and remain forever mute

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

Final Sentinel

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Final Sentinel

~

I watched
as generations
moved forward
as civilization
painstakingly
progressed
set foothold
knowledge
unfolded
slowly

I observed
the millenniums
of human endeavor
as they awakened
to self-reliance
less dependent
on hive mentality
mastering machines
eliminating conflict
striving for truth
ever evolving

I saw
nature
the world
reshaped
tempered
resilient

proud
I stand tall
thrust skyward
closer to heaven
than any living thing
a perpetual presence
the constant sentinel
a witness to triumph

would
that all that
were true

I watched helplessly
as generations receded
as empires crumbled
greed ran rampant
wisdom ebbed
civilization
imploded

I observed
millenniums
of human folly
misguided logic
flawed reasoning
as they flailed
stumbling
to a cold
isolated
world

disconnected

from one another
from the environment
serving their machines
serving their avarice
perfecting violence
racing to ruination
becoming aliens
in a mad eden
disillusioned
depraved
diseased

until
they were
no more

I watched through tears
as the natural world
slowly declined
diminished
withered
scarred
died

putrid
toxic air
permeates
burnt terrain
to far horizons
and now I stand
thrusting skyward
in this decaying hell
praying for a heaven
the only living thing
the pitiful survivor
the final sentinel
time’s witness
to tragedy
watching
the end

~ ~ ~

rob kistner © 2010
(revision © 2018)

  • Author’s Note: let’s strive to see part two never happens…

    _____________

    • What Do You See

    Mother-less

    This piece is offered in response to prompt Mag 31 at Magpie Tales



    Mother-less

    (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

    The Box

    This piece is offered in response to prompt Mag 29 at Magpie Tales,
    and the August 25th prompt at Three Word Wednesday,
    and prompt #18 at Writer’s Island.




    The Box

    …a short story of intrigue…

    •

    “What do you mean Taylor,” Gwen inquired, the strain obvious in her weary voice. “Who exactly is going to confront Dylan… and why?”

    Her voice trailed off to an exasperated whisper. The why was not so much a question, as an exhalation of confused frustration. She seemed to know the answer was much too complicated to address at this hour, and she was too spent, physically and emotionally, to want to hear it.

    Gwen turned away from Taylor, head lowered. Her arms fell limp at her side, fingers splayed. She was trying her best to process what Taylor was saying, to understand him – to understand the recent events that had brought her to this place in time… trying to make sense of anything. Her head was spinning, and she could feel the fatigue deep in her bones.

    She dropped back onto the sofa, half sitting, half lying down – an exhausted slouch. She felt paralyzed, thoughts racing through her mind – fragmented, disconnected thoughts. If only she could clear her head. She was in trouble.
    Continue reading The Box

    Old Man’s Prayer

    …this piece is in response to the 16th prompt of 2010 on Writer’s Island,
    and visual prompt Mag 27 at Magpie Tales (see image at bottom),
    also offered for prompt 129 at One Single Impression,
    and for prompt 228 at Sunday Scribblings….




    Old Man’s Prayer

    •

    successful as a younger man
    the grind became my home
    and I a conduit of worry
    could I keep the crazy pace

    years spun wild as a top
    around faster ever faster
    life layering its patina
    etched deeply in my face

    suddenly no longer young
    now looking back from 63
    I’ve known triumph I’ve known tragedy
    they’ve marked me both the same

    I’ve borrowed bought and sold
    strayed through several shades of grey
    but have I leveraged my soul
    just to play the fleeting game

    I pray I will not be an old man
    gazing lonely out my window
    trying to remember
    exactly how long it has rained

    not sitting silent by the fire
    lost in contemplation
    wondering if all I lost
    was worth what it was I gained

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    • photo of top from the movie Inception

    _________________



    Mag 27

    Gravity

    …in response to the 12th prompt of 2010 on Writer’s Island, I offer a perspective on regret…




    Gravity

    •

    if I could
    but glide
    like a bird in flight

    I would soar skyward
    in sweeping circles
    lifted on mighty thermals
    I would not be earthbound
    not a captive of gravity

    if I could
    but break the gravity
    of time
    I would not be a prisoner
    of regret

    I would return to you

    this day would be soaring
    and swooping
    and giving thanks
    for feathers and hollow bones

    and forgiveness

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    You Are Here


    It was 15 years ago today
    you were taken from this earth

    I could not sleep last night
    the tears come at times today

    tears because I miss you
    tears because I love you
    tears because the memories
    bitter and sweet
    bring forth these true emotions

    you abide within my heart these days
    in a place of warmth and peace
    I am so thankful you are here
    and will always be

    ______________________________

    in loving memory of my son
    Aaron Robert Kistner
    November 4, 1976 – July 3, 1995