Tag: sorrow

Deep Indigo

…written for Day #7, NaPoMo 2011…


Deep Indigo

•

he wakes
unbidden by alarm
lingers in the darkness
warm neath the blankets

fumbling for the lamp
follows moments of procrastination
before he lifts himself upright
slides feet into slippers
to rise ever so stiffly
from the comfort of bed

pulling on his robe
he ambles to the kitchen
takes a cup from the shelf
pours chamomile tea
brewed ready each morning
by the wonders of technology

he retreats to his office
to his chair
where it waits
welcoming
in a pool of soft light
buffered against the chill
of pre-dawn dark

he sits
sips steeped motivation
quietly peeling away fog
that layers his mind
residue of another fitful night

he is somber
but pleased to be awake
to be alive
grateful for the peace
and the quiet of early morning
fleeting though it is

his thoughts
begin to un-blend
to gather
in a cohesive palette
stirring his notice

slowly they sort
in colors of mood

melancholy greys
fear’s dark ebony
purples of pain and anger
the violet of regret
sorrowful blues
gentle peaceful greens
golden joy
laughter’s bright amber
love’s ruby red
the scarlet of passion

this morning
reflections on his mortality
newly threatened
shoulder in coldly
crowding his reverie

pondering his plight
cursing fate
he struggles
neath the weight of uncertainty

a riot of emotions
overcome him
he seeks clarity

he reaches for his laptop
his tool of resolution
his canvass of language

in the spreading saffrons
and corals of dawn
he begins painting deep indigo

• • •

rob kistner © 2011

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


Panther

• this is the final in a series of edits of a poem I first drafted in 1997
it was born of my contempt for the barbarous act of caging wild animals in a zoo •

this final edit inspired by prompt #24 at Writer’s Island,
prompt #23 at We Write Poems,
and prompt #74 at Carry on Tuesday.



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

 

Panther

•

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

a furious but calm inferno
searing deep to burn your soul

unyielding is 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 his bounds

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

• • •

Panther

(haiku)
•

caged beast close your eyes

have no fear of letting go

dream of wild freedom

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

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.

Believe

This piece is offered in response to prompt #19 at We Write Poems
and in response to the visual prompt Mag 23 at Magpie Tales seen at bottom of post.



• image entitled “Weary” – colorized, digitally rendered by: rob kistner 2010


Believe

•

I’d like to make myself believe
the dream I dreamt as a young man
that we can change the world’s heart
to embrace love for one another

I’d like to make myself believe
people are by nature good
that we can live in peace
and make the world a better place

I’d like to make myself believe
universal understanding
is a common goal
of the peoples of this planet

I’d like to make myself believe
we haven’t lost our faith
in these sacrosanct ideals
of an elevated life

I’d like to make myself believe
there still exists somewhere
a shared and nurtured vision
of a paradise on earth

I’d like to make myself believe
but empty runs the hourglass
again I’ve heard the daily news
and I’m so weary, and brokenhearted

yes, I’d like to make myself believe
I’d like to, really like to
but sometimes now I even wonder
if anyone ever truly did

• • •

• poem above borrowed key line from the song “Fireflies” by Owl City

_________________

Time Running Out

•

once demure discourse

now rhetoric to offend

volatile neighbors

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

• haiku above also offered for the visual prompt Mag 23 at Magpie Tales,
and the September 15th prompt at Three Word Wednesday.


Mag 23

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

    You & Me

    …I offer this piece in response to prompt #69 at Carry On Tuesday,
    and prompt #18 at We Write Poems,
    also the September 6th prompt at Big Tent Poetry,
    and the September 8th prompt at Three Word Wednesday…

    You &Me

    (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

    • photo above is of the GOASTT, digitally enhanced by: 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

    Too Still

    This piece is offered in response to prompt Mag 26 at Magpie Tales




    Still

    •

    it sits
    still
    atop the corner
    of our garden wall
    just where she left it

    how many lilies
    did it nourish
    how many fuscia
    lilac
    rose
    and morning glory
    did it quench

    it dispensed its
    life giving waters
    so gracefully
    in her hand

    such a delicate hand
    gentle in its task
    of planting new growth
    but rugged on the weeds
    that threatened her beloved garden

    she was the giver of life
    and the guardian
    of her realm

    but she could not
    stop all that threatened
    and I had not
    her gift of life giving

    and so it rests
    atop the wall
    no longer is it lifted
    by her tender
    hand of nurture

    that hand now
    is still

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    Blood Moon

    This piece is offered in response to prompt Mag 25 at Magpie Tales,
    prompt #13 at We Write Poems,
    and the August 2nd prompt at Big Tent Poetry.




    Blood Moon

    •

    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