Sir DaVied

  • In memory of my friend, “piano man” David Dominy, who passed 03/05/2005. This is presented in fairy tale form, partly fact and partly fiction — but no happy ending. It is based on a brother musician, with whom I made music, and whom I loved. He was taken down by the evil, insistent white dragon. He would have been 74 Saturday.

  • Original digital surreal art: “The White Dragon” by: rob kistner © 11/20/24

     

    He had such a great laugh
    and talent 100 fold

    he was a keyboard wizard
    who conjured hard won magic
    on a daily basis

    riding persistent sentry
    over his mighty
    sleeping white dragon

    keeping it at bay

    protecting himself
    and loved ones
    from its ravaging fire

    the white dragon had held him captive
    for over seven years
    having overtaken him one day
    in a careless moment of weakness
    when this wizard had been foolish
    and let down his guard

    but the brave wizard
    Sir DaVied as he was known
    had again found his courage
    and fought back the white dragon
    driving it into submission
    difficult and tentative as it was

    sadly though
    the cunning dragon
    would not be held down
    and in a moment
    when the wizard’s vigilence
    had sadly waned
    the white dragon pulled Sir DaVied
    once more under his evil spell

    on this fateful day
    the wizard’s infectious laughter
    had become infected lunacy

    his beautiful dreams
    had again become dread

    as the nightmares returned
    the evil white dragon
    imprisoned the wizard
    in its dark and haunted lair

    it was reported
    Sir DaVied’s rants
    could be clearly heard
    above the bustle
    of the homeward privileged
    that passed unaware
    of the wizard’s dilemma

    the battle had raged
    coarse rants and ramblings
    rose from the rancid shadows
    until in final desperation
    fetid hands lit the fateful fire
    that brought to boil
    the white magic potion
    of the wizard’s deliverance

    he’d slipped the cold steel
    into the froth of sweet promise
    still warm with transformation
    and drew the white magic potion
    into the glassen’d vessel
    of ultimate escape

    tied and tapped into submission
    distraught from battle
    this magical musical wizard
    impaled his demons
    with the white dragon’s dagger
    hoping the potion
    would drive back the white dragon

    saving himself yet again

    but not this time
    no deliverance this time

    the cunning white dragon
    broke down the wizard’s defense
    and claimed the brave wizard
    as silver-white sleep
    carried him away

    the wizard was gone

    gone on his silver steed
    for his final ride
    to the realm of no return

    now the wizard’s castle
    is in abandoned disarray

    no lights to stave off darkness

    the piano is broken-keyed
    caked with time and neglect

    no more does the wizard
    descend the marble stairs
    and glide back
    the black lacquered bench

    nor lay hands
    on the polished ivory
    to control the mighty Steinway

    no more does he confidently caress
    and coax those keys to his commands

    no more do the beautiful strains
    of the gold-framed
    spiral-string soundboard
    waft tenderly up the staircase

    nor ring gently
    in the empty atrium

    no — the wizard DaVied
    has passed
    but his music
    (((echoes on…)))


    Photograph by Romain Thiery

    *
    rob kistner © 2021
    revision © 2024

    Poetry at: Sunday Muse

    Poetry at: dVerse

     

    The Edge


    Original DDE™ surrealistic art entitled “The Edge” by: rob kistner © 8/15/24

     
    Standing at the edge
    feeling far below
    the great tides

    the ebb and flow
    the rise and fall

    the come and go of centuries
    of millenniums
    wave by wave
    day by day
    as it has always been

    this might incarnate
    this power of indifference
    this surge of perfect apathy

    and I
    as insignificant as the grain of sand
    bounced and tumbled
    dragged helpless in the undertow

    a great froth crested wave
    rises up in beckon
    the silk of azure blue
    draped smoothly down its sloping back
    as it dances on the deep

    how easy I could slip
    into that fathomed realm

    down
    down
    ever down
    into the waiting silence
    without so much a noticed sound
    quiet as a breaking heart

    absorbed into the churn and roar
    without so much a ripple
    to disturb the steady surf

    a subtle crease
    irrelevant
    erased
    even as it came

    *

    rob kistner © 2011
    originally linked at Magpie Tales

    rob kistner © 2024

    More poetry at: dVerse

     

    The Lotus

    ~ the dream goes on forever ~


    Original DDE™ surrealistic art entitled “The Lotus” by: rob kistner © 8/7/24

     
    Dream with me my love
    love is the magic we will seek

    seek it until the end of days
    days numbering to eternity

    eternity — where love’s magic hides
    hides in the folds of the lotus

    lotus petals — love’s open wings
    wings of pure beauty and truth

    truth — the key to perfect surrender
    surrender is the secret of love’s dream
    dream that goes on — forever


    Original DDE™ surrealistic art entitled “For You Love”
    by: rob kistner © 8/7/24

    *
    rob kistner © 2024

    More dreams at: dVerse

     

    Pepper’d Memories

     

    Yes — I was the walrus
    so too the fool on the hill
    I was the nowhere man
    sometime I feel nowhere still

    but when the Fab4 took the stage
    and raised their voice in song
    they roused my golden slumber
    my spirit sang along

    I strolled to strawberry fields
    along sweet penny lane
    and when miss Rigby died
    I felt McKenzie’s pain

    stowed in the submarine
    and sailed beneath the waves
    down with the octopus
    among the coral caves

    and when the sergeant
    struck up his lonely hearts club band
    I fell in step by step
    to march off to Pepperland

    but before I’d hit the road
    I ended up wounded in my bed
    a delinquent name of Maxwell
    took a hammer to my head

    he’d come through the bathroom window
    I forgot to shut it tight
    I should have known better
    but it’d been a hard day’s night

    my friends had called for help
    doctor Robert came in time
    I’d said doc don’t let down
    he did not — and I feel fine

    cops searched helter skelter
    looked here there and everywhere
    but they found clues for no one
    I said let it be I didn’t care

    leaving home, you won’t see me
    I said heading out the door
    when I saw her standing there
    my lover from the night before

    oh darling let’s go day trippin’
    I want to hold your hand
    down this long and winding road
    it won’t be long to Pepperland

    now we’ve come together here
    me and my sweet belle Michelle
    she’s been writing paperback novels
    the kind the drugstores sell

    we have no plans to get back
    we’re swept up in the allure
    of Lucy and her diamond skies
    on our magical mystery tour

    even with George and Johnny dead
    that old magic’s not yet slipped away
    because old Paully‘s discovered AI
    so a brand new tune is on the way

    it will be so very cool
    to hear them once again
    to remember those wondrous days
    get to relive them now and then

    *
    rob kistner © 4/5/11
    expanded version: rob kistner © 6/13/23

    Poetry at: dVerse

     


    https://youtu.be/oz3JlMhgfq0

    Love’s Summer Serenade / Seaside

    These first written & published for NaPoWriMo 2010

     
    Love’s Summer Serenade

    sing to me my sweet sweet lover
    songs as soft as silk and satin
    sensual as a bare embrace
    warm summer sun upon our face

    promise me the world is ours
    that this perfect moment’s endless
    lift me up on rapture’s cloud
    my racing heart is pounding loud

    make melody set sail our souls
    fill our hearts with passion’s fire
    smother me in scorched sweet kisses
    oh what a fiery bliss this is

    come to me and take me timeless
    sweep me off to ecstasy
    enfold me in your deepest dreams
    simmering under summer moonbeams

    so hot we’re looking for some shade
    aflame in love’s sensual serenade

    *

     
    Seaside

    soft sand warms bare toes

    senses stirred by surging surf

    summer at seaside

    love as fresh as ocean breeze

    kisses hot as sizz’ling sun

    *
    rob kistner © 2010
    revised © 2023

    More poetry at: dVerse

     




    The Return

    Although here in my Seattle home, I am only 200 miles away from my Oregon, the fact that health has prevented me from returning for a number of years, and makes it impossible for me to ever again trek the breathtaking wilderness of that region, that lives so vividly in my memories — it feels that it might as well be on the other side of the country, in a beautiful, unreachable dreamscape. This envisioning I’ve written here of my return is presented from that perspective. It is likely also sparked, in no small way, by a subconscious wish that I could return to the robust health I enjoyed most of the 25 years I lived and explored in Oregon, discovering and falling in love with its precious beauty.


    ”It is not down in any map; true places never are.” — Herman Melville

     

    Across the chasm of time
    and great distance
    memories unfold
    vividly rich
    like elaborate origami sculptures
    as the paper of this odd map
    unfolds bewilderingly before me

    even ‘cross this flat
    boring land spread
    I see in my mind’s eye
    soaring ramparts
    of sky-piercing mountains
    forested tier upon tier
    with enormous sitka spruce

    scattered brewers
    known as the weeping spruce
    the most beautiful of the conifer
    whose branches in summer
    display sunlight
    as a jeweler’s velvet
    showcases gems

    the whispers
    of wind-stirred
    lawson cypress
    towering ponderosa pine
    and douglas fir
    waft down emerald climbs

    tangerine-scented white fir
    a fragrance rivaled only
    by the rough-tufted red cedar

    the dogwood’s brilliant leaves
    big-leaf maples
    pendulous western maples
    tight ranks of dark-green sadler oak

    the golden shimmer
    and crisp crackle
    of white-barked aspen

    these live and breath
    boldly in my heart
    calling me forward

    this morning’s sun comes crisp and bright
    enfolding my waking in warmth
    and vivid presence
    the world fresh and fascinating

    I embark toward noonday
    the joy of homecoming palpable
    senses saturated and alive
    blissfully consumed
    by a deep satisfaction
    that permeates this afternoon

    my soul is full
    my mind is clear
    my heart — overflowing

    as dusk descends upon this place
    painting its heady grace and expectation
    my pace is smooth and steady
    the downing sun — a gentle gold embrace

    early shadows fall soft across my face
    as vesper’s velvet blanket
    drapes its comfort ’round my shoulders
    splendid calm envelops me

    yet there are other shadows
    strange distractions
    that disrupt my moments
    they come unannounced
    almost imperceptible

    but I follow close
    without fear
    the way blazened in my mind
    and there is still far to go

    I am eager to journey
    drawn by the beauty
    that is the rising moon in sunset

    facing into the evening breeze
    I venture onward

    rolling amber and coral
    spreads across the horizon

    again the shadows shift
    dull confusion finds me
    I lose my pace and focus

    but I do not heed
    this temporary distraction
    nor the suggestions of this creased parchment
    unfurled before me

    for it is not what will lead me home
    I do not let it sway or stray me
    for my heart knows the way

    yet
    nagging concern
    disquiets me
    a stab of panic
    pierces my solace
    have I been gone too long
    will it feel the same

    unwelcome bewilderment
    grips me
    holds me
    uncomfortable in my skin

    a cloud of frustration
    sweeps over me
    obscuring briefly
    my purpose and destination

    then the fog wafts
    and again I envision
    across the veiled valley
    of time
    my hearth and home

    twilight is coming
    much too quickly
    and my concern
    at first a nuisance — mounts

    a gathering feeling
    gnaws inside
    fear I will not make it home
    before this sunset

    I am afraid
    to lose this evening light
    that leads my way

    but my way
    is not on this map
    not on any map
    it lives in my heart
    and in my soul

    this calms the disturbance
    of my reverie
    quiets my mind
    brings my fear to settle
    as the ease of remembered beauty
    and warmth of home
    swell my soul

    ahead are the mountains
    and forests of my Oregon home
    where I finally return
    to reclaim my heart
    this day

    now I have
    such sweet recall
    pulling me forward
    urgently

    even in the faded light
    of many distant memories
    these visions have held me breathless
    soon I will gaze upon them again

    I redouble my pace

    *
    rob kistner © 2022
    revision of draft © 2011

    Poetry at: The Sunday Muse

    Poetry at: Earthweal

     


    Little jazz tune from Sanborn entitled “Comin’ Home”… plus a little Keith magic!


    https://youtu.be/k84QxVJd0tIp


    Spellbound

    poet
    you are enigma

    darkness and shadow
    you veil and shroud

    fire and light
    you burn and incandesce

    torch my essence
    burn deep my soul
    trouble my spirit
    unsettle my being

    then poet
    ignite my wonder

    whet my seeker’s vessel
    with need
    to be filled full

    poet
    at once familiar
    yet
    exotically foreign
    wonderfully strange

    wrongly boxed but
    exquisitely wrapped

    in angst
    indignation
    longing
    discovery
    loss

    in love

    with all these
    and infinitely more
    you reach an empty place
    deep within

    echoing my past
    awakening my myths

    exposing
    that which I embrace
    in the moment
    as truth

    refocus me

    stirring my pain
    my anger
    my loneliness

    my hope

    offering just enough answer
    that I combust with question
    sacred uncertainty

    I’m held
    suspended in inquiry
    in memories of neverwas

    enrapt by your careful words
    transfixed by mystery
    elevated by insight
    impaled by vision

    spellbound

    This Night

    As you read this Christmas poem, with its taste of bittersweetness, see it not in a dark light — embrace it as a tale of a long-awaited journey, to be with the one beloved.


    digital collage entitled: “Christmas Tear” – by: rob kistner © 2011

     

    B rushed my shoulder on this morning’s train
    then at the market it was there again
    while in line to get my breakfast tea
    from our favorite table it beckoned me

    in the crowd at the festive mall
    glimpsed like a flicker of candle light
    I swear I saw it fleeting fall
    upon the gifts I did not wrap this night

    upon the tree I did not decorate
    the greeting cards I did not write
    in frail voice I chastise fate
    singing carols doesn’t feel right

    this season I see it everywhere
    the shadow of your love
    elusive as a shopper’s smile
    caught up in the crush and shove

    but soon I’ll catch and hold it close
    warmly to my breast
    it will sweetly fill my heart
    lay soft with me this midnight rest

    for it returns this night each year
    the same night you went away
    in dreams you kiss away each tear
    touch my lips that beg you stay

    taken from my life in sleep
    gone without a last goodbye
    as we dreamed at midnight deep
    each year I weep and wonder why

    but this year I’ll not awaken blue
    in the end an easy thing to do
    this night I’ll make our dreams come true
    this midnight deep I will come to you

    *
    rob kistner © 2011
    update by rob kistner © 2021

    Poetry at: dVerse

    This poem originally posted 2011: at Magpie Tales

    Frozen Man

    Vote = Voice — Speak Up! 2CC45105-E580-4197-9120-35D724A74CF8

    Voting HELP: CLICK HERE

     


    line art: “Frozen Man” — rob kistner © 2008

     

    Stopping Is No Option

    ~

    — QUADRILLE —

    Stopping is no option

    giving up
    is giving in
    grip letting go of dreams

    frozen is the frightened man
    withered in a worried cage

    happy is a voting man
    a hero heard and heeded

    stopping is no option
    for the times
    they are a’changin’

    rob kistner © 2020

    ~ ~

    — COMPLETE VERSION —

    * Watch me read Frozen Man complete version: CLICK HERE

    Stopping is no option

    to lose the way is to keep going
    keep moving forward
    lest one atrophies
    rigid with despair
    paralyzed with doubt
    locked in hopelessness
    bound by fear

    the giving up
    is the giving in
    is the rot that sets
    with the loss of wonder
    when grip lets go of dreams

    loss of faith debilitates the soul
    cripples the manifest light
    that shines so bright
    at the leap into sacred uncertainty
    so bright
    as to boldly illuminate truth

    frozen is the frightened man
    withered in a worried cage

    terrified of the wrong step
    of the journey all in
    of daring the way unmarked

    wounded by fear
    bleeding out the color of life
    hemorrhaging joy
    exsanguinating possibility

    a cold brittled husk
    mired in regret
    for never having shone so brightly
    as to blind the eyes of death
    as to light the way of truth

    valiant is a voting man
    a hero heard and heeded
    a cry of dissatisfaction
    a voice of change
    a stand for defiance

    stopping is no option

    so senators and congressmen
    you best heed the call
    don’t stand in the doorway
    don’t block up the hall
    for they that will lose
    will be they who have stalled

    so brothers and sisters
    raise up your hand
    let it be known
    throughout the land
    if we want change
    we must take a stand

    NO
    stopping is no option

    for the times
    they are a-changin’

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2008
    revision © 2020

     

    https://youtu.be/wZ9drv78dCQ
     

    NOTE: To read more about folly: CLICK HERE

    Time’s Window

    “This is the 4th anniversary of my wife Kathleen and I moving to Seattle to be with our grandson Alex. I posted this new piece containing mindful reflections on leaving our home in Oregon, and our new Seattle home. The photos are of our Oregon yard in the Cascade Mountain foothills. That is my wife Kathy standing under, and peering up into our 2 giant banana palms. The poem is just below the photos.“

    96A0D5B9-69EF-49DB-BE33-C1347DFE7938

    E280E402-14C8-4DF8-BE06-05995B79BDD1

    8406EEC5-F134-4D0F-AF92-19D3B1F79A86

     

    Time’s Window
    ~


    we now have a wonderful
    new Seattle home
    shared with family
    ruled by my little guy
    my precious 6-year-old grandson
    and I know sweet happiness

    but there are moments
    with eyes closed
    I can gaze back
    through time’s window

    I see my beloved Oregon home
    of 25 amazing years
    vividly alive this morning
    here in my memories…

    through my window this day
    I see the scurry of creatures
    warmed by the Oregon summer

    I hear nature
    in splendid voice

    the chuff
    of a tree’d red squirrel

    the song
    chirp
    and trill of birds

    chickadee
    goldfinch
    western bluebird
    and others

    fly
    flutter
    and flit

    in a flash of orange
    a striking northern flicker
    momentarily eschewing insects
    is peck peck pecking
    cracking black-oil sunflower seeds
    that spill from our feeder

    a red-tailed hawk
    calls
    from atop a Sitka spruce
    swaying
    in the crisp blue sky

    the muffled belling of a deer
    wandering the safety of old-growth
    whispers
    through the foothills

    the distant bark
    of a neighbor’s dog
    echoing the basin
    up along our stream
    reminds me
    we have friends nearby

    my wife’s
    gentle laughter
    validates the friendship

    her tender smile
    validates our love

    the rustle of leaves
    stirred by the breeze
    wafting through the valley

    smartly punctuated
    by the staccato
    of conifer cones
    that fall
    from time to time
    wrested free by chickaree
    and chipmunk
    chattering high in Douglas fir
    busy with their forage

    wap wap wap

    they bounce off our roof
    striking the ground

    closely followed
    by the scamper
    of their liberators
    crunching their way
    to the heart-meat of the cone
    the delicacy
    that elicits this furious industry

    drifting in the window
    intoxicating fragrances

    cedar
    pine
    fir

    lily
    rose
    lilac

    grasses
    loam
    and more

    a rich
    earthy bouquet

    caught in my reverie
    I breathe in
    deeply
    to suddenly remember

    …I’m not in my Oregon home
    I am in my new Seattle home
    and it’s filled to overflowing
    with family
    and love

    for a moment
    I do not open my eyes
    I linger a bit longer
    in my beautiful dream
    of my Oregon

    my heart will forever be there
    but we will likely never go back
    not until my ashes are spread
    high in the Cascade Mountains
    on Mt. Hood
    across breathtaking Lost Lake

    but here
    now
    on this day
    filled with memories
    and joy
    a solitary tear
    falls

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2019


     
    This new write was a remarkably mind purifying write for me. Click to see how others are purifying their minds on dVerse:

    Poetics- Purifying the Mind

     

  • Click to check out the haps at Toads
  • The Gift


     
    The Gift

    ~

    unworthy fool am I

    to ignore it
    to abuse it
    to mistreat it
    to misuse it
    to mishandle it at every turn

    no way am I deserving

    yet over and over
    you lay it at my feet
    to protect each step
    on life’s harsh road

    time after time
    you wrap it round me
    as shelter
    from sorrow’s storm

    again and again
    it nurtures and sustains me
    on my journey through
    the wastelands of the lonely

    this light
    this precious treasure

    no way do I deserve
    but forever will I cherish
    your soul gift
    of selfless love

    would I could give you
    such a gift in return
    it would be my purest
    my most unselfish gift

    a gift golden as the sun
    tied in a tinsel of stars
    to nurture you always
    to keep you radiant

    my most precious gift
    of a love supreme

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2019

     

    32AD0E85-B0A5-4D6D-B19A-E51CD04E0C53DAY 7

    Swept Away

  • A bluesman’s life and soul: “Music gives me goose-bumps, especially when created from the heart, by a genuine human spirit…”
  • swept-away.jpg

     
    Swept Away

    (- REDUX 2019 -)

    ~

    memphis red
    no longer is

    gray now shines
    from a balding head
    filled with scarlet embers

    memories still burn
    a fired spirit

    too deep for coddled mortals
    to fully fathom

    red is real
    red is legend

    his tales of pain
    of injustice
    the lore of the big muddy

    his eyes
    earthy brown
    turbulent as that river

    his stare
    a deep current
    impossible to escape
    you’re swept away

    his voice
    a tempered edge
    honed by blues

    broadleaf husky
    thick as sorghum
    smooth as beale street bourbon

    the cf martin
    swings from a leathered neck
    on a tattered strap
    stretched and shaped
    by the heft of sorrow
    poured into the soundhole

    marked and scarred
    by years of burden
    of witness

    its character and patina
    bear testament
    to a genuine soul

    cracked and seasoned hands
    reach with suffered care
    to wrap the fingerboard
    in love

    callused digits
    yellowed by habit
    depress taut strands
    no longer catgut

    blood and bone
    grip
    connect
    sculpting emotions

    true life
    ensnared in sitka spruce
    and spiraled steel

    knowing strains rise
    chords of loss

    rhythmic stomp
    stinging verse
    of broken promise
    failed love

    of dirt field
    cruel street
    back alley
    of harsh wisdom

    resonate to fill this space
    to break my heart
    to steal my soul

    swept away

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2007

    __________________________

    photo rendering above entitled: “Knowing”
    rendered by: rob kistner © 2007

    Click here to read about more blues on TOAD

    And So

    “sweet memories of my youth”

     

    And So

    ~

    and so
    I think of her
    and wonder

    what was the fire
    that burned so bright
    and raged so fierce
    as to consume complete

    our essence
    left embered char
    smoldered ashen

    that in its heat
    and fury
    could not sustain

    back I drift
    to fall upon
    the tenderness of youth

    the satin skin
    the comely gaze
    the velvet touch

    a silken voice
    rising
    to lust and longing

    to impatience

    to immortality

    its soulful siren
    so seductive
    the nectar of all forbidden

    the breathless joy
    of sweet innocence

    when the wonder
    stirs to every mystery
    and the spirit lights
    to every spark

    igniting passion’s pyre

    to leave one spent
    in blissful ruin
    at story’s end

    tender memory
    of the throaty whispers
    of promised pleasures
    sweetly secreted
    in her virgin kiss

    and so
    I think of her

    remembering
    with no regret

    savoring the subtle linger
    harbored in my heart
    of the taste
    of her lips

    long ago
    at seventeen

    ~ ~

    “lips lush as cognac
    open softly to kisses
    urgently linger”

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2010
    (revision © 2019)

    ________________

    23749CC2-151F-4BDE-BA62-BC76B9234D39

     
    click here to read more poetry at dVerse

    Clarion Stones

  • revised for Lillian at dVerse Poet’s Pub


     
    Clarion Stones

    ~

    all those years ago
    in the time of dangers
    they were placed in secret
    as a silent beacon
    in that deepest night

    waiting for the day
    when the shadowed world
    would waken from the nightmare
    shed its narrow petty ways
    and embrace the way of light

    stacked by those of vision
    blessed in hope and courage
    one upon the other
    like knowledge upon learning
    these standing stones of peace

    hear them call across the ages
    and beckon us to rise
    to step into the future
    to envision a new dream
    to let fear and hatred cease

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2010
    (revision © 1/22/19)


    67F4B295-9233-407D-934F-9CA3C5A2B3F5
    stacked stones in Sedona red-rock desert

    _______________________

    These sculptures are called cairns. A cairn is a human-made balanced stack of stones. The word cairn comes from the Scottish Gaelic: càrn. Cairns have been, and still are used for a broad variety of purposes, from prehistoric times to the present. They are stacked as landmarks, direction finders, memorials, and also spiritual reasons, among other purposes.

  • Check out more shedding at dVerse:

    Shed some light on this today!

  • Hope

  • For society to have a real chance we need quality education!

    IMG_8584

     
    Last Hope

    ~

    I lift myself quietly
    very quietly
    from beneath the sheets
    soiled with neglect
    soaked with my nightmares

    I am again awake
    from another dark night
    that began with fear
    fear I might not survive
    and ends in sorrow
    realizing I did

    I rise
    make my way carefully
    past the shallow-breathed crumple
    that lay milky-eyed
    in a heap on the floor
    un-moving
    save a twitch of the head

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

    this wreckage is my mother

    I stop but for a glance
    verifying life
    then move on head down
    angle to the bathroom
    to the scum-brown bowl
    to wash my face
    lit sallow by the yellowed bulb
    that hangs bare and lonely

    strange eyes
    hold me in the mirror
    broken as my heart

    eyes of knowing
    eyes of sadness

    grief courses through me
    weighing upon my being
    burning into my heart

    I want to cry out
    but there is no one here to hear me
    no hero that can help me

    driven by instinct to survive
    by urgency to flee
    I shudder away the paralyzing despair

    in this dank food-less morning
    in this ruined single room
    in this coat-less chill of predawn
    I gather up my books
    step lightly through the door
    down the damaged stairs
    into the hostile streets
    heavy with this childhood of strangled dreams

    I duck and dodge
    in and out of shadows
    praying to once again avoid the evil
    that lurks and slinks
    among the garbage and graffiti
    of these crumbled bricken’d canyons

    that rolls slow and lethal
    gripping cold blue steel
    in predatory drive-by

    evil
    seductive as a smile
    deadly as a snake

    evil
    which if diligence should fail
    I fear will consume my soul

    deliberately I continue
    until at last I find my way
    to the building
    to the classroom
    to my teacher
    to my desk

    to the only hope
    to which I dare cling

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2011
    (revision © 2019)

    ___________________________

    Click to learn more about toad’s social awareness