Crows of Castle Keep

“Castle Keep is my metaphor for the mind.”

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Crows of Castle Keep

my contemplation on dementia

~

my memories gather and squabble
like the crows of castle keep
they pick the bones
of my recall

bones against the cruel clay
of an arid
barren mind

littered with the harsh forgotten
like the bones of the dinosaur
I’m becoming

struggling
with what letters are made of
my words crack and crumble

my thoughts
parch and wither

lonely silhouettes
against an unforgiving skyline

fading visions of my past
of my life
my home
of yesterday

harder and harder to remember
the degrees of separation
growing ever greater
smoldering in the fog
of my reflected past

splashes of vivid color
on scraps of paper
blown in the mounting winds
of my confusion

dread rising
that I will soon not remember
what it all meant to me
a stirring fear I will forget
lost in tormented emptiness
that all will go black

this is not just a poem
it is much more

this is a light
searching in blackness
for familiar things
for persons beloved
that I do not recognize

this is a fractured tome
a cry of frustration
a tear of loss
a whispered prayer

an epitaph
to my fading map of then

of cherished memories
that now falter
and dim

slowly slipping
unintelligible
into the cacophony
of the crows of castle keep


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~ ~ ~

rob kistner © 2019

 

  • Click below to heck out more poems of blackness on dVerse:

    dVerse Poetics: On Shades of Black

  • 36 thoughts on “Crows of Castle Keep”

    1. Bang on, brother–senior moments can lead to dementia, the place of automatons, blankness to infinity. This can be twice hell if one is a poet, for once we lose the meaning of the words, we all become dolphins, swimming through a chaotic world without arms or opposable thumbs.

      1. It is my greatest fear Glenn. As long as I have cognitive function, I have choice, and with that, freedom. Thank heavens Washington is a “Death With Dignity” state.

      1. I am truly happy for you and your family Toni, that your mother’s death was gentle. I do not fear death at all Toni. In so many ways, a gentle death, given all my health complications, would be most welcome — when that moment arrives. What I do fear is dementia/Alzheimer’s. I do not want to be a burden on my family — and it is not how I want to spend my final time on earth.

    2. Familiar experiences and fears, Rob. I often feel like ‘my memories gather and squabble / like the crows of castle keep’. You’ve captured the struggle in the lines:
      ‘struggling
      with what letters are made of
      my words crack and crumble’.

      1. Freaks me out Kim when I am unable to pull a reasonably familiar word out of my head. Sometimes I may have just thought of it just a short time before, when I am in the act of writing. Or I forget how to spell a word I have spelled comfortably before. My writing is slowly becoming more difficult because of this. Drives mr crazy!

    3. Ouch you describe it all too well, you’ve known it close!

      profoundly written about a disease we all dread …

    4. Oh, that is indeed a scary prospect — you have worded it so well in this evocative piece. The castle keep is quite a metaphor for this image and experience. Well-penned!

    5. Your words indicate you’re still well among the living.
      But it’s a fear that haunts us all–both my mother and her sister victims of Alzheimer’s–I do not want those waning years for myself.

      1. I am fine at the moment Kerfe, but I struggle from time to time with memory, and I am brittle diabetic with arteriosclerosis — both significant contributors to Alzheimers. I continue to pass both the Wolf-Klein and Schulman tests every 3 months, so no alerts at the moment. My doctor says it is just because I am nearly 73 — memory will suffer.

      1. Thank you Björn. I write everyday, and create my art frequently, in hopes to keep it shining as long as possible. I need some more time with my grandson, so I will find a way to keep going.

    6. this is not a poem
      it is much more
      Isn’t all poetry much more?

      I know the fear. It is a normal response. I see it all the time and my mother had dementia. I keep my mind active as much as possible.

    7. It’s my observation one of two things happens as we near the last journey — we lose either physical ability or mental ability. I lost my mother to the “long goodbye”, and fear it most, I think. I don’t fear death, but I fear what it’s wearing when it comes to collect me!!
      (BTW, glad you’re enjoying “River Horse”. You might like his “Blue Highways” as well. when he circumnavigates the U.S. on the highways that show in blue on road maps.)

      1. I understand Bev. I already lost the physical health jackpot, but hanging in there. I grow fearful I may be losing both — but I fight on by writing and creating my art to the degree I am able. Another fascinating way to journey. I will need to check it out. Thanks for the tip young lady! 😉

    8. I am soooo late to the reading…but oh so glad I read this, Rob. You’ve described aging….that fear we have of losing our ability to recall….that fear of dementia. In my seventh decade now….I choose to think that because there is so much behind me, that is why I can’t recall some things. Recenting attending my 50th college reunion, I realized quickly I could not recall some of the “times” others would recall in conversations starting with “remember when….” I think that is why photographs are so dear. The play Our Town has a scene, where a person is allowed to revisit one day in their life, and they are told to not choose a “momentous” one….because even returning to an everyday day would be emotional and stirring. I understand that….because even looking at photographs of me in young married life, just a photograph of a “time” or “posing” that I don’t recall, I look so young and can’t really remember that.
      A wonderful piece you’ve written and the crows in the belfry (castle) are an apt description.

      1. I am so very glad this resonated for you Lillian. I relate to the whole of your comment here. I think “it takes one to know one”! 🙂 I treasure my photos and I am do frustrated I couldn’t save all mine. A most unfortunate occurrence during our move in 2014 saw a big box inadvertently tossed out. I was heartsick. But I love the ones I still have. Looking at photos of myself as a young man in my 20’s, 50 years ago, is so strange. It is a completely different person

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