Category: horror

Dark Love

WARNING! This is dark!


Original DDE™ surrealistic art: “Love’s Sin” by: rob kistner © 11/16/23

 

D o you think
you’re not still my slave
since digging yourself
from that earthen grave

since you sullied
your delicate hands
clawing up and out
of my bottom lands

do you think
you’re safe

think perhaps
that I don’t know
where you are
as you come and go

do you think
that I don’t feel you
with my every breath
that I don’t breathe you

do you not understand
that I hold your life
in my clenching hand

really – don’t you

do you think at all
foolish girl

anytime I want you
you are mine

anytime

you know I love you
you love me too
with a love uncommon
you know you do

don’t you

you are mine
it’s true

forever

you are not free
your every move
is known to me
your every thought
is mine to see
your every fear
mine to trigger

feel your terror
as it’s growing bigger


Original DDE™ surrealistic art: “Dark Love”
by: rob kistner © 11/16/23

I watch you walking
every dark late night
while I hide under
my dim street light

you will not know
whence I may come
I am the shadow
you are running from

the stranger hidden
across the street
the sudden sound
that startles you
from your sleep

so cling mindlessly
to your false hope
as ‘round your slender neck
my fingers grope

you think I’m mad
well that may be
but that’s too bad
for you
not me

you pray
they catch me
we’ll see
won’t we

your nightmare is
I’ll not be caught

well
that dream’s come true
for I will naught


Original DDE™ surrealistic art: “Dark Love’s Captive”
by: rob kistner © 11/16/23

you hope I make
a big mistake
dare a close call
risk my downfall

foolish girl
there is no risk

for I am brilliant
wicked cunning
you’ve felt my power
is it not stunning

does my magnificence
make you afraid
as staring in my eyes
you feel resistance fade

you will not see me
in the cold dark rain
but you feel me squirming
in your troubled brain

as I’m creeping quiet
from behind
to steal your mortal life
as I am so inclined
as terror shivers
up and down
your spine
remember always

you — are — mine


Original DDE™ surrealistic art: “Devil In A Downpour”
by: rob kistner © 11/16/23

*
rob kistner © 2021
edited rewrite © 2023

Poetry at: dVerse

 





Castle Walachia

~ I originally published this October of 2018, again Oct. 2019, now Oct. 2022. ~
Happy Halloween

C7C3C034-1533-4E85-AC6E-38F763DE28B1

 

This castle is most ominous
since becoming Voivode of Wallachia
Vlad II has not followed his father’s example
no joy and celebration reverberates
through the greattooms, hallways, and towers
of this venerable old structure

it has become dark and foreboding
and rumored dangerous
even deadly

but I know they are not just rumors
there is a murderous evil dwells here
undead and otherworldly
bloodthirsty and cruel
a ruthless predator
whom I have come to slay

I must move quickly from this light
that pools incrementally
in this long
pungent
segmented hallway

there is some safety in the shadows
that linger tight
to the arch walls
so I bolt
through the full moon’s glow
that seeps silvered through the windows

I press myself
against the damp irregular surfaces
that are the stacked-stone
boundary breaks
of this eerie chiseled passage

I pause at each
listening
casting glances all ’round

this monster moves like a vapor
so what I can see
is far more important
than what I can hear
but still
I listen

this demon has servants
soul sworn to loyalty
that must move on foot
their approach I could hear
so fully alert
I employ all my senses
in my critical vigilence

stealthily I move
from archway to archway
until I reach the last

I halt
E3610F00-F899-4D98-B180-D31F9E59E23E
relaxing the tension
in my right hand
I carefuly open my fingers
very slightly
to close them tight again
feeling the smooth wooden shaft
of the stake I have carved
securely in my grasp

this is the weapon I’ll wield
to bring and end
to the ungodly bloodlust
of this ghastly creature
the good people here call
Dracula

as I stand here
back to the dampened wall
relief seasons my trepidation

nothing in my being
wants this dire mission
to which I am shackled

but it is only my hand
on the carved wood dagger
tightly in my sweating grip
that can bring an end
to my uncle’s unholy
reign of horror

I am the youngest male
of our cursed bloodline
so the brutal deed
falls to me

creeping ever forward
like a shade on the dank wall
I move cautiously closer
to the iron-laden
dense wood door
of his sleeping chamber

my heart pounding
my diaphram starved for breath
I feel I may pass out

but still I pursue
the evil incarnate
that lies coffin’d
in undead repose

suddenly
a noise
immediately behind me

it echoes through these catacombs
pierces my taut raw nerves
and instantly paralyzes me

trembling
I turn

no one there

hushed
I listen intently

no other sounds
save the blood
pulsing as a roar
in my ears

I begin to move
but again
I hear it

panicked
I jerk my head around
and see

in this frozen moment
my stressed mind deduces
the source of the noise

moisture
collecting on the stone ceiling
gathers overhead
into sagging condensation

it released
as a weighty droplet
splattering on the floor
just behind me
with a sharp startling slap

I relax a bit
enough to again draw
tensioned breath

several more labored
careful steps
and I place my hand
gently on the wrought handle
of the immense door

confirming the lethal dagger
quivering in my right hand
I reach
steadily as possible
into my pocket
and withdraw a strange key
I have secreted there
that allows me access
to his chamber

it is unnaturally heavy
and seems to emanate
an unearthly energy

I clutch it firmly
fearing if I lose my grip
I will lose my nerve

I guide the key
into the slot
of the ornate handle plate
seating it fully

slowly I begin to turn it

I feel the resistance
as the key’s teeth
engage with the bolt
and begin to grudgingly
draw it from its secure well

just before I have fully retracted it
I pause
my mind racing
blood pressure soaring
overcome by the magnitude
of what I am about to do

no turning back now
this must be done
and I must do it
but I am terrified

still I hesitate
attempting to gain
my much needed composure

I slow my heartbeat
steady my breathing
steel my resolve
and turn the key
its final quarter inch

the lock clicks
the handle releases
and the door unseats inwardly

this is it
fate has dealt the deck
I am both prisoner
and executioner
in this horrible game

I swing the door open
ever so gradually
eyes rapidly scanning
this vampire lair

and step in

this fate
my destiny


Vlad the Impaler – Dracula

*
rob kistner © 2018
revised © 2019
republished © 2022

Poetry at: dVerse

 


Hour of the Beasts

3660A7A7-96B9-4916-BB9F-4D03D0C5E926
 

When the most capable
believe they have risen above
the mucus, the shit, the afterbirth
of their origin

when in their reflection
they see perverse transcendence
towards entitlement
in which no allegiance
or kinship of nature
binds them to their center

nor founds them in the
fevered fumbling fury
of the frightened flesh parade
in which they lock step
flailing for survival

when their insanity of arrogance
so distorts their vision of time
of the ancient
of the sweating
bone-broken reality
of human swill and wallow
through which they likewise trudge

shiny shoes or no

when they blatantly begin
to eat their own
while copulating with false gods
on forsaken gilded altars
of perjured horrors

then the hour of the beasts
is certainly at hand
and the power of wild nature
will rise up to dominate

and we’ll all become
the hulking mass
of the apocalypse
deserving to be struck down

and our black hearts
torn out and severed
by the self-inflicted rapier
of raw wild justice
and our husks immolated
on the pyre of banished
abandoned truth

that moment is near

*
rob kistner © 2022

Poetry at: eartweal

 

Finish Line

This song by Sarah McLachlan, “In The Arms Of An Angel” always makes me break down. He is my son, Aaron Robert Kistner. Hearing this song takes me deep into memories of my sweet angel. My son Aaron died in his 18th year, just prior to entering college to study music. He was a very handsome, kind, and gentle young man – and a fabulous singer. I miss him so, everyday. I ache to hold him close just once more — to hear his beautiful voice. I wrote this poem very shortly after his tragic death in a horrible auto accident.

In loving memory of my son, Aaron Robert Kistner: 11/4/76 – 7/3/95

 

This is my favorite picture of you son,
the one I treasure most
since your passing.

A simple snapshot,
taken at the airport,
upon your return
from having run the New York City Marathon.

A gentle, triumphant smile,
eyes beaming behind those ‘cool’ shades,
jacket sleeves rolled in casual hip-ness,
bag gripped firm and steady in your left hand,
medal dangling proudly from your strong neck.

The victor: gentle, cool, hip, carefree, proud, and strong,
– fiercely handsome!

How profound this captured moment proved to be.

Taken just before the finish line of your 18 years,
it said it all.

Your race is run,
your bag is packed,
your reward’s in hand.

Fly my sweet angel – fly!

*
rob kistner © 1995

 

Crows of Castle Keep

“Castle Keep is my metaphor for the mind.”

81CA4836-C9C2-4292-9D2E-4793B02BD668

 
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


E8A2F1BD-9ED3-4D31-95BE-D36EA9CEECC3

~ ~ ~

rob kistner © 2019

 

  • Click below to heck out more poems of blackness on dVerse:
    dVerse Poetics: On Shades of Black

    • 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

    • Silent

     

    Silent

    ~

    do you hear the autumn wind
    stirring in the branches

    do you hear the leaves rustle

    do you hear my breath
    whispering your name

    do you hear my heart beat

    do you hear my tears fall

    or is it silent

    silent as the light-less realm
    that hauntingly engulfs my soul

    silent as that night
    when apples spilled
    on the broken stair
    where rail eluded
    your grasping hand

    silent as your futile cry
    when no voice came
    to grace your lips

    tender lips
    that parted gently
    to hold my kiss

    lips

    that will not know again
    sweet fruit

    nor love

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2011

     

    poem & image above inspired by visual prompt below

    * linked 2011 at Magpie Tales

    * linked 2020 at Poets & Storytellers

    Silence – two reflections

    These two poetic reflections are unrelated, beyond their focus on silence. The first reflection here considers what it is to fall into the deepening silence of old age. The second reflection looks at the silence that causes, and also results from repression…

     

    1ST REFLECTION

    Endings

    •

    shrouded by evening in waning october
    as autumn tumbles towards winter
    is to know the losing of the light
    the ever growing darkness
    the advance of the cold
    the time of endings
    death’s due vigil
    deep silence

    how do I abide this season

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011

    2ND REFLECTION

    Silenced

    •

    escape was an improbability
    as was understanding
    opinions regarding outcome
    ignored altogether
    fate sealed with no discourse
    executed with an air of entitlement

    when one has no arms to flail
    no fists to clench
    no fingers to point
    gestures of dissent are sorely limited
    rights easily wrest away
    freedom falls beyond grasp

    inevitable
    when one has no voice

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011

    poem “Silenced” inspired by image below

    • linked at Magpie Tales

    Images – a ten year vigil

    …lest we ever forget

     

     

     

    Images


    •

    images

    unreal
    unfathomable images

    the graceful glide
    engulfed by the spire
    in a roar of golden orange

    horribly beautiful

    perversely mesmerizing

    obscene
    devastating images

    torrents of humanity
    raining down

    desperation their only escape

    masses of humanity
    racing
    to outrun the unbelievable

    praying
    to be delivered from the inconceivable

    traumatic images

    shrines of free commerce
    consumed
    by the unbearable weight
    of their fragile significance
    plummeting to earth
    in a cloud of self-destruction

    heartbreaking images

    screaming
    dazed
    terrified souls
    consumed
    by the unbearable weight of the moment

    staggering onward
    to outdistance the surging roll
    of all-engulfing
    pulverized aftermath

    courageous images

    battered
    determined
    tireless heroes

    those who were called
    who served unselfishly

    some
    who gave the ultimate service

    haunting images

    color
    gender
    ethnicity
    wiped away
    from the ashen-grey faces
    of the traumatized throngs

    now just masks of calamity

    all made equal
    by horror and grief

    one nation
    under siege
    inconsolable
    with tragedy and sorrow
    for all

    unforgettable images
    burned into our hearts

    • • •

    rob kistner © 9/11/09

     

    Clown

     

    Clown

    •

    I’m the sad little clown with the frowning face
    the round red nose and the great big tear
    this meek facade and silly sham
    belie the horror that I engineer

    life’s dealt me cold my hand is slack
    not one queen no king nor ace
    so violence now dwells in me
    masked behind my woeful face

    no one suspects the evil soul
    that festers deep in this funny fool
    they know not the monster here
    my gentle sheen conceals the cruel

    they don’t realize a broken heart
    a ruined life makes one quite mad
    they simply see the pitiful
    the painted face that looks so sad

    the shaggy coat the baggy pants
    the red suspenders the big white glove
    they do not know it hides the hand
    that choked the life from the one they love

    town after town state after state
    bodies mount in the circus’ wake
    in the dead of night at the dark of moon
    in frenzied fever each life I take

    each beautiful each innocent
    each unaware that they would die
    there will be more on the road ahead
    one for every tear you made me cry

    when the circus comes and the tents go up
    the people cheer in each sleepy town
    because the poor fools just don’t know
    who’s really come is the killer clown

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011

    _____________________

    for two more tales of murder written in dark rhyme click “more”

    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

    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

    Moonfall

    …I might find it interesting to believe that we are not alone in this universe within universes. I believe ‘others’ are observing us, and are concerned by our behavior. Called many things through the ages, such as “travelers”, “those that are”, “angles”, among others: I believe they have been here, and perhaps some of us have been there. As adults most of us grow suspicious, skeptical, closed, and therefore unreceptive, potentially even dangerous — so these ‘others’ make their presence known only to the pure of heart, who still possess their sense of wonder. They come in dreams, visions, and apparitions.

    Centuries and millenniums ago, when the world was less devastatingly violent, they visited more often. Graphic and oral evidence of their visitations are found in every culture. These ‘miraculous’ events, misunderstood by less sophisticated early humans, became the ‘seeds’ of the world’s current religions.

    These ‘others’ seek to know us but they are frightened by our growing self-directed global hatred and paranoia — especially now fueled by our many technologies of death and destruction. They now consider us unapproachable. I’m not certain when or how large-scale contact will be made, but it will eventually happen — in spite of the ‘if-or-not’ of alien abduction and probing.

    Inherently we humans have come to know, but not fully comprehend, the essence of this reality of impending contact. Through the distorted lense of fractured history and our fear, I believe we have, over time, come to call this ultimate contact by many names, some positive, some negative; names such as the rapture, apocalypse, end of days, armageddon, and the like. Though we perhaps misinterpret the nature of this amazing future event — contact is coming. This I might believe, if I could believe anything. In that spirit I wrote and offer this sci-fi poem…

     

     

    Moonfall

    •

    the dual suns
    still crisp and bright
    warm me as I journey
    painting the strange landscape in vivid presence
    this alien world
    startling
    yet fascinating

    I embarked at midday’s solar convergence
    senses alive and alert
    consumed by the thrill of exploration
    heady with anticipation of discovery
    I believed today I would make contact

    I would connect

    but it is day’s end
    moonfall descends upon this severe terrain
    early shadows fall across my face
    a veiled foreboding settles upon me

    there are many shadows here
    other shadows
    odd shadows

    disturbing specters
    that disrupt my nights
    disquiet my soul
    steal my peace
    they come unannounced
    almost imperceptible

    but no time for worry
    there is still far to go
    I am eager to move
    drawn by the need to reach my ship
    to reach safety

    yet here I stand
    momentarily motionless
    immobile with dread
    yet captivated by the haunting beauty
    that is this planet’s rising moon
    a translucent blue fractal orb
    ever changing
    mesmerizing

    I shudder and sober
    turn into the evening breeze
    and venture onward
    immersed in rolling amber and coral
    spread glorious to the horizons
    of this foreign world
    receding with the setting suns

    again the shadows shift
    dull confusion finds me
    I lose my pace
    draw up in momentary halt

    nagging concern engulfs me
    panic pierces my solace
    bewilderment grips me
    unwelcome
    it holds me
    uncomfortable in my skin

    these feelings sweep over me
    clouding briefly my purpose
    obscuring my destination

    then they waft
    I see across the darkening valley
    my shuttle craft
    my safety

    urgently I proceed
    but again my mind fogs
    I wander
    and once more lose focus

    an eerie mist settles like a shroud
    moonfall is coming
    coming much too quickly
    moonfall
    the frightening night noises
    unsettling dreams

    mounting alarm
    I believe I am in trouble

    a sense of peril gnaws
    builds
    paralyzing fear
    fear I will not make it back
    before these suns go dark

    I am afraid to lose this light
    afraid to loose my way

    afraid
    so afraid

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

     

    NOTE: this was originally posted 2/25/10

    …discover what others believe and don’t believe at readwritepoem…

    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.

    Final Sentinel

    0D71515C-5F67-42D9-8D0A-4E1AE23F3735

     
    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