Hour of the Beasts

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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

 

Your Car Sir


 

Of course you have a choice sir
of course
we all have choices sir

one always has a choice
the very same choice
you
and the rest of us
have enjoyed
since birth

we can choose to live
we can choose to die
we can choose to smile
we can choose to cry
about it all

we can choose
to get the facts
to understand
or just wonder why

but we all must choose
you must choose

this car sir
will take you
to tomorrow

so if you’d like
to see tomorrow
get in!
now!

the next car back?

sir
that car
will never see tomorrow

but it will be up
in just a moment — sir
if you prefer

*
rob kistner © 2021

Poetry at: The Sunday Muse

Poetry Pantry at: Poets & Storytellers

 

WARNING: adult lyrics

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

  • Aeropachydermicide

    Aeropachydermicide: recklessly causing the death of someone or something by actions that result from the foolish belief that one is so smart and powerful that one can make an elephant fly.

     

    Aeropachydermicide

  • Debunking the ridiculous theory of human dominion.
  • ~

    somewhere between our petrochemical insanity
    and our reckless dance with fractured atoms
    we believed we were the miracle
    and it all went seriously awry

    we fantasized we had dominion
    that we understood the vast unknown
    could control the raw chaotic
    that we had figured out the why

    so we delved into dark science
    with no regard for frail nature
    flailed our way across the planet
    belched our leavings into our sky

    we so bought into our egos
    that we perceived ourselves as gods
    that we were capable of anything
    perhaps make the elephant to fly

    but we humans lost sight of balance
    did not comprehend our place
    as only one of precious many
    we let the tipping point slip by

    now we wonder what will happen
    to our misbegotten dream
    stare through disbelieving tears
    as we watch it slowly die

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 10/3/11
    revised © 2019


     

  • Click below to check out more poetry at dVerse:
    Poetic: Theories of Everything and Anything
     

  • Check out more poems on Toads

     

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    Hi! I’m Edgrrr, rob’s shih tzu.

  • Hope

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

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    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

  • Speechless

     

    Speechless

  • on finally reaching the end

    ~

    as he reached the threshold
    he hesitated
    stopped
    breathed in
    partially turned
    head cocked
    breath caught
    hand resting on the door

    their eyes met
    held
    each wanting to speak

    …silence

    she sighed
    looked away
    he dropped his head
    exhaled
    pushed open the door
    stepped through
    walked slowly on
    never looking back

    it had all been said

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2013

  • Sanctuary


    “Under Windsor Bridge” by Adolphe Valette, 1912

     

    Sanctuary

    ~

    dead calm envelops me

    moist morning fog
    adrift on the water
    wraps ’round me
    like a cool blanket

    it muffles the sounds
    of daybreak’s industry

    alone with my thoughts
    in peaceful privacy
    safe anonymity

    the regrets of last night
    dim and fade

    this brief sanctuary
    a soothing balm
    so welcome
    at the start of this heavy day

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2012

    Solitaire


    “A Dinner Table at Night” — by: John Singer Sargent

     

    Solitaire

    ~

    immersed in pleasured chatter
    bursts of heightened laughter

    in the ringing clank of crystal
    of silver on fine china

    crisp bustle of starched service
    lush rustle of satin’d lace

    aglow in silken’d candlelight
    caressed by gentle strains

    wafts of sweet Bordeaux
    heady fragrance of cut orchids

    midst soft din and dance of mirth
    I gaze upon your empty face
    and see there in your hollow eyes
    our game is solitaire

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2012

    Morning’s Pardon

  • Morning brings we fallen mortals forgiveness and hope…
  •  

    Morning’s Pardon

    ~

    fallen into night’s embrace
    held down by dark shadows
    I writhe in the arms of nightmare

    would that I could rise
    into the light of dawn’s nod
    but I’m flesh, weak, consumed by flesh

    purity laid raw entangled in my sin
    skin to skin with my obsession
    restrained to roil in my transgression

    but soon the light of morne
    will fold itself upon me pardoned
    oh pray I not be too far drawn asunder

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2012

    Gone

    …to loved ones missed, now sadly departed…

    Gone

    •

    after the clutter of leaving
    after the hurry of goodbye
    after sweet anticipation faded away

    after no more embraces
    after the laughter was memory
    after the sadness collected day upon day

    after the spaces fell empty
    after the familiar grew distant
    after our time together had become the past

    after the taste of regret
    after the loneliness mounted
    after sands in the glass spilled away much too fast

    I did not think it would be this quiet
    I did not think it would seem so far
    no I did not know it could be so quiet
    nor did I know how this silence would scar

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011

    The Dimming

     

    The Dimming

    •

    here is the change

    the forgetting

    the slipping away
    into the haze of memory

    the frustration
    of no longer being able
    and still
    the burning longing to…
    remember

    and you
    dimming in this fog
    midst the times we have cherished
    the places we have loved
    fading beyond reach

    an ever-mounting loneliness
    like so many vacant seats

    empty

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011

    • linked at Magpie Tales

    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

    For Naught

     

    For Naught

    •

    the virgin page taunts me

    untouched

    the bright white
    throbs like a migraine

    no burden of remorse
    no weight of mystery
    does it bear

    no sting of anger
    no wink of mirth
    does it proffer

    nothing sensual or sensitive to share

    no tale to spin
    no plot to thicken
    no coin of phrase to turn

    just vast blank space
    tormenting nothingness
    cruel emptiness
    to drain my brain

    dissonance spills through my open window
    the scatter of autumn showers
    stir of october wind
    rustle of moist leaves

    in the distance
    muffled keens
    bursts of barking
    far off yelps

    the edgy piercing din
    of dripping prowling night
    intrudes in damp insistence
    to fill my head
    fevered with frustration
    to leave not one small space for wit

    the search for insight all for naught

    no spark to light this dark
    no muse in sight

    nothing clever or profound
    in the air this night

    chilled
    slack

    uninspired

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011

    • linked at Magpie Tales

    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