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

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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

 


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

Savior

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Savior

~

I remember when it happened
remember well
the blinding flash
that sent me scurrying
underground
into my private bunker

I suspected this possibility
thankfully
I was prepared for the moment

that moment
that horrific moment
forever dividing then
from now

then
comfortably alone
walking my property line
along the azure waters
of the clear mountain stream
that rolled towards me
crisp and pure

then
in an instant
the startling sound
the strange light
soaring above the douglas firs
that stand proudly
at the river’s edge

sentries for centuries
protecting this northern boundary
of my lands

steady
enduring
supple in the winds
that waft and quicken
breathing life
whispering their secrets

now
two years on
since that ominous moment
the bone chill
the penetrating feeling
of fear

now
I am alone again
but now
quite absolutely

no evidence of survivors
my beloved wife
did not make it

the global communication grid
totally destroyed

too long
since I have seen
another’s eyes
or heard another’s voice

now
I ramble this valley
wade this stream
in my hazmat suit
mumbling quietly
to no one

rations are running out
water
food

I am at the ragged edge
of coherence
of sanity

I cling to the hope
for a sign of life
someday
any life

but they are all gone
every — last — one
gone

can I last
have I that patience

how long can I hold center
how long
until my fragile psyche unravels

if I could just remove this helmet
breathe fresh air again
feel the breeze on my face

while the trees are fine
carcasses are everywhere
animals
fish
birds
insects

I fear the air is toxic
deadly

will it ever be safe
how can I know

wait
what’s this

“Hey, hi little fella!”

~ ~ ~

rob kistner © 2019

 

  • To check out more poems at Sunday Muse: CLICK HERE
  • Distant Farewell

  • LONG-FORM, FREE-VERSE, SCI-FI ADVENTURE/LOVE POEM

  • Far-Worlds Corp research space schooner “Thadius”

     
    Distant Farewell

    ~

    “I’ve watched
    golden fire clouds,
    hanging in pale green skies,
    over the azure seas of Toluras

    I’ve seen the copper leaves
    of the parmus fronds
    flashing from indigo mountains
    in the crystal mists of Gemin.

    I have beheld exquisite beauty
    in my rich, full life
    but none so beautiful
    as your eyes tonight”

    this Artheo whispers
    his breath warms
    the tender lobe
    of my eager ear

    he presses his lips
    softly to mine
    with gentle passion
    bids me farewell

    now three hours past
    I linger in the bittersweetness

    I can still taste him

    here I am
    hurtling through space
    standing on the aft deck
    gazing

    reliving the kiss
    a sudden chill
    shocks me sober

    been here, done this
    precisely this
    in every detail

    impossible

    it’s my first time aboard

    a foreboding grips me

    I shiver as I watch
    the jade-sapphire orb
    grow smaller
    less relevant

    it now recedes
    less visible
    through the carbon-Lucite

    zero-g frost
    forms and obscures
    this breathtaking view
    of the lush planet

    our home planet
    Gaia

    a place
    some now on board
    will not again see
    for fifteen years

    if they are
    counted among
    the fortunate
    who do return

    we race
    exceeding light-speed
    toward a distant
    call for help

    unknown destiny
    in uncharted space
    with no idea
    what we will encounter

    the call made it certain
    no good lay ahead

    36959008-29B1-417B-B92B-2DA45555B906

    I am Sephias
    going to Topiarus
    to return
    in a year’s time

    I am distraught

    the anxiety
    of separation

    intense pressure
    permeates the crew
    who go the distance
    to the edge of space
    to answer
    the cry for help

    it is contagious
    I feel this too

    I feel ungrounded
    each time I choose
    to leave my man
    to go on mission

    my soul mate
    Artheo

    our love is deep

    it has withstood
    these essential
    separations

    we understood
    when I joined Far-Worlds
    that separation
    came with the program

    but knowing this
    makes it no easier

    my anxiety
    is heightened further
    given this mission’s
    uncertainty

    at Far-Worlds Corp
    we are involved
    in new-resources
    exploration

    we’re scientists
    not trained spacetroopers

    our expertise
    not military

    this ship
    the Thadius
    is a space schooner
    solar-wind powered

    a research vessel
    not a fast and agile
    battle cruiser

    not suited
    for space combat

    the security force
    we have on board
    trained to defend
    not to attack

    they protect us
    from known threats
    on our journeys
    through known space

    this mission’s different

    the unknown
    makes this dangerous

    the Dextorium
    was an advance ship
    sent to reconnoiter
    9 months ahead

    the Dextorium
    did in fact carry
    a battle-trained
    spacetrooper force

    but it has now
    fallen silent
    for many months

    the green glow
    of the interstellar
    contact indicator orb
    means they’re out there

    but silence
    not a word

    stream

    to take my mind
    off things disturbing
    I drift to Artheo
    to our last kiss

    he presented
    a calm brave face
    at our goodbye

    but I knew better

    now together
    two centuries
    rest assured
    I know my man

    as decorated Primests
    of the Science-Sect Elite
    we are privileged
    with three birthing cycles

    to improve the human strain
    a 40-year
    no-birthing period
    our second
    now nears its end

    soon
    we will enter
    our third
    free-birthing cycle

    we both welcome
    the sabbatical
    of twenty years
    that it affords

    we’ve begotten
    families
    in prior cycles
    and love them both

    we now dream
    of this newest family
    our near future
    holds in store

    this coming family
    is most important
    in our lives
    Artheo’s and mine

    state edicts dictate
    3rd cycle families
    caretake their fosters
    as health declines

    as we move closer
    to our stand down
    and cryogenic
    hibernation

    this new family
    will be our comfort
    as our current life-phase
    draws to a close

    as I reflect
    I am disrupted

    a sudden chaos

    panicked commotion
    on the foredeck

    there is great alarm

    I rush forward
    in time to see
    a startling scene
    begin to unfold

    there
    directly in front
    of our speeding ship
    menacing fields of energy

    they begin to spread
    linking together
    with apparent logic
    forming a grid
    blocking our path

    acting intelligently
    as though a sentient
    living thing

    6FF94A1C-DB1C-4C39-817D-5A5A040E2050

    they are immense
    and they are many
    as they assemble
    into a spherical net
    continually expanding
    as far as one can see
    it is there

    spread far too vast
    to travel around
    their advancing speed
    we cannot outrun

    as we approach
    the pulsing web
    their acceleration
    becomes exponential

    no doubt we’re on
    a collision course

    suddenly
    my senses jolt
    I stagger back
    in shock and awe

    it is now quite clear
    what fate befell
    our advance party
    and it appears others

    they’ve been, well
    they’ve been absorbed
    by this horrific
    electronic death-mesh

    we are defenseless

    we on the Thadius
    can only stare
    frightened
    but spellbound

    the crew’s emotions
    now run the gamut
    tears fill most eyes
    as hell approaches

    then I see more clearly
    in the eerie violet
    sphere of energy
    closing upon us
    tiny multi-color specks

    B0BAAB26-E387-4921-9D3B-3F363F9CACA8

    captured life-energies
    of the Dextorium crew
    and countless others
    that have come before

    their vital essence
    has been consumed
    by this entangled nightmare
    that now besets us

    their images flicker
    in and out of focus
    trapped in the grid
    held fast and hopeless

    empty faces
    of complete surrender
    translucent
    dead eyes
    living ghosts

    this thing is coming
    this host of evil

    terrified
    I feel helpless
    so confused
    and so alone

    its then I rush
    to my solarcomm
    to send a message
    to Artheo

    holding a Droon orb of light
    bravely I begin
    first sharing poetry
    as is our custom

    IMG_8614

    “we have walked quietly hand in hand
    in the emerald meadows of Telma
    sharing its golden angelfruit
    sweet as our stolen kisses

    we’ve heard the haunting call
    of the coral winged Lellurt
    in Droon’s violet skies
    over teal Darpin Bay


    now fate deems we part
    see this Orb of Light
    it is my true heart
    when I am gone
    it will shine on
    sweet Artheo
    it is my love
    eternally”

    “right now,
    I want to hear
    your soothing voice
    my precious love.”

    “I would give the world
    to hear your voice.”

    I am speaking
    in a tone controlled
    yet laced with longing
    and melancholy

    “I love you my dearest
    but something bad
    is happening now
    here where I am”

    “there’s a chance”
    then I must pause
    collect myself
    to start again

    “there is a chance,
    I may not return
    to you again,
    to our sweet life”

    here my voice quavers
    and then it cracks
    as I try to add,
    “or — to our children.”

    grasping for courage
    I go on

    “if this is
    to be my end
    it falls to you
    to raise them now”

    “please let them see
    they’re loved forever
    protect them well
    and keep them safe”

    it’s now a struggle
    to form the words
    but filled with love
    I press on

    “remember my eggs.
    they are safely stored
    at the Off-World Corp’s
    Reproductive Center.”

    “my surrogate
    has been selected
    she is tested
    and bonded pure”

    “you must see
    our new family born
    Zenus and Rennar — born

    please promise me!”

    choking back
    so many emotions
    I now fight
    to conclude the message

    this is the last
    I will ever send
    to my beloved
    Artheo

    these are the last words
    he’ll hear me speak

    moonfall2

    “these children,
    Zenus and Rennar,
    will be the final connection
    between you and I”

    “remember forever
    they are a part
    of each of us
    my darling one”

    “he and she
    will care for you
    and see you through
    your dimming years.”

    “they will love you
    as you’ll love them
    give them my love
    tell them about me.”

    voice faltering badly
    I rise to finish
    and share with Artheo
    my final words

    “god, oh god,
    how I want you
    here in my arms
    my one true love!”

    with that,
    my heart breaks
    as I stare silently
    into the screen

    teardrops streaming
    down my cheeks

    12 hours later
    the message arrives
    on Artheo’s
    commstation screen

    he is gripped
    by disbelief
    at what he sees
    at what he hears

    consumed by horror
    unable to move
    he stands trembling

    frozen by grief

    as he sees
    my message end
    my image flickers
    and then it fades

    Artheo
    falls to his knees
    without sound
    silent for some time

    then
    with a growing mix
    of fear and sorrow
    on his ashen face

    he throws back his head
    thrusts up his arms
    straight and stiff
    fists clenched in anger

    clenched so tightly
    nails
    cut into palms
    and bring forth blood

    bloodied hands
    whitened knuckles
    stab at the stars

    he keens and moans
    then begins to wail

    the guttural
    heart-rending wail
    of a man bereft
    soul-gored
    devastated

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2008
    (revision © 2019)

    The artwork above is by: Hera, of Stockholm, Sweden

    __________________

    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

  • Slithered


    The Snake Charmer, Henri Rousseau, 1907

     

    Slithered

    •

    ever hissing ever hissing
    the smooth slithered snake
    stealthily winds its slender self
    to slowly settle in the shadows

    to set its searching sights
    on its unsuspecting prey
    an ever patient sentry
    coiled to seize its precious prize

    with surety of purpose
    this silent sleek assassin
    will strike swift and certain
    never missing never missing

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011

    • linked at Magpie Tales

    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”

    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 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

    Machine Mind

    This post is offered in response to prompt #14 at We Write Poems,
    the August 9th prompt at Big Tent Poetry,
    the August 11th prompt at Three Word Wednesday,
    and prompt #65 at Carry On Tuesday.




    “…scientists were so preoccupied with whether or not they could,
    they didn’t stop to think if they should…”

    Dr. Ian Malcolm


    Machine Mind

    •

    you wink awake at morning’s light
    beckoning me to focused task
    prompting me of promise

    you collaborate
    in my keeping touch
    in work dispatched
    in thoughts transcribed
    in matters pure creative

    you are my portal into virtual space
    to probe mysteries
    the vast unknown

    the tool I wield
    to unearth facts
    dig the dirt
    to search for truth

    tightly spun
    within the web
    you tend my life
    make all cogs turn

    my instrument of whim
    device of my distraction
    are you my submissive
    or master of my will

    when you’ve surpassed my vision
    will you serve me still

    have I the power to shut you down
    turn my back
    walk away

    to truly let you keep

    in the deep subconscious
    does your machine mind
    really sleep

    • • •

    TechReGret

    (a lighthearted tanka)

    •

    my laptop’s frozen

    and my cell phone’s out of range

    it’s at these times when

    I think how life used to be

    hand-written letters have soul

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    _________________________

    • photorendered collage entitled: “Machine Mind” – by: rob kistner © 2010

    IN CLOSING: We live a in a world immersed, if not drowning, in technology. The idealistic and naive early vision was to create technology to serve us, make life easier, less complicated – but the joke is on us. We now serve the technology, and life is more complicated — traveling at a pace we struggle to keep up with. We’ve leveraged our peace of mind in the misguided pursuit of leisure. Is there a remedy? If we do not open a global dialog focused at finding ‘balance’, the situation will, I believe, resolve itself – and the world will not like, and may not survive, the ultimate solution.

    As James Martin, one of our great modern thinkers and author of the “The Meaning of the 21st Century” points out in his most optimistic and uplifting book, man stands on the threshold of either the greatest era in human history, or the end of life as we know it – the outcome rests in our hands.

    I wrote an essay back in 2007 which deals with humankind’s strange relationship with the technology we’ve created. You can click here if you would like to read it. …rob

    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

    Burn

    …in response to the 13th prompt of 2010 on Writer’s Island, I offer a piece I wrote inspired by Joni Michell’s album entitled “Don Juan’s Reckless Daughter”. Embedded in this work is the title of every track that appears on that album / also for prompt #126 ‘Angel’ at One Single Impression…



    Burn

    •

    come to me
    talk to me otis
    and
    marlena
    reveal your mystery

    I am your brood
    sired by your seed
    bloodied
    from your womb

    whisper
    in a scorching breath
    tell me about
    the tenth world

    taunt me
    in scalded apparition

    tell me how
    to get to dreamland
    to cotton avenue
    on a hot off night
    back street in jericho

    tell me of the fires
    on paprika plains
    that consumed your souls
    in flames of hunger
    to lust
    for immortality

    made you dance
    at midnight
    wrapped in
    the silky veils of ardor
    on prurient
    smoldered embers

    I want to go
    I am ready

    an inferno burns
    inside me
    desire rages strong
    to ride the bliss of sin

    son of concupiscence
    I am
    your son

    your lifeblood
    courses through me
    hammers in my temples
    sets my heart ablaze

    impassioned
    I wil prowl
    the shadow’d haunts
    of jericho

    the dark places
    of the tenth world
    following your ghosts

    seeking
    don jaun’s reckless daughter
    my scarlet jezebel
    my nocturne angel
    to take me
    in a fever

    to whirl me ‘round
    to burn me down
    to ash

    to scatter me
    by moonlight

    forever
    in the winds
    of memory
    on those plains
    of ardor

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    • photorendered collage entitled “Dance of Ardor” by: rob kistner © 2010

    The Quiet • The Strike

    I’ve written two pieces in response to Three Word Wednesday July 21st prompt • the first is entitled “The Quiet” • the second is entitled “The Strike”

    The Quiet

    •

    left like spent bait
    in the disapproving sun
    to rot from apathy

    the carcasses of constituents
    foolishly quiet
    curl brittle and crack

    victims of their trust
    they did not jump
    their chance for change

    and so they wither
    hollowed by ignorance
    and purposeful neglect

    while the dark beast
    slouches off with eden
    marrow dripping from a smile

    • • •

    The Strike

    •

    warm
    familiar
    comfortable in my palm
    my fingers wrap natural cork
    index raised
    gauging line tension

    precision brings the willow’d shaft
    high above my shoulder
    rod flexing expectantly

    a flick of my wrist
    and the line arcs forward
    increasing the pressure
    on my fingertip
    as it rolls ahead
    accelerating

    then
    a careful pluck
    like a string
    on a guitar

    it is released

    the golden lure
    at line’s end
    sails silent
    into the squinting summer sun

    with a subtle plick
    the barbed hunter disappears
    slipping ‘neath the sparkle
    of the undulating steam

    seductively
    with quickening pulse
    eagerly visualizing
    I retrieve the bait
    anticipating the strike

    patience draws the lure
    dancing ever nearer

    I long for the sharp
    powerful tug

    for the slender thread
    unreeled before me
    to rise
    and dart away
    in a sliver of silver spray

    for my heart to jump
    as a proud trout
    breaks water
    victim to my seduction

    in this moment
    mind focused
    breath steady
    senses heightened
    awaiting sudden contact

    I reflect

    there is a simple truth in fishing
    in life

    the thrill of possibility
    can be as rich
    as the reward

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010


    Flash Dance

    …response to prompt #21 from Magpie Tales




    Flash Dance

    (version 1)

    •

    like a tiny universe
    of noisy
    newborn stars

    exploding
    with sizzle
    and fire
    in a plethora
    of vivid color

    a flash dance
    of vibrant sparks
    showering our dewy
    midnight lawn

    this cacophony
    of celebration
    and pyrotechnical
    wonders

    passes in
    then out of existence
    in but a moment
    this magical night

    _____________

    (version 2)

    •

    a tiny universe
    of noisy
    newborn stars

    explodes
    with sizzle and fire
    a spectacle bizarre

    a flash dance
    of dazzling sparks
    shower the heavens
    in wondrous light

    this cacophony
    of celebration
    and pyrotechnical
    delight

    passes in
    then out of existence
    in but a thrilling moment
    this magical night

    _____________

    (version 3)

    •

    a tiny universe
    of newborn stars
    explodes above us
    bold and bright

    they swoosh and sizzle
    spin and tumble
    in mesmerizing
    fiery flight

    a flash dance
    of dazzling sparks
    shower the heavens
    in wondrous light

    this cacophony
    of celebration
    this pyrotechnical
    delight

    passes in
    then out of existence
    in but a moment
    this magical night

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    _____________

    • photo of aerial fireworks by: Astro Spectacular