Tag: collage
Reaper Groom
A MURDER MYSTERY
I’ve always been fascinated by who-done-it’s and classic horror stories, so I was inspired to write this piece with a ‘retro’ gothic feel.
Lyle, the socially awkward, seemingly milquetoast villain of this tale has a ‘killer’ obsession. A shy, mild-mannered church organist; he is ‘changed’ into a murdering menace — by loneliness and rejection.
BE WARNED: This poem, and the collage I created to accompany it, are both a bit graphic — in a noir-tongue-in-cheek sort of way.
I invite you to enjoy, “Reaper Groom”.
collage above entitled: “Thief of Hearts” — by: rob kistner © 2008
___________
Reaper Groom
~
a figure scurried ‘cross the yard
between the gravestones he did dash
head down low, and running hard
dressed in cape of velvet black
he seemed to vanish from our sight
but then we saw him double back
he would not escape tonight
elusive as a demon’s shadow
ghost-like — he could disappear
but no more, this scourge of sorrow
finally, we were drawing near
surround and capture, was the plan
the hounds had tracked him to this place
this had to be our wanted man
though none had seen his evil face
we were sworn to bring him down
bloodthirsty was this man — and cruel
he’d caused such horror in our town
if he escaped, we’d look the fool
the target of our townsfolk’s hate
he must be caught this beast of doom
he’d killed so many brides to date
we knew him as the “Reaper Groom”
he took the lives of countless bride
murdered them by dark of night
once betrothed they couldn’t hide
death was sure to be their plight
marriage took an awful blow
as one by one our maidens fled
our bachelors’ ire began to grow
there were no wives to share their bed
this had to stop — no maids for men
it wasn’t natural, wasn’t right
this curse would never be again
it would end, right here, tonight
we had him cornered in our net
he’d not escape our clutch this time
he owed this town an awful debt
he’d pay quite dearly for his crime
we closed in slowly, with great care
we’d make sure he couldn’t run
we deftly caught him in our snare
and gathered round him, every one
we took him roughly in this place
and chained him to a stony block
and brought a torch to light his face
then gasped, and staggered back in shock
this couldn’t be, not this poor fool
this shy man of timid smile
we sought a monstrous evil ghoul
this was bashful lonely Lyle
Lyle played organ every Sunday
and lead the hymns, as we would sing
our fiend escaped, we’d get him one day
and when we did, for sure he’d swing
it wasn’t Lyle, it was another
Lyle was not the type, you see
Lyle lived with his aging mother
so we’d set lonely Lyle free
but Lyle spoke up in quiet voice
don’t turn me lose, please, I forbid it
you see you really have no choice
cause I’m your man, that’s right, I did it
I killed these maidens everyone
I’ve charged this town a heavy toll
but my spree is over, I won’t run
this weigh’s too heavy on my soul
sentenced to hanging at his trial
Lyle was shortly going to die
looking sadly stern at Lyle
the judge inquired of him why
had he slain all this beauty
made so many families cry
he felt an answer was his duty
so this was Lyle’s cold reply
for many years I’d been denied
until my soul was heavy laden
god knows how often I had tried
to win the love of a fair young maiden
I was so consumed with bitter grief
that, though I’ve caused much pain and strife
this was my only true relief
to take from them their tender life
as mama’s words rang in my head
I’d cut out their precious part
there’s more than one way, mama said
to steal a lovely lady’s heart
~ ~ ~
rob kistner © 2008
Seasons
~
Spring
(haiku)
~
wings flutter gently
spring breeze bends full flowered stems
meadow dance begins
~ ~ ~
Summer
(haiku)
~
green leaf on blue pond
turns in golden summer sun
red bird softly sings
~ ~ ~
Fall
(haiku)
~
stalks lie down in fields
arbors burst with ripened grape
fall is on the land
~ ~ ~
Winter
(haiku)
~
coarse lands cloaked in white
lakes bejeweled in crystal
winter’s dressing hand
~ ~ ~
rob kistner © 2007
_____________________
The Sync
•
connection
to make contact
searching for the sync
the heart of the matter
in this solitary journey
from womb to tomb
a stranger
on the bus of days
seeking distraction
chatting them up
to suppress
the voice of isolation
immersed in the small talk
of love
and accomplishment
to drown
the incessant murmur
of alienation
the chant of abandonment
ever there to remind
that we board alone
to make our way
toward an enigmatic destination
clinging
to a vague vision
of home
to disembark
as we began
• • •
rob kistner © 2011
• collage entitled “The Sync” – by: rob kistner © 2011
__________________
• linked at Carry On Tuesday and Magpie Tales
Machine Mind
the August 9th prompt at Big Tent Poetry,
the August 11th prompt at Three Word Wednesday,
and prompt #65 at Carry On Tuesday.
they didn’t stop to think if they should…”
Dr. Ian Malcolm
•
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
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
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…
•
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
Anger – 3 Contemplations
• the first poem is a free verse conceptual perspective on the essence of anger
• the second is a poem I would like to share, which touches the primal anger I felt at the time of the tragic death of my 18-year-old son, Aaron — written shortly after the horrible event
• the third is the pantoum which was directly suggested by this prompt — it is based on a poem I wrote while in the early stages of my grief, also regarding the raw, unfiltered anger I felt, and still feel occasionally, surrounding Aaron’s death
•
love
bruised
crying out
to be understood
so loudly
that it cannot hear
frustrated
that its capacity to feel
is far greater
than its ability to express
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
•
i remember well the day he died
the searing pain
that fueled my rage
setting fire to the skies
primal power
giving life to sorrowed hatred
sustaining me no food or sleep
while i cursed the cruel heavens
in ringing spite that toppled mountains
and leveled to despair
every mocking face of care
reaching out to touch me
saying how they understood
they sure as hell — did not
or they’d have never gotten near me
they’d have given me vast berth
for all i wanted was to strike them
make them scream
make them hurt
i would have given him my life
with little thought have taken yours
for if my son could no longer live
nor would anyone on this earth
• • •
rob kistner © 1995
•
this cannot be the way his story ends
his youth snuffed out by someone’s mindless deed
this cannot be the horror fate intends
if life you want mine now I do concede
his youth snuffed out by someone’s mindless deed
if debt is owed please I will make amends
if life you want mine now I do concede
hell’s threshold now to where I stand extends
if debt is owed please I will make amends
anger grips me like a poison seed
hell’s threshold now to where I stand extends
my soul ablaze my heart begins to bleed
anger grips me like a poison seed
god your cold and heartless name offends
my soul ablaze my heart begins to bleed
a blackness here within me now distends
god your cold and heartless name offends
hatred of you deep inside does breed
a blackness here within me now distends
upon my very essence it does feed
hatred of you deep inside does breed
cruel god is this the horror you intend
upon my very essence it does feed
this cannot be the way his story ends
please tell me this is not the way his story ends
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
In loving memory of my son, Aaron Robert Kistner: 11/4/76 – 7/3/95
Lupus Luna
~
wolf moon hangs heavy
in the damp night sky
I feel its powerful tug
bulbous moist pearl
rolling in a cold chromium fog
forging my steely urges
hardening my unspeakable needs
wet slivers of cloud
smear themselves across its face
irregular
dappling my perverse metamorphosis
translucent sacks of moonbeams
glide the blue black sky
breathing
the hoarse breath of the beast
festers a howl
rumbling deep in my throat
in the heavens
glassine billowing pillows
oozing
soaked with midnight
stars float and spark
glinting
dripping
shivering
as I shudder
in dread of this witching hour
engorged with unearthly power
frozen splintered crystal tips
diamond chips
pinprick rips in blackened space
piercing
white hot
my ungodly eyes
seared with bloodlust
probing
hunting
stars wink and wane
and glisten
shattered bits of silvered light
snapping here then not
behind the ghostly white vapor
that slithers through the firmament
I slink the midnight mists
eternally cursed
driven by a horrible hunger
the world
devoid of color
aglow in sterling grey
a negative of day
thick and chilled
filled with the sound
of stalking
after-dark things
abominations of nocturne
in this sorrowing hour
to lay bare your soul
in periled introspection
in grief of secrets
~ ~ ~
rob kistner © 2010
NaPoWriMo #18 – Human Arrogance
• one free verse poem
• one tanka
____________________________________
•
from rippled sinew black as midnight
bores a stare of molten gold
a furious but calm inferno
searing deep to burn your soul
I watch helpless 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 the limit
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
• • •
•
nature is a dance
transcendent syncopation
rhythmic side by side
but the chorus line falters
humankind is out of step
• • •
…panther image digitally rendered & edited by: rob kistner 2010 — base image source anonymous…
NaPoWriMo #4 – Now / Time To Smile
• one free verse poem
• one haiku
____________________________________
Nelle Lytle put forth a fascinating and challenging prompt at Read Write Prompt for day #4 of NaPoWriMo. We were to look at things inside out. At first I was perplexed. I kicked a number of ideas around and was hitting the wall, when it struck that inside out is a condition of perspective – a point from which things are viewed. You see one from the other.
I started thinking about situations in which I view one from the other, when it hit me – time! I continually view the “other†aspect of time from where I am… looking at the past or future while being in the present. That’s all it took. My muse (and Ram Dass) carried me from there.
I not only wrote a new poem, I created a new collage. Thanks Nelle! 😉
•
the future — the past
tomorrow — yesterday
time’s not hard and fast
moments slip away
fretting what we miss
we ponder destiny
yet today is all there is
ever was — will ever be
days not yet arrived
ones that slipped away
not present in our lives
there only is today
can’t change what’s gone astray
or know what is to come
embrace what is this day
stop running to and from
forget the come and gone
all the who what when and how
don’t get lost looking beyond
learn to truly be here – NOW
• • •
•
turning clocks forward
evenings last longer now
so too will my smile
• • •
poem and haiku by: rob kistner © 2010
The Collector
•
this day as I journey
I come upon a stranger
standing by the road looking sad
heavy box held in his arms
clutched close to his breast
he stares into my eyes expressionless
his gaze stops me still
fixes me in place
his face is tired and drawn
etched in withered worry
when at last I move
I draw close enough to see
this sullen man is me
everyone is born with some special talent
he sighs
I am a collector
of tears shed in moonlight
the pain of love’s betrayal
the grief of empty lives
he concludes
and offers out his hands
that open on the box
he beckons me retrieve
this container he protects
filled with apprehension
I reach and grasp the case
lift it cautiously from his grip
lay it gently at my feet
it opens as I do
slowly
to reveal its strange contents
three lone broken hearts
confused yet riveted
I ponder haunted as I do
then inquire of the meaning
these are yours
I am told
created by your deeds
cruelly left behind
as coldly you moved on
each belonged to one who trusted you
a trust you did betray
without a second thought
love you tossed aside
abandoned carelessly
now the burden of this box
is mine beyond the grave
eyes lowered in fatigue he exhales
it was on a road like this
that it was passed to me
I have carried it too long
I am weary from the load
looking into my eyes he points
now you must bend and lift
and clutch it to your breast
to struggle with its weight
until you pass it on
searching the distance he goes on
someday a stranger will approach
over that horizon
he will stop and stare
transfixed by your presence
you will charge him with this chest
then he will lift and carry
as I do
in this cycle of forever
for he too
will be you
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
_______________________________
Unyeilding
•
my muse is hard to capture
though I do try each day
just goes so fast
I turn around
it’s past me in a blur
leaving little inspiration
each day becomes each night
here I sit in the wee hours
while the sane sleep
steeped in contradiction
thoughts vague
filled with doubt
words tossed about the unyielding page
I start then stop
I write then not
caught mercilessly unclear
in terminal hesitation
in quiet rage
fickle muse – please…
a spark to light this dark
that grips me like a cage
• • •
rob kistner © 2010
_______________________________
Love & War (two poems)
Love & War
The Nightmare
•
my eyes
crisp from the day’s cruel sun
burnt by devastation’s fires
scorched by images of relentless horror
take refuge
in this late-evening fog
settling heavy as a shroud
clinging
opaque
mercifully obscuring
I am sustained
by this damp pall
that descends cool upon me
wraps ‘round my pained countenance
fevered with fatigue
twisted with despair
drawn
by a faded memory of honor
a faint echo of duty
a frayed thread of human dignity
I stumble
broken by this sin I shoulder
not of my making
but of my charge
my sin
unleashed by others
who would impose their delusions
to advance their evil agenda
those who would rule the world
a world now broken
corrupted by their illusions
spoiled by their vanity
a world in chaos
as darkness deepens
this nocturne
I have but this ruin-riddled
highway of blood
of dying dreams
violated innocence
merciless destruction
of horrific death
this path of my duplicity
of my guilt
my shame
and so
I stumble on
bent by the weight of this falling evening
drowned in its drenching sorrow
my spirit hollow and empty
I slink exhausted
into this coming night
and
the next night
and
the night that follows
that always follows
captive on this road of murder
of brutal
human
arrogance
a prisoner
of this lost highway
seeking forgiveness
• • •
The Return
•
distant
slurred
reverberant
like a voice in a canyon
I hear you calling
from the past
my name
rolling sweet as nectar
from your lips
soft as orchid petals
full as a bursting peach
glistening deep coral
as they wrapped softly
‘round each pouted syllable
when you bid me tender farewell
so long ago
our fingertips had strained to grasp
until the final sensation of warmth
of touch
had faded
and they drifted apart
I had struggled
to tear my eyes from your tears
that glistened on your lashes
and around your swollen eyes
blue as a deep summer sky
to slip softly
over the crests of your velvet cheeks
down the contour of your face
flushed as sunset
to lightly salt your quivering lips
numb and dazed
I tunneled down the loading gate
toward the jet
that took me to hell
in those final moments
I locked the image
of your sorrowed face of love
deep in my heart
there it lives as my salvation
my only grasp on sanity
in these horrific years
my lips too
had quivered on that day
from the sting of separation
from the chilling knowledge
I would soon taste
the bitter blood of war
foul with the stench of death
not yet departed
I had longed
on that day
to gaze once more
into your brilliant blue eyes
and taste your sweetness on my lips
as I return this day
trying to face reality at 30,000 feet
I taste the salt of sadness
I fear a kiss from me
with my killer’s mouth
will forever defile
the fragile innocence of your lips
soft as orchid petals
full as a bursting peach
that glistened
and quivered
when last we parted
• • •
rob kistner © 2009
___________________________________
…photorendering entitled “Blood Orchid” by: rob kistner © 2008
The Legend
…this is a bit of retro-melodrama written just for fun…
The Legend
•
of the man who rocked the world
luminescent — larger than life
his bold banner of fame unfurled
with confidence he took each stage
flashed his skills with pride and power
his celebrity rocketed skyward
enormous talent, in his finest hour
a humble tempering childhood
helped him hone his mythic dream
a bright young man with wicked ‘chops’
he could make his guitars scream
his glory spread round the globe
renown and fortune grew unbound
like a rampant roaring wildfire
nothing it seemed would take him down
but terror struck while touring England
unleashing panic, fear & strife
bombs tore through the concert hall
to save his fans — he risk his life
the first blast ripped the back wall
mike in hand, he stood firm and fast
directing the people to safety
they all escaped — now he was last
it was horror in high definition
TV broadcast the heartbreaking sight
a question hung heavy over the chaos
did their hero meet death tonight
the sad truth was the top news story
the brave mega-star had died
all the world was seen to mourn
at candle vigils the people cried
so permit me to share this legend
of this remarkably brave young man
who, possessed of wealth and fame
truly never forgot the fan
• • •
rob kistner © 2008