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

 

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

     

    35C6DAEF-40AA-452C-885C-C373E1DE84F6
    Hi! I’m Edgrrr, rob’s shih tzu.

  • 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

    The Mourning

    The Mourning

    •

    the hollow wallow
    aglow in the spotlight’s heat
    to boast odes of praise for him
    in death
    who had few words of warmth for him
    in life

    while those who love him
    pay true tribute
    with searing tears
    of silent grief

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011


    Sooth

    Sooth

    •

    seek not the pompous
    swelled with false confidence
    dispensing the formulas of bliss
    condemning you as the un-visioned
    while fleecing you of your hard begotten

    follow not the kings and queens of mammon
    who worship the bottom line
    desiring the upper hand
    who would despoil the world and all it offers
    as their playground of gratification

    suffer not the priests and priestesses
    who would say that only they have heard
    and in so saying would dictate your thoughts
    and direct your deeds
    to conform to this truth of the god in their pocket

    do not be cowered by the iron hand
    of the bullet-brained who march in step
    to crush under boot the will of any who will not queue
    into the line that they have deemed
    leads to the only way that life must be

    do not be swayed by those who know
    possessed of absolutely no uncertainty
    knowing sure that what they know is what is
    and in their infallible knowledge
    know that what they know is was and will ever be

    instead — gather with those who do not know
    find the curious and the uncertain
    those still filled with wonder
    drawn to unfolding discovery
    who embrace the constancy of learning, change, and growth

    it is they who will traverse this evolving world
    fashioned as a fair and better place

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011


    Mother-less

    This piece is offered in response to prompt Mag 31 at Magpie Tales



    Mother-less

    (bastard’s lament)

    •

    undesired
    discarded
    thrown away

    though whole
    sound
    and useful

    no matter

    labeled mistake
    misbegotten
    unfortunate

    shown the back

    outside
    looking in

    left behind

    alone
    by the side
    of life’s road
    to endure
    the harsh weather
    of abandonment

    tried
    convicted
    sentenced for life
    to suffer confusion
    shame
    the sorrow
    of the unwanted

    condemned

    guilty only
    of the crime
    of inconvenience

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    You & Me

    I offer this piece in response to prompt #69 at Carry On Tuesday,
    and prompt #18 at We Write Poems,
    also the September 6th prompt at Big Tent Poetry,
    and the September 8th prompt at Three Word Wednesday

    You &Me

    (a poetic quadratych)

    •

    The Secret

    what I said was
    don’t touch
    go away
    leave me be

    while inside
    I cried out
    draw near
    stay with me

    you are light
    you are pure
    you are joy
    you are free

    I am not
    I am dark
    I am beast
    can’t you see

    without you
    there is much
    you don’t know
    about me

    The Revelation

    I lived at the light’s edge
    that pooled in the night
    on the bleak back streets
    of the sad brokenhearted

    I hid in the anguish
    of the loveless who cowered
    in the dark nightmare alleys
    of the lost and forgotten

    I fed on the grief
    of the mourners who wailed
    for their horrific loss
    in the ruins of death

    this was my heartscape
    black as mid-winter night
    a lightless horizon
    no glimmer of hope

    trusting was toxic
    no foothold for love
    relations were carnage
    scattered lifeless and cold

    The Change

    ’til a beautiful being
    eyes brilliant and true
    approached from afar
    bearing tinder of love

    the graceful arrangement
    was deftly ignited
    and patiently tended
    the fire gently stoked

    afraid to come forward
    I held outside the glow
    but your kindness drew me
    we stood by the blaze

    with passion it roared
    its light pierced my blackness
    its heat thawed my soul
    my cold heart was warmed

    The Miracle

    you wrapped yourself ‘round me
    gazed into my eyes
    your kiss soft and serene
    was the essence of healing

    with you in my life
    I am darkness removed
    soaring and weightless
    radiant and rising

    vital and caring
    my spirit’s renewed
    illuminated wholly
    by a new dawn of dreams

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    • photo above is of the GOASTT, digitally enhanced 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


    Questions

    …I wrote this in response to the June 28th prompt at Big Tent Poetry
    and for prompt #59 at Carry On Tuesday


     

    Questions

    •

    he lifts himself quietly
    from beneath the sheets
    soiled with neglect

    makes his way carefully
    past the shallow-breathed crumple
    that lay milky-eyed in a heap
    un-moving on the floor
    save a twitch of the sodden head

    this wreckage is his mother

    why do you just lie there mother
    my head is full of demons son

    the response only imagined
    she remains slack and death-like
    where nocturne angels of sweet release
    had laid down lush upon her
    in fevered embrace
    lustfully conjured
    by last night’s spoon and lance
    still skewered silver in the soured vein

    mother — why do you want to die
    the return is only silence

    he lingers but a moment
    verifying life
    then moves on
    head down

    he angles to the bathroom
    to the scum-brown bowl
    to wash his face
    a face lit sallow by the yellowed bulb
    that hangs bare and lonely

    eyes of knowing
    eyes of sadness
    stare into the mirror
    broken as his heart
    then close

    your eyes hold a story my son
    will you tell me your story

    yes mother
    if you really want to hear about it
    if you really could

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010


    Extinction’s Shadow

    …these are rewrites of prior drafts, edited fresh for the June 21st prompt at Big Tent Poetry
    and strongly influenced by prompt #7 at We Write Poems


    Extinction’s Shadow

    •

    smothered by big oil
    our blue planet is dying
    greed’s shadow falls hard

    •

    future is mortgaged
    to petrochemical lust
    fatal addiction

    •

    mankind is drowning
    in a flood of fossil fuel
    black tide of folly

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    • 3D color rendering at top entitled: “Too Long in the Shadow”
    by: rob kistner © 2008

    That Hollywood Sparkle

    …I wrote this in response to the June 14th prompt at Big Tent Poetry


     

    That Hollywood Sparkle

    •

    it’s not so much we resent the hungry
    no more than do we despise the poor
    rather we avoid and dismiss them
    with the dull cough of apathy
    we find them disturbing and dangerous
    they disquiet our comfort

    we do not flow with the milk of kindness
    our part is more the dark brandy of denial
    we do however praise our stars
    for their sensitivity toward the downtrodden
    it makes the less fortunate more glamorous
    and we like the hollywood sparkle it imparts to tragedy

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010


    Maneater

    • In response to prompt #6 of the newly opened We Write Poems, I find arrogant, manipulative divas to be difficult to tolerate, or to understand…



    Maneater

    •

    auburn mane with sable streaks
    frosted ermine — lush with pride
    a bounce and whip, and tiply snap
    with each stiletto’d wanton stride

    taught hips roll on slender stems
    that part in ripples then enmesh
    a brushing sigh of stirring heat
    toned thighs gliding flesh on flesh

    a stare of comely crystal blue
    floats above a ruby pout
    that takes you in devouring
    has its way, then casts you out

    tongue tip teases top lip’s edge
    like supple paintbrush flowing
    a smile to burn and hypnotize
    that wraps around you knowing

    luscious wench — worldly wise
    sleek as steel — tall and strong
    swift and cunning, motor running
    she might acquiesce, but not for long

    poor fool who tastes this lusciousness
    is hopelessly addicted
    there’s only one word for this life-force
    that word, my friend, is — wicked!

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    NaPoWriMo #27

    This is my twenty-seventh post for National Poetry Month 2010
    • one acrostic
    • one tanka


    ____________________________________

    • inspired by Carolee Sherwood ‘s day 27 prompt at read write poem to write an acrostic

    ____________________________________


     

    Evolution

    •

    Even in chaos nature finds balance.

    Violent floods beget fertile fields.

    One thing ends, another begins.

    Life is a cycle of birth and death.

    Untamed wildfire creates forest ash.

    The ashen remains nurture growth again.

    In the caterpillar lives the butterfly.

    One thing ends, another begins.

    Now and forever, the mandella spins.

    • • •

     

    ____________________________________


     

    Stone Fox First

    •

    garage sound check great

    groupies at the ludlow door

    allmans soon to start

    damned duane is still m-i-a

    we stone fox boys are ready

    • • •


    • acrostic and tanka by: rob kistner © 2010

    ____________________________________

    …check out who’s gettin’ acrostic at readwritepoem

    NaPoWriMo #18 – Human Arrogance

    This is my eighteenth post for National Poetry Month 2010
    • one free verse poem
    • one tanka


    ____________________________________

    • inspired by Irene’s day 18 read write poem prompt / and #49 at carry on tuesday

    ____________________________________


    …a thing of beauty is a joy forever, a captive wild soul — is a tragedy


     

    Pacing

    •

    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

    • • •

     

    ____________________________________


     

    Out Of Step

    •

    nature is a dance

    transcendent syncopation

    rhythmic side by side

    but the chorus line falters

    humankind is out of step

    • • •



    • poem and tanka by: rob kistner © 2010

    …collage just above entitled “Nature’s Anger” by: rob kistner © 2006
    …panther image digitally rendered & edited by: rob kistner 2010 — base image source anonymous…

    ____________________________________

    …check out what’s prowling over at readwritepoem

    NaPoWriMo #9 – part two: That Moon

    This is part 2 of my ninth post for National Poetry Month 2010



    ____________________________________

    …this is a very sobering piece written precisely to Robert Peake’s prompt at read write poem,
    and influenced by prompt #9 at Magpie Tales…

    ____________________________________




     

    That Moon

    •

    that moon
    that child
    hold eternity’s promise in share

    colorful pails on the ocean’s beach
    festooned in starfish and octopus

    campfire’s ‘neath a canopy of forever stars
    jelly and jam on crustless bread

    lipstick smeared on a giddy grin
    the world of pretend

    the strum of imagination
    that brings song to the young heart
    the thrill of dance to a child’s feet
    like god’s marionette
    that drives away the limp of sorrow

    but now
    summer’s nocturne
    has robbed the colors of the day

    families gather to reminisce of
    the reds oranges blues
    the violets and periwinkles
    so as not to forget

    in hopes that the joy will return
    to massage the rigid cold to warmth again
    the sun to re-torch the heavens

    the children first see the gray descend
    the gapes and gaps
    the lever of lies
    that loose the flaps that confine the fear

    they feel the slippage
    the hole in the universe
    the backward motion
    as all things gentle are sucked in

    gray has overcome the landscape
    gray is in the houses
    and the homes
    gray is at the dining table
    black awaits in the chamber
    when no one sober roams these rooms
    and no one safe
    is that child

    when wrong things burn
    bitter as paregoric
    the way jugged whiskey
    johnny walker
    burns the throat
    burns that skin
    like bare knee on rough rug
    like pumice on raw flesh
    and winter chills the heart

    when laughter bows out
    and lies bow in
    like the poison in a lizard’s wattle
    with denial of the promise
    of violet and periwinkle
    oranges blues reds

    but now
    gray

    and black waiting at the fringe
    with the talon’s piercing sting
    and the startled bruise
    that begins the tome
    of that child’s life
    disappearing like smoke up a chimney

    that child’s smile stowed away
    in keeping for the time of that moon
    and that promise
    when the periwinkle will return

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    (inspired by a Michael Kenyon poem, “Feast”)

    • photorendering entitled “The Edge” – by: rob kistner © 2010

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    …for more NaPoWriMo 2010 day nine poems, go to readwritepoem