And so, alone in the glen, but unaware of the world beyond where he sat, he searched through the rags hoping to find another such as he hiding there in the maze of color and thread. But he found little that appeared to be quite like him. No, you see none such as he could he find in the pile of cloth he had discovered himself to have been born from, if born you could say as there was no one there other than the Ragdoll Man.
No. Nothing else, no mother or father appeared to be. No sister or brother. Although he would not have recognized such as that for, he was not educated in such, you see. And, so the Ragdoll Man stopped searching through the pile and, not knowing what to do, sat quite still for there was nothing to do but just to sit quite still and so that is what he did — he sat very, very still.
And then, as wonders could ever take place, amid his sitting quietly a miracle occurred. Well, I suppose you could say it was a miracle and, maybe it was, if you understand that miracles are such and this certainly seemed to be such — that is — a miracle
Standoff is a book of poetry and short stories. I will be placing posts here as I go. It is published and available at Amazon. You can also buy it directly from me by visiting one of my websites. Questions? I’ll be happy to answer them. Oh, if you buy it from me it is autographed by me to you personally. What a fantastic deal. No extra charge.
A book of poetry, short stories, and insanity.
By Gordon Kuhn
With one exception, this
is a work of fiction. The characters and events described herein are imaginary
and are not intended to refer to specific places or to living persons alive or
No part of this publication can be reproduced,
distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including
photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical method without the
prior written permission of the publisher except for brief quotations embodied
in critical reviews.
Copyright 2018 Gordon Kuhn, All Rights Reserved
Published in the United States by Poet in the Rain
Cover: Photographer Mr. Derek Stillwagon: A
Mother and Her Son by permission Allison Hart
Dedication Photo of Chuck Van Durme by
Illustration on Page 2 of Mother and Child
from Istock Photo
Helicopter in Flight on Page 51: Charles Van
Van Durme in D.C. Page 56: Ms. Brandy Van Durme
OTHER BOOKS BY THE AUTHOR
Predator Book One “Do You Know How to Fly?”
The Pelman Murders
The Widow’s Cliff and Other Poems
Rabbit in a Box
Dedicated to a personal friend who passed
away June 15, 2015. In this book is his story of a night when his helicopter
was shot down.
“Chuck” Van Durme
Oct 20, 1950 to June 15, 2015
Two tours in Vietnam. He was awarded the
Bronze Star, the Army Commendation Medal with a V, 16 Air Medals, and a Purple
Too soon the story of his life was taken from
us. But we are left with memories of a man that we called a friend.
There once was a man who saved rag dolls, he saved them as he felt their lives were doomed, and yet, the reality was that he himself was a rag doll. As time went on the neighbors began to call him The Ragdoll Man.
He had been born alone in a magical glen frequented by gypsies and elves and other such magical folk. His mother and father had been a pile of variously colored rags left by accident alongside a deeply rutted wagon trail that cut a path across the glen. As he sat there, alone, he looked about himself and at the remaining rags not part of his being and wondered at it all. He had no knowledge of who or what he was or how he had come to be. He had no knowledge of gypsies, or elves, or any of the creatures who lived in the surrounding woods or who flew in the sky. He had no idea of what it was to be alone. He simply was.
Tomorrow Jan, Tread, and I drive to the U of F in Gainesville to the Internal Medicine Department to get a reevaluation of the fungus problem in Tread’s hip and tail bones. 3 hours up and 3 hours back plus the time there. Long day.
Yesterday we drove down to Port Charlotte. I lived there in the 1960s when it was a sleepy community. Today it is overgrown and very commercial. I really dislike it. But we were there to visit a friend of Jan’s who owns a store there. Jody has had a great business there but has decided after many years there is more to life than running a specialty antique, unique furniture, jewelry store to enjoy her life and so the store will be closed in another week.
We then travelled back through a pounding rain (stayed off of I-75 as when had driven South to Port Charlotte we had seen two wrecks where drivers had left the road and gone into the woods) and so went US 41 into Venice and had dinner there. I phoned a friend, Dick Harrison hopping to meet but weren’t able to do that as we had a time constraint and had to get home. Dick will probably make comment here. I have to say that if you go to Amazon and look him up in the book sales section (put in his name in the search bar in Amazon) you will find some of the most wonderful writing. He is a great writer and I am very proud to have him as a friend and mentor.
So, after a great dinner at Abbys in Miami, we headed home (this time on I-75 as the rain had stopped) and saw where other cars had gone off the road and into the woods.
At Abbys we met the owner and discussed his problems with fake service dogs. He told us that Tread was welcome anytime. He hates the fakes that come in there and has had to tell people to leave. Sad. That hurts it for us with real service dogs to have people take untrained dogs into a business like that and they don’t go under the tables, get in the way of waiters and waitresses, sniff people, and more. Anyway, tomorrow Gainesville.