PATRIOT Poetry with a streak of random thoughts. 8.17.17


PATRIOT

So proud you stand, you patriot
So proud above the cast iron statute
Of Robert E Lee astride his horse
You think you are creating Camelot
And you shouted with glee
As the statute fell down past the aged tree
That had shaded it, protected it, been there
In snow and storm until you arrived, you patriot
And you stomped on his face, you patriot
You stomped on his face like some superior
You stomped on his face and shouted with raised arms
For you are a patriot and set about to free us from our history
Set about to destroy our history and our freedoms because
You are a patriot.
No, you are a coward.
You are scum.

 

Copyright © 2017 Gordon Kuhn All rights reserved.

May This Dream Never Happen (Dream #2)


Another great poetic story line.

semipoetry

I had this dream on August 3, 2017 and I just couldn’t start writing it because it still scares me. I probably had other dreams that night but this was the only dream i remember.

I arrived on a seminar and there were already other people occupying the seats. I knew no one, and I sat on an unoccupied seat near the aisle. As I sat, some people were talking, some where simply waiting for the seminar to start. After a while i saw someone lying on the floor, she was wearing a green and polo shirt. I am not sure if others saw her yet, but later on i saw people coming to assist her. She looked unconscious, and i thought they would put her on a stretcher but then they took her arm, and had her stand up. She was unconscious, people were just pushing her to keep…

View original post 226 more words

Puppy in the River and Random thoughts on 8.15.2017


PUPPY IN THE RIVER

I believe I was ten years old and out riding on my bike on a warm summer’s day. As was my custom, I stopped at the bridge on Madison Street in Maywood overlooking the muddy, trash filled, and sluggish Des Plaines River. It was one of my favorite spots for daydreaming, but on that day my favorite place turned into a nightmare that still haunts me to this day.

As traffic went past behind me on four lanes of hot asphalt, I would stand and wonder about the first to view the river when it was clean and pure. I thought about the explorers who would trace the river to its beginnings when you could reach and cup your hands and take a drink of such refreshing waters that, by the time I stood there, had become dangerously polluted. It was only a foot deep at the middle, if that. What once had been a proud river had been destroyed by industry and polluters all along the wandering stretch that once had been so pristine.

I hated looking down at the shallow path of water that flowed 30 feet below me filled with junk and stink. But it was natural to peer over the concrete rail and down to the slop and slime and, on that day, as I peered over the edge there in the water was the body of a puppy floating upside down, its stomach bloated, white fur with streaks of green, its head was held by a rope tied to a brick.

The Puppy in the River

Subliminal thoughts of deep despair,
Beneath the Des Plaines surface there;
Shallow waters ran cold and dark,
Did silence the puppy’s plaintive bark.
A toss, a throw, from bridge above
to water flowing not far below;
A brick about the neck,
a final gift they did bestow.
And I, a child, beheld the horrid sight,
Before the dawn had turned to night,
Before the darkness settled in,
Leaving memories to haunt from deep within.
Curse me, bless me, dear god please defend me!
Take this memory from my sight,
remove the evil that I see.
A puppy in a river drowned—
And I, with it, am forever bound.

Copyright Gordon Kuhn, All rights reserved. 9/18/2013

It Was Never Easy for Me (Poem #11)


Think this is an excellent piece of writing.

semipoetry

Was it easy

telling me you love me

and at the same time

wanting to be free?

Was it easy

forcing yourself to forget her

just to shut me up?

Was it easy

taking down your pride

to remain by my side

and then later on wonder

what the fight would be like

if you had it with her?

And if you ask me

if it has ever been easy

to hold your hand

and to figure out

how i should feel

now that i am aware

that when you’re with me

you’d rather be with her,

then my answer would be my silence

followed by what you’ve always wanted

my absence

_____

I post new poems every Friday. Thank you for reading ❤
Check the list of poemshere.

View original post

truth slain and random thoughts over ice cream 8.14.17


Truth Slain on a TV Stand

The morning bell was met head-on
And each child followed the trail as winter won
To where truth then was set upon and promptly slain
For sadly truth had gathered thinking it safe
As if fearing safety it mattered simply not
The rot that had grown up in Webster’s lot
While all about the dreamer’s world came that
A web of cotton thread all wound about
That hid the learned from the learning there
With great gashes to the bone through grisly hair
I watched as torment swept up the path
To claim that which was left of the day
Coiled in self-incriminating powered doubt
For none was there with whom to share
And none was there to take the classic dare
But, instead, the gentle waves of sympathy rose
To climb aboard the train of memories
Before the closing bell had rung and
Students filled with nonsense about the world around
Ran home to watch Kukla, Fran, and Ollie
On the small black and white TV screen
That had come to land in a place of pride
An altar of electronic marvel to stun the world
The twisting movement about of rabbit ears
The frantic swirling the antenna about
In hopes to get the camera shot
Before the ending of the show
In search of the spot, the spot, the spot to find
To make the frazzled snow look more real
Where Lucy, Desi, Ethel and Fred would be
Along with an accordion player had earlier graced the day
Making life appear as easy without pain or torment
They lied, the lied, they spun and twisted the thin posts
And they lied, they lied, while we ate cold beans in a pouring rain
While children we ate Tomato Soup with thick buttered white bread
Prophesied to help us in at least 8 ways
Enriched (we found was putting back that removed) for us
Only to be told so many years later that
White bread will kill you as it brings on the fat
And that Lucy and Dezi, Ethel and Fred
Didn’t get along, but we never knew and so
We twisted those damn antennas round and round
Until we found the spot, the spot, the damned spot
And certain ghost like creatures appeared in scattered form
Focused on the glass screen as if the world was somehow going right
While war was off in a foreign land
And so we searched for the spot, the spot, the spot. 8.13.2017

a simple poem and random remarks 2033/08/11/17


I Am On Fire

Gordon Kuhn Copyright 8.11.2017

Within the skull born of female pain
He lashed out at the days but could not steal the stain
That in treasured measure laid its curling tone
Upon the printer’s inked plate during winter’s dying moan
He never thought the deeds quite through each day
While death visited his youth upon its way
Ripping out the contour of his life
Leaving behind the refuse of his strife.
His guilt real or imagined lay deep about his feet
No peace shall he ever through conscience release ever greet
While in the lonely closing of his days
Boxed in, surrounded by a killing maze.

A Sunday Night Poem: Passages along with random thoughts about nothing important 2248/080617


The Peppermint Lounge, Montego Bay, 1962
By Gordon Kuhn copyright 08.06.2017
all rights reserved.

There once was a whore house in Montego Bay
Where $2 bought a pitcher of beer and 5 got you a lay
There bronze skinned ladies with loose dresses would sway
with the music until the break of day
Never letting the customers stray too far away
Ah, the booze was cheap and the ladies kept their smiles
And we never once shared our private trials
But laughed and danced and drank the night away
Until dawns’ light broke the fragile spell
When we went back to the ships with memories to tell
Our youthful hunger for rowdy times and cheap romance sated
To the ships where our rifles and ammo near our packs silently waited.

Clouds in your Eyes & Random Thoughts 0821/8.5.17


Clouds in Your Eyes

by Gordon Kuhn Copyright 8.5.17 all rights reserved

I see clouds in your eyes, clouds in your eyes
Clouds where none should ever be
Like murky cream in your cold cup of coffee there
I see clouds in your eyes, clouds in your eyes
Clouds that should never be there
And I think there is even a tear, a small tear hiding there
There where none should also never be.

It was just a chance thing meeting up with you
Years back at a truck stop late one rainy night
No reason for that to ever happen, never
Unplanned event and unplanned conversation
Unless fate was there with me and you
For truly you showed up out of the blue
And sat and told me lies while you drank coffee with me
Just like we used to do, like we used to do
And sat and told me lies while we drank cold coffee together
Just like we used to do when we smiled at each other
And nowhere did I think I’d ever again see that smile
That smile that was also so quick and free.

But I see clouds in your eyes, clouds there in your eyes
The same as when a friend once set you free
But that was a long time back to then
When life had set us all in a tragic spin
And you fell from a relationship that brought tears to your eyes
And I hoped that none would ever again be there for anyone to see

I know you are with another
A friend who was once like a brother
But no where in the world did I ever expect
to have our friendship end in pure neglect

But I see the clouds in your eyes
Where none should ever be
I see clouds in your eyes
And I think I see a tear
Where none should also never be
In a truck stop so very long ago

And I would have stood and hugged you long and hard
But the distance between us more that I could reach past
And so I just let it be with a handshake and a “I gotta go.”
So I will go and let the past be the past and hope the feeling inside will last
But there were clouds in your eyes, clouds in you eyes
And a very tiny tear.

No Reason


Very interesting poem. Lots to thin about.

Gnarly Shanti

I write for no reason, a reason to write

Though writing is reason, not reason is right

Is writing to reason so brilliantly bright

If it’s ordered to please them?

A brightness of slight…

Lyrically twisting a meaning of mine

Is meaning resisting a twisting in time

To find a new line in this instance of time

Is twisted and misted for you to call mine.

To struggle for something to say is a silly succession of thoughts and that comes from the brain.

To be smart is not art and that comes from the heart:

This brightness is more like a game of empirical play with the literal frame that’s mundane and so horribly tame when not played in a way –

Satirical, lyrical, verging on fictional

Turning things on to their heads without visual stimulus, mirror us, words are the play

Reflection won’t mention what you had to…

View original post 18 more words