Monthly Archives: December 2011

A Toad, a Penguin, and Me.


A Toad, a Penguin, and Me.

Copyright 2011 Gordon Kuhn

Poet in the Rain Productions

12/27/2011 Gordon Kuhn

Yesterday I was jus’ sittin’ by the forever road,

Jus’ me and a lonely, forelorn, raggedy ol’ toad,

Who’d stopped and tol’ me he had a powerful big load

A problems he’d done for years been stowed;

And wondered if he could jus’ rest and unload a few

While we set and looked upon a pleasant view

Of waving wheat beneath an egg shell blue.

“Of course,” I said, “no need to fuss and stew.”

When, jus’ then, a penguin chose to pass our way

And asked if he could come and sit a stay.

The toad and I could simply not refuse

For to do so would be to abuse

The poor wobbling critter’s passin’ by.

So, he joined our quiet discussion as each did try

To recollect what it was that brung us there

While we on a pleasant view did simply set and stare

At waving wheat beneath a blue so soft and fair.

Alright! Survived another one.


I feel like Snoopy of Peanuts! I want to run around with happy feet, ears flapping in the wind, nose up, eyes closed, and a big smile of relief on my face. Unfortunately, I cannot do that as I am not a cartoon character. Suffice it to say that I am simply happy another Christmas has come and gone and all I have to do now is survive New Year’s Eve and then New Year’s Day. I can do it. I can do it. Just like the Little Train that said it could get up the hill, I can do it. One more night and a day and I’ll be safe in another year.  Really?

Why do people get all excited about moving from one set of ending numbers (2011 to 2012) when that is all that has happened?

I’m sorry. I suppose I am depressing a whole bunch of people. I can visualize them in  a group standing and pointing and looking my way all thinking, “What is he talking about? What a Scrooge. He should be glowing (glowing???) that we are now in a new year and all the wonders of the new…….”

STOP!

Being in a new year doesn’t mean anything except the date has changed. Simple. Period. We just changed the ending number and are starting to count all over again until we do the same thing in 365 or so days. That’s it. Over. Done. Nothing to get flipping excited about.

God! And the damn fireworks. My neighbors all go out and spend huge amounts of cash on things that go BANG and scare my dogs and everyone else’s dogs and leave my nerves shot.  They send rockets skyward. But what goes up comes down and land on roofs, cars, screened porches (where the burn holes in the screening) and in the flowers. Wow. I am so impressed with the outpouring of exuberant elation that I wake from my sleep at midnight and step into the new year with a yawn and a prayer that a downpour will suddenly take place as I’d rather be asleep with lightening and thunder as the annoying night passes (which, knowing my neighbors, is only the start of two weeks of celebrations) than M-80s going off down by the corner.

Oh well, thank God the angels created bourbon.

Just Stuff


It is five AM and I’m awake. Been that way since three AM. What am I doing? Thinking. Thinking about “stuff”. I guess that is the best way to say it. Sitting here thinking about stuff. What kind of stuff you might ask? Just stuff.

I’m thinking about wondering what the dog is thinking while laying here asleep with her eyes twitching beneath the lids and her feet swishing as though she were running. I am thinking about the people I know who are lonely, afraid, lost, and those who aren’t. I’m thinking about past experiences in life and wishing I could go back and undo “stuff” or relive it again.

I’m thinking about my poetry and wondering if it is any good or is it just my own stupid ego thinking I’m good at writing. I doubt myself constantly. It is never good enough. I’m never satisfied. It is like cooking an expensive steak and then finding you’ve burned the damn thing. My novel is being reviewed by friends. Edited by them. Is it any good?

What am I doing sitting here at five AM? Damn if I know. Maybe I’ll write a poem. A poem about what? Oh, I could write a lot of poems and I could shock a lot of people. But, is it worth it? Would the poem matter? Would it be any good, or, is it just my own ego lying to me. That’s what I’m doing here at five AM, thinking about “stuff”.

Merry….uh….happy…..uh….enjoy…..uh…holiday?….someday?….anti-day?…..anti-happy day????


Holy cow flop!. Okay, so I pissed someone off yesterday because I said “Merry Christmas.” They glared at me and said, “We don’t believe.” I said, “Sorry. How about happy holiday?’
“We don’t believe in holidays.”
“Oh, Have a nice day?” I said.
“Are you making fun of us?”
“No, just wanted to wish you a merry Christmas.”
“We don’t believe in Christ.”
“Oh about happy friggin what ever day then.”
“We don’t celebrate.”
“Good for you. Kindly walk out into traffic and get run over then so I can celebrate your departure from our planet.”.

WHO THE HELL ARE THESE PEOPLE


It is irritating to go online and seek info and type in something for search and then wind up on some site like “Answers” with a bunch of ads and links that take you to other ads. If I want to search for a product and the product comes up with a names XXXproduct.com then I should go to the company listed not “Answers.com” Then try to get off that page. You can’t. It keeps reloading IT NEEDS TO BE STOPPED.

PAPER KITES FLYING IN THE RAIN


Paper Kites Flying In the Rain

Copyright 2011 Gordon Kuhn

19 December 2011

Poet in the Rain Productions

Like paper kites flying in the rain!

My life in pieces turns and darts and tries to maintain

Height above the hungry, waiting, muddy plain.

Fighting, struggling for altitude against the strain

Of moisture building on the sodden wings;

And gravity, with no relief pulling on a thousand hidden strings.

Each drop of life leaving behind a stain.

No one knows of the cutting silent pain.

Each falling drop leaves behind a mark,

Some light…some dark…some stark.

Some so stark,

Yet those sighted who cannot see.

Will be always free, always free,

To not know the pain, to never know the pain,

Or to ever see the stain, the mark left by the rain, the falling rain

My life is made up of paper kites

Shredded, sodden kites

Struggling against the constant pain

Just paper kites flying in the rain!

I’M CONFUSED.


I’m confused! Several days ago I wrote a note about the fact that I don’t like the holidays. There were 48 views of that comment. I have posted other comments and only had five people review what I wrote. So, I’m confused. What was the interest in the post made concerning the holidays versus the other posts which did not receive the same number of readers. I don’t know.

I find it interesting that not one person actually asked me why I dislike the holidays. Instead the comments made took on a life of their own.

 

Officer, it was only a small ecphonema….sir…oh….sorry….madam.


There are times when some ecphonema exclamations such as “Holy shit, after ten times around the airport I finally found a parking spot in front of arrivals, stupid airport police!” may not be a good idea…particularly if dealing with tired airport police who think you are dissing them because they have waved you through PAST open parking spaces TEN times. “But, sir, this is a limousine service,” I tried to explain, and “I’m new to the area (I lied) Plus, I don’t speak English.”.

Absolutely no sense of humor on the outside of the car. “When I tell you to go around I mean for you to go around.”

Reply, “Has anyone said how wonderful you are doing your job today officer?”

“Are you dissing me?”

“Absolutely not. I was just having an ecphonema moment back then when I said, you know, the holy s word and I would hope you would understand that….”

“Swearing at me?”

“No sir, I was just looking in my dictionary and came across this new word: ecphonema. It means a exclamation caused by something sudden like … joy! I was joyful because I found a parking spot.”

“Well, I’m ecphonema because I’m going to remember you.”

“No, sir, you don’t understand. An ecphonema is simply an exclamation which is brought about by a sudden emotion like, say, joy or horror.”

“I see, so if I give you a ticket for being difficult would that cause you to be ecphonema?”

“Well, no sir, but it would make me very sad as I have twelve children who are all illegal aliens that I am supporting with my foreign born wife who doesn’t have a green card.”

“You can’t park here.”

“But, isn’t this arrivals?”

“Yes. But YOU can’t park here.”

“Oh. Well, in that case I’ll just hold my ecphonema in check until I circle a few more times.”

“Good idea.”