Monthly Archives: March 2012

Thinking.


I’ve not been up to writing much these past few days. The reason simply is that I’m still processing a friend’s death. I didn’t expect it to bother me as much as it has. The cancer was aggressive and reduced him to probably 100 pounds of skin and bone. I’ve seen  death before. That’s not the problem. The problem is dealing with the frustration of knowing that it was a needless death brought about by the incompetency of the medical professional who was overseeing his medical care at the VA. That plus the rude and callous attitude of the clerk at the regional offices. So tomorrow night there is a viewing followed by a celebration of life followed by food being served at his cousin’s house. It’ll be good to see mutual friends but sad in remembering and missing our friend. So once this is passed I will be back to writing and posting so just please bear with me for the next few days..

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WHAT’S NEW?


Yesterday was filled with running around completing errands. I wanted to write.

Poems were popping up everywhere I went.

Thank God for friends who understand me when I drop into trance like states from low blood sugar sessions and for those who make me laugh (Julieanna, Tony, Cheryl and so many others) and bring light to my sometimes dark thoughts.

I want to thank the 40 who follow me here on the blog and the more than 170 who follow on Twitter. I may not say it in daily passing but I’m glad you are here. So, thanks for taking the time to read what I have to say and welcome to another day.

I’m working on taxes. Yep. Taxes. I let my license as a CPA go several years back but I still do taxes for a few friends and, or course, our own. I may write something later on today but I am trying to stay focused (uh huh) on the damn taxes right now. Yep. Taxes. Gotta do them. Got yours done? I don’t. Gotta do them.

SINISTER


SINISTER

March 19, 2012

Copyright 2012 Gordon Kuhn

Poet in the Rain Productions

What capsule is this which surrounds me now?

What obscurity blurs the present sadly seen?

That life is as though a shadow drawn,

Beyond some clouded window pane,

As viewed down a distant rain-swept lane,

Where all the wishes of a lifetime now lay as pitied refuse

Piled at my feet for not following the path given and shown

I failed to heed the signs as daily errant labor lay

Sublime and seduced my mind to wander and pray not stay

In proper nature, as others were wise to do.

And now the history in ending August chill

While fall comes as blame is cast before me there.

Dying leaves as shadows fall upon the lawn of life.

For failure to see or to understand the gift past given

And as a knife plunged deep within my heart

Sorrows tumble as blood droplets by the score for failure to ignore

The wisps of lightly scented false wishes that led astray

That pulled me from life’s purposeful and plain desire

T’was sinister delusions most grandeur that misled me to this day

And yet, and yet, I would surely wish it no other way.

 

Obamacare Cost Lies


A just released Congressional Budget Office report says President Obama’s “national healthcare law will cost $1.76 trillion over a decade” far surpassing the original $940 billion forecast when first signed into law!

According to Philip Klein of the Washington Examiner, Democrats “cooked the books” on ObamaCare, suppressing the real numbers, and giving the leftist illusion that his statist plan was much cheaper, “meet[ing] Obama’s pledge that the legislation would cost ‘around $900 billion over ten years.’”

Regards,
Gordon Kuhn
KK4CJP
Author of The Widow’s Cliff and Other Poems
http://www.amazon.com/Widows-Cliff-other-Poems-ebook/dp/B004TGUZ10

A REVIEW [Sort of :-)] OF THE PELMAN MURDERS.


I received an email with the following comments, all of which are fantastic.

Dear Mr. Kuhn,

I thought you would like to know how I came about reading The Pelman Murders. My mother lives in Bradenton Florida and it was on a day that her and her gentleman friend(John) were having lunch at Bob Evens in Bradenton. You had approched them because John was wearing his Iwo Jima survivor hat. The converstion lead to the fact that you were a retired Marine and my mothers late husband was also a retired Marine. She had mentioned to me that you had mentioned you were a writer and that you had a murder mystery on the Kindle.

Well I just want to tell you I live in Northwest Indiana and have read both installments and I am hooked. I cannot wait til the next installment comes out. I already have in my mind what Marty looks like and Michael not to mention their creepy mother. I have also passed on to my friends about this mystery. I am a big reader of mystery and horror so this fit right in with my genre.

Thanks again for approching them otherwise I would have never known about it, I cannot wait to read the next installment.

A NEW FAN

Marisa Simon

THE PEN MUST STOP AND REST


THE PEN MUST STOP AND REST

March 14, 2012

Copyright 2012 Gordon Kuhn

Poet in the Rain Productions

 

 

T’s a bitter darkness that swallows the whole,

And leaves ghosts and angels to walk in silence.

Silence surrounded, engulfed in blackness.

Silence corrupted by the weakness of my soul.

 

Yet I write these words as thought surrenders to the pen.

I place them neatly on the white beneath the flow of ink.

And wonder, do I, what substance can they know, can they hold?

What meaning is there left for you, for me, for all women, for all men?

 

And then I understand, and pound my fists upon my chest,

For that which is written only for myself and a few convey

What is said in a shout, in a cry, in anger, and screaming, painful self-doubt

While realizing that no one will ever know, and so the pen must stop and rest.

 

 

Oops.


Oops. I’m sitting here at the end of the day listening to Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. Along with the music is a video. Both the music and the video are breathtaking.  That’s why I say oops. Basically, I am reveling in the beauty of the music and the art. And in essence, I am caught, exposed, amid my fascination.  My heart wants to take flight, my soul wishes to embrace the universe. Is there not agony with the ecstasy? Can one be so enraptured by a single note or visual cue, a memory, a scent? I don’t know. Is the poet’s soul cursed with being alive both with what can be seen, heard, felt, visualized, or imagined, and with life itself? I am unsure. I simply know that there is a difference between the two but cannot explain the difference, can you?