A very interesting and well written poem which I am happy to reblog in order to share with my followers. A poet worth following.

River Song

She’s a gorgeous

Mess.

She’s available

And convenient,

And not discouraged

By a lost cause.

She wears tall boots

Made of leather;

She uses them to

Walk on you

‘Til you’re raw.

She grows her hair long

To hide her face,

Then shaves it off

So you know she’s tough,

And she won’t take shit.

She’s a contradiction

And an affliction

To the institution.

She swears ’cause she’s got

Street smarts,

And she smokes a cigarette

To show her intellect-

A Virginia Slim,

Because she’s come a long way, baby.

She goes out on the town

Looking for trouble,

Turns heads

With her short skirt,

And drinks a lot,

So she doesn’t hurt.

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HER NAME WAS SAUCY MISS MERRY FAIR


HER NAME WAS SAUCY MISS MERRY FAIR

(Another poem from the book RABBIT IN A BOX)

Her name was Saucy Miss Merry Fair

And she rose up proudly from the sea and said she lived there.

She told me she was from down Kensington Way

And thought this a new place she might could stay

I told her she needed to brush the seaweed from her hair,

Though it was very well placed, from what I could see;

But—else others, not me of course, might rudely stare

And would not believe she actually belonged there

Among we who common folk were said to be.

And she advised she could drop the weed back in the sea,

Where it would change to children born so long by she.

“A good place to plant my feet, though webbed they are you can plainly see.”

“Time to move on,” she suddenly said, “how about a warm cup of tea?”

I advised of a place down the lane where neighbors went

At odd times of day to sit, sip and eat a bit, and sometimes vent

Their feelings of government and prices of this and that and gaze out on the

sea.

That suited her, she said, and took my hand and led

And we sat and drank a cup of tea, and with a cookie each was fed

While neighbors gawked at this beauty who had come up to meet me from

the sea

And who chose to sit and dine and laugh alone with me.

Six years ago the lass and I were wed

And then her children came up from the sea

To live with us and share our bread

For in love, by love, and with love they and she

Came forth from the dark ocean waters to live and stay

And she and they were from the chilly waters set firmly, finally free.

NO ONE LISTENIN’


NO ONE LISTENING

Copyright 2012 Gordon Kuhn

Wearin’ blue jeans and a t-shirt

Toe tied flip flops

Walkin’ on hot sand

Nothin’ here to make me stay

Just sand and bottle tops

Empty cans left layin’

By the side of the road

No one talkin’ to me

I’m unseen

But

Lookin’for new

An’ wantin’ to flirt

Lady comin’ strollin’

Waves a hand

Tiny bikini,

Brown skinned,

Blonde hair

Walkin’ past

The crossing

The meeting

Didn’t last

Nothin’ there to make me wanna stay

I musta said hello … much too fast

Too eager

Roses growin’ in the woods

Beer cans layin’ near the road

Cigarette butt glowin’ burned my toe

Cars passin’ on the highway

Nothin’ here to make me stay

No one listenin’ to my music

No one even sees me

Voices singing in the wind

Wantin’ to blend in

Tryin’ to blend in

With the world

With the land

Flip flops cruisin’ on the sand

Hot sand and bottle tops

Nothin’ here to make me stay

Someone waved a hand

To someone else today

But not to me

I’m invisible

In my blue jeans and t-shirt

Listening to rock

playin’ in my ears

Listenin’ to cars

Drivin’ past empty beer cans

Layin’ in the dirt along the road

As those cars keep on rollin’

Racing on the highway

All goin’ somewhere

All goin’ nowhere.

Nowhere for me to go

No one wantin’ me to stay                                                                 9/27/12

THE PENGUIN — Poem from Rabbit in a Box.


THE PENGUIN

Copyright 2012 Gordon Kuhn

I woke one night in early May

Of some forgotten year

and I blush to say the date I don’t recall

The number, sadly, wasn’t written on the wall

And the memory of such it was did not stay

Perhaps——memories

Perhaps memories themselves have something to fear

Of being eaten by something much bigger

That might wander in from out of shadows——far to close, far to near

So in safety they lay in hiding,

in safety biding afraid to rise up out of fear

Something close by which by circumstance would somehow trigger——

But, wasn’t Trigger the name of Roy’s fabulous old horse?

Oh——well, I am digressing——of course

I’m sure the evening before had been quite drear

as my headache, at the time, seemed all too massively clear

And stood as a reminder of why I was asleep upon the floor

Halfway to my bed from the apartment’s front door

Which, oddly, appeared through the mental haze,

at that curious time of night or day,

to be standing there, misty-like and bare-naked open

yet I was sure I had closed and locked it before

sometime entering or exiting before I lay and began to snore

perhaps the lock was broken

perhaps it was merely a reminder,

perhaps a shill someone had left lying on the nearby hill

maybe, after all, it was just a broken token

of the raucous night some hours (days?) before

But what was odd at that time of night

Or….was it time of day….

I’m really not so sure

so cannot really say

but beside me stood a well-dressed penguin

still freshly wet from the briny sea

a most handsome chap was he

in his spats and so very tall and stately thin

with what I would say was the most beaky grin

of any penguin I’ve ever yet to see

and he spoke of you and he spoke of me

and of the good, the bad, and of the sin

that someone tried upon my chest to pin

He said his name was hard to spell

So pronounced it phonetically

Very slowly, if I recall correctly the memory tell

But, gosh, I don’t recollect at all now his name,

Even though he said he’d had some fame

Just that it seemed to have the sound of distant surf

Crashing upon a rocky littered thick green turf

Far from where I lay that night or was it day

So, sadly, I’m so sorry,

Just my faded perforated memory

It tends to leak, you see

I find words and ideas simply lying about

Pictures and full-blown paragraphs

Here, there, lying in thick dust upon the floor

And I then begin to really doubt

And wonder if life is all just a pile of serigraphs

That someone bought at some local store

And came and dumped them out upon the floor

so please don’t shout, please, please don’t yell

It was a bad night, very bad, I’m sure,

if I could just recall, you see

And something——something came loose

Something unexpected broke free

And was lost in the dust therein which lay

To be then lost to me, to you, to us it failed to stay

while, from the remaining memory of it all

I do remember the penguin standing near to me

So very well dressed was he,

well dressed and fresh wet from the sea

And——how odd, I do now recall,

That he had a bull frog standing next to him

The reason?

I don’t recall him to ever say.

I’ve no earthly idea and must make an honest plea

In regards to the headache and the fact

It was the middle of the night and I’d really lost track

Or…or…”sigh”…..was it the middle of the day?

Addresses to order THE PELMAN MURDERS for Kindle or Nook


You do not need to own a Kindle or a Nook. You can download onto your PC or your MAC from either Barnes and Noble for a Nook or from Amazon for a Kindle. It is your choice. You can download both for that matter. I have both on my computer as they have separate programs and some of the books on one are not offered on the other.

The addressses to download The Pelman Murders are:

For Kindle:       http://www.amazon.com/The-Pelman-Murders-ebook/dp/B009DRUBB4/ref=sr_1_3?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1348173194&sr=1-3&keywords=gordon+kuhn

For Barnes & Noble:     http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-pelman-murders-gordon-kuhn/1112954811?ean=2940015682069

BOOK RELEASE: THE PELMAN MURDERS.


The Pelman Murders, a fictitious story about a family that has a problem with murder, incest, blackmail, fraud, insanity, and questions about who the father or fathers might be of two of the sons, is set in a background where a simple game of twin switch clouds the identity of one following the murder of her sister. However, there is more! A gigantic mouse roams an apartment house sought by an elderly lady who is intent on killing the rodent who urinated on her laundry one day. She sets up an elaborate trap and catches a rat who loses her head. Oh, and did I fail to mention the two little people? Jewel and Riff, two gypsy like characters from another dimension (or the workings of a psychotic mind) arrive to provide counsel to one whose mind is slowly shredding itself. Intrigue. Passion. And, it is on Kindle and Nook for the horrific price of just 99 cents.

See if you can solve the first two murders. You have eight possibilities.

LEAVE ME


LEAVE ME

Copyright 2012 Gordon Kuhn

Cannon shots fired from nearby range

Struck and felled the mainsail mast

Whiskey numbs but does not pain

Stop the fevered wound from last

Bleeding edges outward crimson flow

From the candle the flame estrange

Captured lies the wordsmith chained

Wherefore can or will the poet go

Lamed and bleeding the ship on shoal

Hobbled cannot find the sacred flow

The glass of wine has no taste

The rum taken up in haste

Staggers only an empty boat

Wounded, drowning cannot stay afloat

Signal fires wet cannot smoke

And silence heard loud birthed proclaimed,

Leave me.              9/13/12

UNABLE, COLLAPSING


UNABLE, COLLAPSING

Copyright 2012 Gordon Kuhn, all rights reserved

 

I’m collapsing in pain

swept away with the shame

that I cannot capture and hold

the words and phrases so wondrous and bold

which assault, no, no in tenderness touch

yet unaware they are how deep the knife is plunged

with every line that slips past, every beat, every sound

that sweeps me up and tears me apart

leaves me in a crumbled heap

my pen is useless

I cannot keep up

how sad it is to see them fade

from the field from the glade

of flowered birth

oh, God, how I am swept away in pain

adrift, alone, tired, and in shame.

MR. AARON DRAKE (From the book Rabbit in a Box – see Amazon for details.)


MR. AARON DRAKE

The day’s chill winds sifted through spreading cotton threads

spreading threads too gapped to stop the flow of cold

thin stretched they were as the clouds which slipped past overhead

dipped and thinly spread with wisps of changing melting smoke

darkly stained with blemish there swept past in constant moving coolish air

a cold that touched flesh hiding beneath the cotton vest

a vest I knew when left the apartment’s quiet heated pleasant nest

would not be capable of passing the chilling test

to keep warm the flesh hidden as though a bird within a hidden nest

tucked tightly by nature’s parents had somehow unfolded the hiding cloak

and yet somehow pursued, pursued and drifted I went walking in the park

unaware of where or why or what this lonely singular walk might come to bear

the fruit of which was hidden by frost heavy laid upon the still and morning air

not alarmed or aware of where I went or was bound to go, for it was to be simply so,

and go I did and touched gently the patches of remaining ice crusted snow

that somehow had chosen to remain, though without a brain could not entertain

such a thought themselves while in curiosity I was so caught up in mindless wandering that thought perhaps in nature some primal attention might touch the ragged frozen cap which sat like a hat on each small pile of frozen dew,

a dew that through the ages each had recycled as though unique and new

to that time and place and yet man and land, and all that walked, crawled and flew

had known as rocks had before when heated lava pools sent steam upward rising to somehow cool the planet in its early morning rising pains of birth

and as I looked out over the parks twin blue shallow lakes where steam drifted

I sensed the eyes of him I later learned was named Mr. Aaron Drake

who sat and stared out at the lake with water coolish to the touch

where in summer’s dress children waded to the knees, but not one now ventured past the trees where Mr. Aaron Drake sat and silently looked out at the lake,

then spoke to me he did without a word being uttered from lips cold shuttered

he spoke to me from within the cold that lay close that day,

and emanated from his skin at that place on that day in the coolish month of May

and asked if I might draw tight the coat that covered his shirt stained

drying red from where he’d bled that night before the day

and could I please lift the bottle of cheap made gin

one more time to the lips of him who pale had closed most tight

beneath twin eyes that held no light or sight at all

and wished, in kindness, to be propped up a bit so his corpse would not slip and fall,

fall upon the sidewalk that dawning day in a chilling month of May

and so I did as bid then bid farewell to the silent apparition

soundless seated staring out at the twin lakes so silent in there bluish color,

waves lightly lapping, tapping against the man-made shore,

gold fish lazy sleep swimming there just inches from the air above

and went my way for nothing left to do for Mr. Aaron Drake,

nothing left to do for he who had left the earth in violent play the night before the day

and whose rigid corpse would soon be found and so,

I thought, and inward knew, no need there was for me to tend him there

and therefore continued to wander surrounded by the chill air

as the voice behind grew mute, silent, still,

and no longer to the stiffening body did any outer measures matter.