NO PLACE


NO PLACE
Copyright 2013 Gordon Kuhn
All rights reserved.

As a child growing up,
Confusion held my hand.
It still does in many ways
As I walk upon unstable land.
A child loose there upon the grass
With no place then for me to stand
Amid night’s green pea soup am hungry comfort fed
The ambush of morning lies nearing knowing
Thus straight forward just ahead.
It’s not the daylight that I dread
Which comes, forced up like those little trays
That live on airplane seat backs
For your magazine or drink to hold
As the stewardess removes the spent
Collects up the empty old.
It’s not the knowing of these ways
The path that has no map instead
For within the realm of opposing tracks
I find no reconciliation for me to know
No compass with true north is shown
While still the child walking goes not hearing
Before a freight train racing with its engine full throttle
Whistle screaming nearing the once safe and empty clearing
Too late the guiltless guiding hand held out remains
In distant dream nearing unknown, loathing, fearing.
Yet there is no place for me to stand
A naked child loose runs upon the grass
No place for me, none upon this empty land. June 22, 2013

Advertisements

God Went for a Walk.


GOD WENT FOR A WALK
Copyright 2013 Gordon Kuhn
All rights Reserved

I woke to hear a rooster throw
Its head back to announce
The coming of the dawning day
Before a hungry cat did sudden pounce
And ran off all the silly school children
Who squealing terror passed me by
Who had ventured out with games to play
But could not stand to watch the rooster die
Nor understand as nature went her natural way
And watching wondered then I about it all
What place within this lack of walls
Should shelter me from asking then
For certain someone told me way back when
I thought it odd with all so very wrong
That God should simply take a walk
And fail to ask me to come along. June 19, 2013

An Old Marine Retires


There once was an old Marine who was getting ready to retire with 30 years in the Corps. It was decided that as most Marines have poor table manners and many times ask for certain things, like butter, to be passed in a manner inappropriate for open, mixed society that a training program be instituted to help with that issue. So, the Marine was told to go to this class on appropriate behavior when invited to someone’s home.

The instructor for the class made a great attempt at getting everyone in the class to understand that there are just certain things you don’t do and she turned to see the Marine was sound asleep. So, she walked over to where he was and woke him by saying loudly, “Sergeant Major, how do you enter a room.”

Well, the old Sergeant Major jumped and said, “What?”

“How do you enter a room,” the woman asked again.

“Oh, simple,” he began. “You toss in a grenade, count to five, then go in shooting.”

He was excused from all future classes.

BATTLE FLAG


BATTLE FLAG
Copyright 2013 Gordon Kuhn
All Rights Reserved

The battle flag snapped and swung up to fly in the wind

Above the post on the hill that even God had forgotten about back then

Rifles swung up and pointed out and down across the clearing

Searing rounds were sent out for the human shearing

A burst returned ripped holes in the flag that flew in the wind

Blood and mud spattered, its fabric so worn and so thin

That flew above boys that day sudden turned into men

It snapped and swung up to fly in the wind

Above the post on the hill that no one, not even God knew about back then. 6/10/13

VIOLATED


VIOLATED

There’s a dark line running across the page.
Crossing the pure white that had been laid
By a paper machine on the factory stage.
There thousands alike were birthed, cut, and made,
Cut, made, laid and stayed
Laid flat to be displayed
Clean without a blemish there
Not a point for upon which to stare
Each a separate entity, yet birthed the same
Birthed the same yet each granted a different name
Given to them what then lived or died
Lived or died or given granted promise tried
To separate from the package wrapped
Unaware of truth then there trapped
Yet found at end
They were not much different
From the common print as such
Could never be the case for change
And yet the line moved to rearrange
Itself to drive deeper with its stain
The ink spreads and tints the linen’s lean
Fibers stretched smooth, taunt, and clean
Violated

CLAY POTS


Clay Pots
Copyright 2013, Gordon Kuhn
All rights reserved.

How like shattered clay pots
They were when seen from close at hand
Clay pots fresh from the kiln that day
Broken when each mold was cast upon the cold
That lingered where the air was fresh and clean
And seen from heights where eagles dare soared
When they were sudden sent away amid the roar
Of surf spray that clutched the hand of sand
And layered about in nameless lots
Slowly became a collection of shrinking tired dots
Spread loosely upon the blue above the fading land
There floated they then above the heavy depth of sea
In all their fractured banquet were then to death led
When thought the world had set them free
Above the green and sleeping spaces where
Sightless watchers looked and not one was really seen

June3, 2013

DIRTY WATER


Dirty Water
Copyright 2013 by Gordon Kuhn
All Rights Reserved

There’s dirty water runnin’ ‘neath the bridge
Comin’ from stained streams up by the wooded ridge
What looks down here on everyone,
From where the poison waters do set out to run
It’s all dirty water there thet I see
And it keeps my soul from bein’ untied and set free
It smells of spilled blood and sin, urine, and what-all. And then
It takes me, carries me, back to when.

There’s dirty water runnin’ ‘neath the bridge
Comin’ down in frothy streams from a high up wooded ridge
Runnin’ from someplace I once had been
It takes me, carries me, back to when.

There’s dirty water flowin’ ‘neath the tired old bridge
Comin’ from tainted streams up by the wooded ridge
What looks down on everyone, especially me
And it keeps my soul from bein’ untied and set free
It smells of blood and sin, urine, and what-all. And then
It takes me, carries me, back to when.

There’s dirty water runnin’ ‘neath the bridge
Comin’ down in gurgling streams birthed on a high up wooded ridge
Runnin’ from someplace I once might had been
It takes me, carries me, back to when. April 24, 2013