A Soft Tapping in Darkness Came

A Soft Tapping in Darkness Came
Last night I was wakened from a deep and troubled sleeping
Sleeping deep, blanket wrapped, and restless in the dark
When there came a soft tapping, a gentle and easy rapping
Gently placed upon the cold glass window near my bed
And from that slight sound, that gentle tap, I was drowsy led
Led from my sleeping deep and blanket wrapped, restless in the dark
To peer with no slight concern and wonder and seek the sight
That lay hidden, perhaps in death, in the rain filled night
Death in memories with ghosts that leave the living in fright
While hoping and thinking it must be a branch from my tree
One close to the side of the window that I could plainly see
That in the wind and rain that storm filled restless night
Could rap and tap and do its best to cause me no common fright
Should I but simply stare off to where there was no light
And then sudden appear some phantom in my sight
Some ghost of man or men who walked last night
Whose shadows live and come from the past
While haunting now their sad memories are cast
They that walk their walks restless always every night
So close and far they live and walk within my sight
From memories best dealt with in the light
Memories best left alone during a restless, sleepless night
Apparitions real perhaps that haunt my every thought
While in a restless sleep just peace is sought
Simple peace of mind that cannot for any price be bought.

© 2018 Gordon Kuhn, All Rights Reserved 6/30/2018


There are times at night when I find myself in deep sleeping
And then in ghostly form, I catch myself somehow strangely competing
With memories compressed, forgotten, somehow caught in the whirl of haunted strife
While dealing with the ups and downs of a confused and struggling life
And discover that I am lying in a pool of emotional blood caused by too much thinking
While somehow fighting my way to the surface from the depths of dreaming
Trying to understand the grouping and the linking
That raced just moments before in a strangely disturbed streaming
Where questions come forward in a rush of issues all claiming
The time I cannot afford to relinquish and so I stand there alone and straining
Against the will of memory over logic denying a peaceful desire for a simple life
Forgetting the errors of my life so fervently causing pain in their haunting.

Yesterday’s Child

The following poem will be in Standoff. The book, Standoff is a group of poems and short stories


Yesterday’s Child

Yesterday’s child was born with a patchwork brain
Filled with paintings that would never be brought to view
For a painter, a drawer, he simply could not be
Overrun with songs that would never be sung
For they melted or collapsed before being born
Adrift with poetry that would struggle to be heard
But some broke through to live a day
Yesterday’s child was born to others to view
While about him his life slowly colored with stain
His sense of security and being loved flung
To the woods where sense lived in the leaves
That surrounded and filed the world with color

Copyright 2018 Gordon Kuhn


No one knew her name
This simple woman who walked alone
In the rain and sun, she walked alone
On Sarasota’s streets, she walked alone
And no one knew her name
She walked in light and in the dark
She walked in sun and in the rain
But one knew her name, but she had fame
As she walked barefoot and alone
She had local fame as she walked alone
This woman who had no name
In a dress that was a hand-down
From a local church charity store
Where they didn’t know her name
In the rain and sun on Sarasota’s streets
She walked until death closed her eyes
One night when the rain fell along her way
And the wind drove others off the streets
She was there when death claimed no name
And no one was there as she fell on her path
And there she lay until the break of day
This woman without a name
But death came, found her with its cold hand
A wet bundle in the rain found with a cold hand
And claimed her without knowing her name
This woman who walked alone without a  name.


I recall the night when the rain came
And settled in bringing a coolness to the room
Where two lovers met and never were the same
In an apartment in downtown Sarasota
Where they danced to a scratchy record on a player
While drinking stale beer in a dim light
From the only bulb left working
And somewhere in the world a wall was being torn down
Somewhere a child was being born
Water dripping from pipes to the foundation two floors below
Somehow they found each other and in a simple embrace
Shared the last cigarette in a crushed pack tossed to the floor
While singing a song neither knew.

© 2018 Poet in the Rain: Gordon Kuhn