Standoff Post 8.26.19


My birthday was 8.23 and I got off track. Here are two more poems from Standoff which is available at Amazon or on my page http://www.authorgordonkuhn.com.

Bare

Flesh laid back,

Bare!

Raw, no cover to protect

From salt thrown upon there where the whip struck

Beneath the layer thin and thick

Atop with matted hair that hides

Emotions deep run and amid course shall stall

As the owner fails to know the path laid out

Laid out, but not in common diagram of visual plane

Leaving the direction needles spinning mindless there

Nor can one tell or master the storms drifting path

Should path be there hiding beneath a lacquer veneer while

The stronger weather yet to come as emotions gather

As they gather well before the bow that dips deep

So very deep, and then sliding down the hill so steep

Deep down, deep down, falling into the trough beneath emotions towers

Towers without sight of top, nor bottom have

Crashing then they upon decks wet awash with memories tossed

As the pilot fights to stay the line invisible before them

And fails to see the coming of the loss of light

As clouds of thought weigh down the saddened soul

While deck and hold covers fail to stop the rushing waters in

The ship stalls, shudders, shatters from within, rolls, and sinks

beneath a wall of tears.

She had Fame

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

No 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.

STANDOFF by Gordon Kuhn @ http://www.authorgordonkuhn.com

Standoff 8.20.2019 Post


The Old Undead of Poets

And thus spake true, the old undead of poets long forgot

As the grass they stood upon withered and the trees nearby did rot

For surely they had never ever thought

Nor in this life had ever sought

The substance of less passion

For clearly was not their fashion

And this indeed was what left them freed

As the world about turned slowly to withered weed.                             

Only the Rabbit Knows

There’s a place where I go

That no one knows exists

A place so private and hidden

So tucked away from everything

So removed from the world

That even a mouse hunting cheese cannot find it

Where I am all alone, just me and my thoughts

And with no one else, no one at all.

There’s a stone floor and empty pictures on the wall

A fireplace that burns without a trace of smoke or flame

To identify its private special space

To the world, so no one knows its place

And it’s where I can sit all alone

And yet be with you, and them, and they, and it

And you’ll never know where I am

You’ll never sense that I am there

Because the place is so very secret and hidden

And it is where I go, have gone, and will go

Where I go to be alone

When others are in the room

Where I am not afraid

Where the bed is unmade

But no one sleeps in it

Where I can cry in the night, and in the day

And you’ll never know, nor see a tear

You’ll never hear the scream

Or see the bodies lying on the floor

That are all me lying there

All different ages with no pictures taken

None to hang upon the wall

The fucking wall with empty frames there

For me to simply sit and stare at

But you’ll never know

And neither will they, or them, or it

Nor the hungry mouse hunting with its nose

Because it’s a secret place

Where even a starving mouse seeking a meal can’t find

The entrance within, but —  if one did, — if it did

I would welcome it And happily feed it a piece of cheese.

MUSIC FOR YOU.