Sunday morning 3.3.19


Well, for starters, I woke to find the 10K going over the Skyway. Over 11,000 runners. WOW. It was on live from helicopters.

I also have still not gotten my results from my colonoscopy. I can’t believe it is taking this long to get information back.

I wrote two poems this morning and posted them to my network newsletter. I am looking to find a magazine or book publisher. I have over 300 pages of poems now collected that needs to be done something with.

I am doing my best to avoid politics these days. Not doing too well.

Nice morning out. Weather is just perfect. Need to get a shower and get started and to write some more. I need a true crime agent to help with publishing Nightmare in Terra Ceia. Anybody with any ideas?

Thinking about changing the theme on this site as well. I have seen some great bogs and I think this is a bit….dusty? old looking? I don’t know.

Anyway, will be back later.

NOTE: for those who wish to be on my newsletter list please write me at GKUHNWRITES@AOL.COM and send me your email address.

For those who want to buy a book?  http://www.authorgordonkuhn.com for autographed copies. If you don’t want that then just go to Amazon and get a download. But an autographed book is much nicer.

 

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Where did the year go?


Another year moving into history. Seems strange. I am still in January.

Well, for Jan and I it has been an up and down year with moving away and then moving back when we discovered that “friends” weren’t friends and that the VA doesn’t have the medical facilities in Georgia that we thought they had.

So, here we are back in Florida with all of our friends and it is wonderful. The only sad thing is that my service dog Tread has a fungus in his hip and tail bone. No body knows how it got there and it is an expensive and long fight to save his life. We now have gone past $5,000 in expenses and have 5 months more of a fight to go. We do have wonderful help from our Vet and the Vets at the University of Georgia School of Veterinary Science. We are also fortunate in that we have medical insurance on him and that has reduced our cost significantly. BUT travel and motel rooms are not covered as is part of the medical. However, we are fortunate that we do have a lot covered and are very grateful for the folks at Healthy Paws.

I have a newsletter at Constant Contact and if any of you wish to be a subscriber just send me you email to gkuhnwrites@aol.com

In the meantime I am trying to find a literary agent for my true crime book: Nightmare in Terra Ceia.

I want to wish everyone a Merry Christmas and I hope a wonderful New Year.

Blessings! Gordon Kuhn

WRITING A BOOK ABOUT A KILLER


I have written a book about a killer. He came to Florida in 2008 and killed two women in 2009. His career as a criminal started when he was 14 and he raped a woman in Warren, MI. I am looking for an agent.

He was convicted and given two life sentences for a home invasion in Sarasota, FL. He was given the death sentence for a brutal murder in Bradenton, FL. He is now up for another trial for  murder in Sarasota, FL that took place in 2008. It took from 2008 to 2018 for the forensic investigators to find a dot of DNA on the woman’s dress to identify the killer.

 

The Drunk on the Corner is


THE DRUNK ON THE CORNER IS
Copyright 4.15.18 by Gordon Kuhn all rights reserved.

The holy drunk on the corner is
As holy as the Pope who drinks wine
And who represents a group with a history of crime
That turned its back on the Jews and friended Hitler
The holy drunk on the corner is
As holy as the holy father in his lofty mansion
Protected by an armed security
And who is worshiped in life and will be in death
As the only voice of God here on this earth
Except for the drunk castaway lying at the corner
Who in his drunkenness is holier that the pope.

12.25.17


Ragdoll Chronicles 12.25.17
Robert Langdon had just sat down with a fresh cold can of beer in his hands. He plopped his sock covered feet onto the scarred coffee table and snuggled a half-eaten bag of chips close beside him on his recliner. Using his remote he flipped through the channels until he found an old murder mystery movie. He was in for the day as far as he was concerned. But then the phone rang. “Robert,” his estranged wife’s voice jumped from the earpiece startling him. He brought the recliner fully up tossing the potato chips onto the floor and spilling his beer.
“What?” To say he was startled would be missing the mark. This was his day to rest and relax. Why was she calling him?
“Robert, did you forget that you had the day today to take Chase fishing?”
Robert quickly ran through the calendar and his mind. “No that’s next week.”
“I’m sorry,” a familiar sarcastic tone assaulted his ear. “No dear, your week, this week, this weekend, this hour, this very minute, you were supposed to be here to take Chase fishing.”
“What? Are you sure? I think you’re wrong. Besides that I just settled in with a beer bag of chips and a TV program and,” he glanced outside hearing a clap of thunder, “it’s raining dear heart.” This last was delivered with a sarcastic curl to it.
“You promised Chase to take him fishing, rain or shine. Now get your ass over here and take him out like you promised to do. God what sort of father are you.”
“I’m the kind of father that wants to sit and watch his program on TV and not go out in the fucking rain.”
He heard the deep sigh from the other end of the line. “It’s raining Denise. I can’t take the kid fishing if it’s raining.”
“His name is Chase, he is your son, and he is not just a kid.” The words came hard and biting. “Now are you going to get up and get over here and do your duty as a father?”
“Denise I didn’t want to be a father in the first damn place.”
“I realize that,” she sighed. “I wish I had known that before we got married. You’re not a father your sperm donor.”
He smiled. “What you seem to have liked my attention at the time.”
“Chalk it up to youthful stupidity on my part.”
“Yeah,” he smiled.
“Don’t start. He’s waiting for you.” He heard her call Chase.
“It’s raining Denise.” There was silence on the other and the phone. Then he heard her call their son again.
“Wait a sec, I’m not sure but I think I heard the door slam.”
He sat back in his chair prepared to kick the recliner back and took a sip of beer. A few moments passed and then Denise was back on the phone. “Your son just left the house. He has his fishing pole and a slicker on and he is heading down the street towards the river. Now get over here.”
Robert brought the recliner back forward, sighed, and hung up the phone. There was no getting around it, he knew that. Might as well face the music and get dressed then go get the kid. But he wasn’t going to take him out in the rain fishing. There was a bar down the street with arcade like games and a pool table in a side room. Most importantly there was a large screen TV. The Kid could play games in one room and he could watch a football game with his friends sucking down beer and eating bar peanuts in the other. Denise did not need to know. He would give Chase 10 bucks to keep his mouth shut. He’d done it before. He stood, yawned, scratched his groin and then began the search for his car keys while muttering to himself, “Damn ex-wives and dumb assed kids that don’t stay home in the rain.”

Predator: Do You Know How To Fly? 09.03.2017 A


This is a continuation of the text in the book: Predator; The Man Who Didn’t Exist; Do You Know How to Fly?

The main title (Do You Know How to Fly?) was a question posed by Delmer Smith to a woman victim as he held our out naked over her 12th floor balcony in the middle of the night and (after he had physically and sexually abused her) he asked her if she knew how to fly.

The book was developed over a period of years with interviews of not only the killer, but of his fiancé at the time, the victims who were alive and approachable, law enforcement, and the attorneys involved. If you desire to buy the book it can be purchased directly from me (I sign it) or at Amazon, or Barnes and Noble, or any bookstore for that matter. My website is http://www.authorgordonkuhn.com  and you can make a purchase there.

Okay, so here we go:

Chapter 2 “He’s my Uncle.”

The defenses plea for mercy.

“He’s My Uncle.”

It is August 14th, 2012 and Mr. Brunvand, Delmer Smith’s defense attorney, will introduce two young women to the Court. They have traveled to Bradenton, Florida from Detroit, Michigan out of love for the defendant. Brunvand plans to show a different side of Delmer to the Court. It is an attempt to obtain some leniency for his client to avoid the death penalty. “Good morning,” he said to the first woman. She had just taken a seat on the stand and been sworn in, “Please tell the Jury your full name.”

“Alicia Phillips.”

“And Alicia, how old are you?” He smiled gently at her.

“Twenty-nine.”

Brunvand continues with questions regarding Ms. Phillips residence and employment. She has come from her home in Bradford, Michigan where she lives with her 3-year-old daughter. She has come to Bradenton to speak in open court on behalf of a man being held on first-degree murder charges.

“How do you know Delmer Smith?”

“He’s my uncle.”

Brunvand asks her if she can point out Delmer in the courtroom “and tell the Jury what he’s wearing?”

She does so, indicating a man seated at the defense table wearing “a striped blue shirt, collared shirt.”

“And is he someone who you consider yourself close to?” Brunvand gently asks.

“Yes, I love him very much.”

“Do you recall an instance as a child where Delmer came to your aid?”

“Yes,” Ms. Phillips went on to tell about an instance where she had “been bad” and was being punished for it by getting “a spanking.” She explained that her grandmother, Velma Shelton Smith, Delmer Smith’s mother, had picked up a switch, her apparent singular choice for dealing with such issues, and was spanking her when her nose began to bleed. Delmer, she told the Court, stepped in between his mother and his niece protecting her from being struck anymore by his mother.

“And he calmed me down, and—you know, he always came to my aid.”

To Be Continued.

AuthorGordonKuhn.com

GordonKuhn.com

or gkuhnwrites@aol.com

 

 

 

 

Do You Know How to Fly? 09.01.2017 A


The following is an excerpt from Predator, The Man Who Didn’t Exist; Do You Know How to Fly? It is the first chapter. I already posted part of it and this is the entire chapter complete now.

1

Birth of an Evil Seed

Delmer Smith III was born July 19, 1971 in Detroit, Michigan to a couple who are now both deceased. He is one of multiple children from this mixed-race union. His mother, Velma Shelton, was white and his father was black. Delmer is light skinned, light enough to pass for being white in many circumstances. The mixed bloodlines will provoke identification confusion in the future when, as an adult, he is the suspect in several crimes.
He is given his father’s name and the family happily pronounces him to be Delmer the 3rd. His name, and that of his father, is a variant of Delmar (also used within the family) and comes from Spanish and “Old” French. It means “of the sea.” The choice is, perhaps prophetic in an eerie way.
The sea is a mercurial place. It can be calm, inviting, sublime, and soft at one point in time and then, with little if any warning, it will become treacherous, evil, violent, destructive, a merciless killer. And, so it was to be with Delmer the 3rd. As it is for the sea, he also will be a mystery to those he meets in life. Michele Quinones, his onetime fiancé, told me as she was trying to make sense of their relationship, “He was the man who didn’t exist.”
She went on to say to me, “I recall one day we were fishing and he was standing off behind me and I looked up at him. He didn’t know I was watching him. What I saw was a man stripped for a moment of what or who he was. He was so soft standing there, a little boy. So strange,” she smiled as she thought back. “He was so at peace. And yet, there is this other Delmer that I did not know or even suspect might exist. I saw him for what he might have been, what he could have been, not as he was.”
He was a burglar. He had a weird sexual appetite. He preyed on women who were elderly, or close to being so. Moreover, he was a brutal killer without compassion for his victims, or sense of guilt for what he did to them.
This is a man who is an enigma to many—perhaps even to himself. In his wake will be both terror and love as well as questions—questions that no one will ever be able to fully answer.

The newborn entered the world as all children do, coated in a wet blanket of blood and body fluids from his mother, which left his small wrinkled body coated in a shining slime that needed to be hurriedly washed off. But first, so his mother could touch him, the doctor laid him up high on her stomach. The newborn wriggled about and let go a torrent of crying while the doctor clamped and cut the umbilical cord. Then, nurses carefully lifted him and took him over to a table and water to clean him up.
He was quite a sight, all slick and slimy from the birth, his lungs sucking in huge gulps of air to expel in great rips of crying in protest for having been taken from a warm place and thrust into cool air beneath blinding lights, assaulted by monstrous noises, and unknown things touching him while his arms and legs swatted here and there and at everyone around him as he let his anger be known. Soon, they brought him back to Velma, wrapped tightly in a soft blue blanket and laid him down so she could hold him close. It was only a short while later that Velma and the baby were transported to her room where she could spend more time examining and loving on her baby. And then a small flood of waiting relatives and friends arrived to greet her and the newborn.
Exhausted, he had closed his eyes and drifted into a deep sleep ignoring the trip down the hall on the stretcher to where they lifted he and his mother onto her hospital bed. It was much later that he felt someone tugging on his blanket and holding his tiny hands.
He opened his eyes to the harsh glare of ceiling lights and a cloud of faces peering down at him all with smiles beaming well wishes. But he didn’t understand all that and he didn’t understand why they were holding his hands and marveling at how strong he was. “What a grip,” someone said. “Just look at how he holds on.” Little could the friends and relatives surrounding him then imagine that those tiny hands would grow and one day beat, sexually assault, drag, and even kill women not much older than his own mother was then.
Then he was surrounded in safety and comfort by his parents, brothers, sisters, other family members, and a handful of family friends. They most assuredly were like others when addressing a new born for the first time. They would have remarked at how tiny his fingers and toes were in comparison to theirs. Perhaps they marveled about how strong the tiny hands were as his fingers curled about theirs and tightened, never suspecting that those fingers one day would be suspected of curling around a baseball bat and beating a woman to death in Sarasota, Florida.
They would have laughed as they tried to get his attention by making odd sounds and tickling him. And he, like all newborns, probably just yawned and looked this way and that, not focusing on any one person or thing. They would have wondered about his future. They surely laughed and were excited about his prospects and, like many parents and well-wishers do, probably even imagined him becoming some famous and wealthy person, maybe even the President of the United States. However, it was not to be. A bad seed is hard to recognize when so tiny. He would become famous, in a sense, as he terrorized parts of Sarasota and Manatee Counties because of the brutality of his crimes.
It is doubtful that anyone present in Delmer Smith’s life then would have dared to predict, or could have imagined, that thirty-eight years later this then tiny bundle of life would be under arrest and accused of being a violent serial rapist, home invader, burglar, murderer, and suspected drug trafficker. All they would have seen before them then, wrapped in a soft blue hospital blanket, was a baby reaching up, sleepy eyed, with curling fingers and toes, stretching, a wonder of life.
No one could have anticipated his troubled youth or his struggle with education. This child would repeat the second grade, and then the third, the fourth, and the fifth. At age fourteen, and in the fifth grade, he was surrounded by nine and ten year olds. Then, suddenly, he was promoted to the ninth grade skipping all the years between, and placed into a special needs class. Testing would determine his verbal IQ to be seventy, one point above “retarded.”
Not one of his then admirers saw the monster he would become. However, as he grew older, there were several neighborhood events, referred to anonymously by those who knew him as a child, which surfaced in and before his teenage years, that were indicative of a troubled future. No one then recognized his lack of impulse control that would plague him. It would not be identified until he was much older and then on trial for his life.
Nevertheless, Delmer Smith has another side to him that was noted by Michele Quinones. It was also discussed in open court during the presentencing stage of his murder trial when the defense introduced two of his family members who, as young girls, had their lives significantly influenced by his interactions with them over the years.

 

 

CONTACTS 09.01.2017 A


More contacts.

Harsh Reality wrote that like my comment on “Life.” And, I did and do like it. Harsh Reality is also known as Opinion Man. He is someone who really puts a lot of thought into what he is writing and has a huge following.

https://aopinionatedman.com/2017/08/16/life-5/?c=451612#comment-451612

==============================

MakeItUltra is another site worth visiting. The author speaks on therapy, narcissism, and narcissistic abuse. That can be found at https://makeitultrapsychology.wordpress.com/2017/08/10/5-signs-you-havent-fully-healed-from-narcissistic-abuse/

There he  offers 5 signs about narcissistic abuse. Very interesting.

======================================

Man of Many Thoughts is another that I have commented on and is well worth a journey to his blog to see what he is writing about. Guaranteed he can set up a scenario  that will generate a lot conversations. https://keithgarrettpoetry.com/2017/08/18/dismantling-of-america/

==========================

Then there is this delightful blog BlueFishh. The author welcomes you warmly and explains what she is all about in a few simple paragraphs. The blog used to be call Economix.

https://bluefishh.wordpress.com/about/?blogsub=confirming#blog_subscription-3

==========================

If I could… (Friday Night Poetry Corner #142)

You have to visit this location. Seriously. The art work is interesting in itself, a bit confusing at first, but draws the artist/poet/searchers/etc (etc is a pretty big area) right in. So go, read.

=========================

Lakshmi Padmanaban is an Indian girl who …. well, you can read about her at

https://thethoughtfulrants.wordpress.com/about/

if I tell you anything it will spoil the adventure of going and reading her blog. So, go, now. Just do it.

==============================

jade0207  ah, this one is an area for ladies.

https://being1nsane.wordpress.com/2017/08/01/why-we-desperately-need-girl-friendships-in-todays-times/

164 bloggers like that page!!!!!!

Personally I have always had more girl relationships than male relationships. I guess I just like women more than men and, as far as my mom and dad were concerned, that was and is a good thing.  Women are just so incredible, love everyone I ever met.

===========================

Later more on Delmer Smith and the victims whose blood he shed.

 

 

 

 

Do You Know How to Fly? 8.30.17


CHAPTER 1

Birth of an Evil Seed

Delmer Smith III was born July 19, 1971 in Detroit, Michigan to a couple who are now both deceased. He is one of multiple children from this mixed-race union. His mother, Velma Shelton, was white and his father was black. Delmer is light skinned, light enough to pass for being white in many circumstances. The mixed bloodlines will provoke identification confusion in the future when, as an adult, he is the suspect in several crimes.

He is given his father’s name and the family happily pronounces him to be Delmer the 3rd. His name, and that of his father, is a variant of Delmar (also used within the family) and comes from Spanish and “Old” French. It means “of the sea.” The choice is, perhaps prophetic in an eerie way.

The sea is a mercurial place. It can be calm, inviting, sublime, and soft at one point in time and then, with little if any warning, it will become treacherous, evil, violent, destructive, a merciless killer. And, so it was to be with Delmer the 3rd. As it is for the sea, he also will be a mystery to those he meets in life. Michele Quinones, his onetime fiancé, told me as she was trying to make sense of their relationship, “He was the man who didn’t exist.”

She went on to say to me, “I recall one day we were fishing and he was standing off behind me and I looked up at him. He didn’t know I was watching him. What I saw was a man stripped for a moment of what or who he was. He was so soft standing there, a little boy. So strange,” she smiled as she thought back. “He was so at peace. And yet, there is this other Delmer that I did not know or even suspect might exist. I saw him for what he might have been, what he could have been, not as he was.”  TO BE CONTINUED

See authorgordonkuhn.com

Predator: Do You Know How to Fly? 08.30.17 1A


When I began to write this book, I wanted to understand what went on in the mind of such a criminal as Delmer Smith. There are several first rate books on the issue. One I came across was written by Dr. Samenow  who developed a test to reveal the depth of a persons level of being a sociopath. Delmer Smith is a first class model of a sociopath. He feels nothing where his victims are concerned.

 

The Criminal Mind

Doctor Samenow in his book, Inside the Criminal Mind, exhorts us to remember that “… we must begin with the clear understanding that the criminal chooses crime. He chooses his associates, his way of life, the kinds of crime he commits. He rejects society long before society rejects him; he is victimizer, not victim. The criminal values people to the extent that they can be manipulated; he believes he is entitled to whatever he desires; he does not justify his actions to himself.”

The book is available at authorgordonkuhn.com; Barnes and Noble, Amazon.com

Blog: Thoughts of a Poet in the Rain.

More to come!