Category: Gordon Kuhn

• A DEATH

  Posted at 1:14 am by Gordon, on October 20, 2018

  
  

  A DEATH

   

  A distant friend has passed this night

  Passed and joined another realm, another dance

  Brandy and death together in a waltz

  Without tears falling from dry eyes

  The sorrow of the dancers goes on living

  Trapped in an eternal ballet as life goes on to die

  While nature’s odd sorts in pose stand frozen

  Where they are locked and wearing a disguise

  And you love me as someone you cannot stop

  While we will dance with brandy and with death

  Until the hours fall away and death caves in

  Leaving an opening where one had never been

  Under the shadows of the moon

  Amid a stagnate wind

  Remember us when you drink brandy and dance in a waltz

  While about us the dancers fall in death

  One upon one to cover the ballroom floor

  And tears cannot fall from dry eyes

  Even when we are all wearing a disguise

  And pretend to be just one across time

  Dancing with brandy and with death

  With dry eyes unable to drop a single tear

  And a distant friend has passed this night

  Passed and joined another realm, another dance

  While you and I stand in love, hand in hand

  And watch the world as for some it comes to an end.

   

  Copyright 2018 Gordon Kuhn, Poet in the Rain 11/19/18

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  Posted in Gordon Kuhn, Literary Arts, Poetry, Poets, unassigned, Uncategorized, Writing | 0 Comments | Tagged blogging, Gordon Kuhn, Poetry, Poets, writers, Writing

• A CAST OF ELVIS

  Posted at 8:55 pm by Gordon, on October 17, 2018

  
  

  A CAST OF ELVIS

  It was early in the morning
  Before the sun had chosen to rise
  While in the West there was reported the coming of a storm
  For the clouds were stacked up to the top of the sullen sky
  Thunderheads stood out in darkness forming
  Telling a sleepy paperboy to carry a slicker in his backpack
  Flashes of electricity free-formed in their announcement
  While the church bells proclaimed early communion
  As the priests in robes of silk left their hidden dorm
  Down the street above where the butchers cut up fresh meat
  And one of their number walked briskly along
  A hidden pair of still warm panties gathered and out of sight
  Tucked in the folds of his blessed priestly cloth
  An overnight present from a grateful parish member
  Given freely for blessings and release from her sins
  But it was the early rising newspaper vendors that set off the alarm
  That Elvis was dead!
  And so the lines to meet him would be shorter later that day
  But curiosity was peaked about the bathroom floor
  And so, the restaurant cast a statute of the man to be blistered by the sun
  As it sat upon a bench with an open arm to fit around a fan
  It was covered with bird shit during the day
  And then stood waiting for the coolness that would come with the rising moon
  While wishing for rain to wash the bird slime into the gutter towards the sea
  And in the dark of the secret time
  The statues in the park would be set free to dance around in glee
  While others found a need to kneel and pray.

  10/17/18 Copyright 2018 Gordon Kuhn Poet in the Rain All Rights Reserved

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  Posted in Fantasy, Gordon Kuhn, Literary Arts, Poetry, Poets, Writing | 0 Comments | Tagged blogging, Fantasy, Gordon Kuhn, Poetry, Poets, Relationships, writers, Writing

• Without a Boat (Amended and rewritten 10/15/2018}

  Posted at 6:23 am by Gordon, on October 16, 2018

  
  

  WITHOUT A BOAT (amended/rewritten 10/15/2018)

  Jesus was a sailor who sailed without a boat
  He had no need upon that to stand, for he could easily float
  Above the briny chilling cold and darkest dark of deep
  Where many sailors struggled and in death there they fell to sleep
  He had no need to save anyone from their drowning
  For their lives, they sole alone by free choice were forming
  While his force was in league with the ghostly godly nature
  And blessed with acceptance of the final cleansing rapture
  But man and God in their relationship had suffered a fracture
  And the book said Jesus had come with his blood to repair
  The breach that God had laid upon humans in despair
  And in trusting to his words to those he left behind
  Simple messages given to save and to remind
  All in time of his divine and spiritual nature
  But if today he were alive he would surely and sadly find that
  The church he never formed is now a business venture
  Run by modern-day Pharisees and scribes
  With guilt, incense, robes, and chants they monopolize
  with finance and profit at the center
  suggesting sins can be obliterated by monetary bribes
  But Jesus was a simple sailor who sailed without a boat
  Others never realized their faith would help them float
  above the briny cold and darkest dark of deep
  where many sailors had gone to deathly sleep
  then with his fellows and fish the main course for dinners
  he would sit and break bread with sinners
  upon the shore with a roaring fire the flames in curls
  Where he ate and laughed and talked about girls
  And there he broke bread and drank wine
  so long ago in an ancient time.

  Written on 10/14/18 Copyright, 2018 Gordon Kuhn All rights Reserved

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  Posted in Gordon Kuhn, Literary Arts, Poetry, Poets, Writing | 0 Comments | Tagged blogging, poems, Poetry, Poets, Writing

• WITHOUT A BOAT

  Posted at 5:55 am by Gordon, on October 14, 2018

  
  

  WITHOUT A BOAT

  Jesus was a sailor who sailed without a boat

  He had no need upon that to stand

  He had no need to save anyone

  His force was in league with nature

  But man and God had suffered a fracture

  And the book says Jesus came to repair

  Today he would find sadly that

  The church he never formed is a business

  Run by modern-day Pharisees and scribes

  With guilt, incense, robes, and chants

  But Jesus was a sailor who sailed without a boat

  And he sat upon the shore with friends

  Where he ate and laughed and talked about girls

  And there he broke bread and drank wine.

   

  COPYRIGHT 2018 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED GORDON KUHN 10/14/18

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  Posted in Gordon Kuhn, Literary Arts, Poetry, Poets, Writing | 0 Comments | Tagged blogging, Literature, Poetry, Poets, Writing

• DISAPPEARED

  Posted at 6:12 am by Gordon, on October 10, 2018

  
  

  DISAPPEARED

   

  Morning comes and I find you are not here

  Yet we are to believe that you are

  The bible sellers stand on their stages

  And claim the same claim from ages

  And I see about the world and even near

  Violence that you could easily stop

  You are a religious star

  But I am beginning to fear

  That like Santa Claus they lied

  It is a joke that society paid

  To convince us of a redeemer

  Who with the power to stop the slaughter

  Perhaps was never here

  Maybe like Santa Clause

  You just disappeared

   

  10/10/18 COPYRIGHT 2018 GORDON KUHN

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  Posted in Gordon Kuhn, Literary Arts, Poetry, Poets, Uncategorized, Writing | 0 Comments | Tagged blogging, Online Writing, Poetry, Poets, QUESTIONS, Writing

• NIGHTFALL, THE LOVERS’ DANCE TAKE TWO

  Posted at 2:21 pm by Gordon, on August 26, 2018

  
  

  NIGHTFALL, THE LOVERS’ DANCE 2
  I recall the night when a hot summer rain came
  And settled in with a breeze bringing coolness to the room
  Where two lovers met and when they left never were the same
  In an old cheap apartment in downtown Sarasota
  Where they danced to a scratchy record
  It was missing the label but played
  On an old player, he’d found in the trash
  While drinking from cans of stale beer
  Rescued from a refrigerator that barely cooled
  But without cares, they drank in a dim light
  Coming from the only bulb left working in a corner table lamp
  And somewhere in the world, a wall was being torn down
  Somewhere a child was being born
  Somewhere someone was dying all alone
  As they danced
  They could hear water dripping from pipes in the wall
  Falling to the concrete foundation two floors below
  Somehow the couple had found each other
  Names were not needed that night and in a simple embrace
  Shared the last cigarette in a crushed pack left tossed to the floor
  While singing a song neither knew, but sang anyway.

  © 2018 Poet in the Rain: Gordon Kuhn

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  Posted in Gordon Kuhn, Literary Arts, Poet, Poetry, writers, Writing | 0 Comments | Tagged poems, Poetry, Poets, Writing

• Rehearsing

  Posted at 3:03 am by Gordon, on May 8, 2018

  
  

  Rehearsing

  Another morning has come to greet the sun
  Chasing the night away as coffee brews on the stove
  A cup with spoon to swirl the cream in to blend the clouds away
  As I sit and think of questions that I cannot even form
  I wonder about the woman down the street who lives alone
  In a home being foreclosed on even as the year has come full circle
  Her son is college stuff and flunking out as he goes to class
  Neighborhood children run barefoot laughing as they pass
  At my comment of concern for nails and rocks and wiggly worms while
  The Church of the Holy Hypodermic will ring its chimes
  At dawn, lunch, and dinner time, a mile away as I listen and decide
  That the ringing bells are as lonely in their song
  As is the old man in the darkened corner house
  Alone, staring at a wall, waiting in silence for his time to die. 2/18/2015

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  Posted in blogging., fiction, Gordon Kuhn, Interviews, Literary Arts, Poet, Poetry, Poetry, Poets, reality, Uncategorized, writers, Writing | 0 Comments | Tagged blogging, Life, poems, Poetry, Relationships, religion, Writing

• Walking with a Dead Butterfly

  Posted at 1:59 pm by Gordon, on May 7, 2018

  
  

  Walking with a Dead Butterfly

  Come fly away now gentle butterfly
  Open your wings and capture a breath of wind
  Set sail and say goodbye to the world below
  Let not your heart in pain deny
  Your right to sail the summer sky
  For you are special, my valiant friend
  You’ve come so far in life in so few days
  And changed your coat of moldy gray
  To joyfully spread rainbow colors in patterns rich
  While sharing your beauty in wild, tumultuous flight
  So short your life has come and gone
  Come dance with me as I watch you twist and spin
  Until your energy has been spent and you start to fail and fall
  As you struggle with the pending doorway of death
  No matter where you could have landed in the end
  You somehow fell to earth beside the path
  That I was silently walking there upon.

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  Posted in blogging., Gordon Kuhn, Literary Arts, Poetry, Poets, Uncategorized, Writing | 0 Comments | Tagged blogging, Death, Depression, Fantasy, Fiction, Gordon Kuhn, Life, Poetry, Poets, Writing

• Priestly Arrives —- Ragdoll Chronicles. 1.25.18

  Posted at 2:16 am by Gordon, on January 26, 2018

  
  

  Ragdoll Chronicles 01.25.18
  “Throw him down the chute!” The five merged on Chase who was trying to get out what appeared to be the front door but it was in fact a door to nowhere. The storm he had ventured through and from which he had sought refuge by entering the restaurant was not visible through the glass——actually, nothing was. The door was locked and on the other side of the glass it was just like a giant fog had settled in blocking everything out from view.
  Just as they were about to grab Chase, a mist formed in the room and when they all turned to see what was the cause they found a massive crow that stood as tall and as broad as any of them present.
  “What the hell?” the raccoon shouted. “Where did that come from?”
  The crow looked around himself. “Where is the pond? Where is the glen?” He stepped towards the others who were backing up to avoid contact with the bird’s sharp beak.
  “Who are you?” the mouse asked while trying to hide behind the orangutan.
  “Priestly,” the crow replied stiffening up quite regally. “And who might you be?”
  “This has to be Runa’s doing,” the brown bear said looking around the room nervously. “We need to get clear of this or we will be sucked into this mess as well.”
  “I say we toss both of them down the chute,” suggested the mouse trying his best to not be seen by the crow. “We need to get shut of this before the inspectors arrive.”
  “Inspectors?” the crow asked surveying the room while stepping closer to the five who were doing their best to find an avenue of escape, but the crow, as large as it was, blocked them and held them there with the boy shoved up against the wall behind them.
  “Let me go,” the boy shouted, but his voice was muffled as he was slightly compressed behind the brown bear who was pushing the mouse forward almost as an offering. The mouse, of course, was squealing with complaint and trying to get back behind everyone including Chase.
  It was then that Priestly discovered a part of the ribbons that had been Nouveau were wrapped around his left leg—and, he heard a muffled voice. As a matter of fact, they all heard it but couldn’t make out what was being said and so they all dismissed it until the mouse took note that wherever Priestly walked the ribbon that was wrapped around his leg extended back to the point on the floor where he had appeared and it then disappeared into a slowly forming pool of water there on the floor.

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  Posted in blogging., Fantasy, Gordon Kuhn, Literary Arts, unassigned, Uncategorized, Writing | 0 Comments | Tagged blogging, Fantasy, Fiction, Gordon Kuhn, humor, Poetry, Poets, Writing

• The Restaurant: Ragdoll Chronicles 1.15.18

  Posted at 5:31 am by Gordon, on January 15, 2018

  
  

  Ragdoll Chronicles 01.15.18
  “Throw him down the chute!” The five merged on Chase who was trying to get out what appeared to be the front door but was in fact a door to nowhere. The storm he had come through was not visible through the glass, nothing was. Just as they were about to grab him a mist formed in the room and when they all turned to see what was the cause they found a crow that stood as tall and as broad as any of them present.
  “What the hell?” the raccoon shouted. “Where did that come from?”
  The crow looked around himself. “Where is the pond? Where is the glen?” He stepped towards the others who were backing up to avoid contact with the bird’s sharp beak.
  “Who are you?” the mouse asked while trying to hide behind the orangutan.
  “Priestly,” the crow replied stiffening up quite regally. “Andy who might you be?”
  “This has to be Runa’s doing,” the brown bear said. “We need to get clear of this or we will be sucked into this mess as well.”
  “I say we toss both of them down the chute,” suggested the mouse trying his best to not be seen by the crow. “We need to get shut of this before the inspectors arrive.”
  “Inspectors?” the crow asked while stepping closer to the five who were doing their best to find an avenue of escape, but the crow, as large as it was, blocked them and held them there with the boy shoved up against the wall behind them.

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  Posted in blogging., Fantasy, Gordon Kuhn, Literary Arts, Poetry, Poets, unassigned, Uncategorized, Writing | 0 Comments | Tagged blogging, death sentence, Fairy Tales, Fantasy, Fiction, Gordon Kuhn, writers, Writing

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