rabbit tears – run rabbit run


Chapter one: How do I love thee, let me count thy bruises.

He stood in front of her rubbing the knuckles on his right hand staring down at her where she sat on a wooden chair in front of him. He growled as she reached up to where blood trickled from the bruised flesh below her right eye. Touched it, saw the blood, then lowering her arms clasped her hands in front of her on her lap. Slowly she looked up at him with tears racing down to her chin. “I didn’t do anything wrong,” he voice trembled. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

The year was 1926. She was just 19 and he was 27.

He slapped her hard jerking her head to the left. She slowly recovered. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“So, my mother and sister are liars?” Blood stood against the vows of marriage. Sometimes blood is stronger, and in this case it was. “They saw you at the theater”

“No,” her voice wavered, “no they, if anyone it was Virginia and all I did was acknowledge an old school friend.”

“Who you then went into the movies with.”

“He had his girlfriend with him”

“You sat with him.”

“I sat with them, not with him,” she said her face hurting her badly. Her tongue slipped sideways and found a tooth had been dislodged.

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Catatonic in Milwaukee


Stiffness of mind can be a problem and should be noted to tend along with a great deal of anger. I deal with anger. I have problems with anger. I can be very un-nice with anger when it overtakes me and lately it has been  near me too much. I think it is just that the world is moving at such a strange pace and what I hope for is not actually happening but the reverse is. Maybe that  holds true for you as well. In any case being catatonic would be a problem not only in Milwaukee but in Bradenton  as well.

I wonder if people can really change or is it just backwash that we get when we think we changed and then something happens that drags us back into all the same shit. I don’t know. I just known that when looking at my life I can see too many mistakes.

Its a new day and hopefully a day where anger doesn’t creep in to my life or yours.

Oh, and I have never been in Milwaukee but I understand they brew a very fine beer there.

 

WHY DO WE TEACH LIES TO CHILDREN?


Why is it that we teach children to lie? Why do we tell them lies? Santa Claus! Adults think it is cool to tell children all about Santa Claus. Kids get around older kids and the older kids berate the younger kids making them feel foolish and then the heartbreaking truth is revealed that the adults … parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles….lied to them. And you expect them to learn to be truthful doing this? What about the Easter Bunny and egg hunts? …..bunny = eggs?

THE DAY THAT HEMINGWAY DIED


I will never forget the day that Hemingway died

Nor of how he died on ‘61’s second day of July

I was sixteen years old way back then

And far too much to the universe tuned in

I will never forget the shock that filled me as I cried

Deep inside a wounded creature not knowing why

Not even knowing much about the man I stood

Alone in silence surrounded by living woods

That were more than silent that day he died

To me they were, to me they were and yet

The world still moved and went its passing way

But in my heart, I knew something broke that day

Something strange that day had come and gone its way

The day that Papa died, yes that day on ‘61s second day of July       1/14/17

Battle Flag


Battle Flag

 

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

Above the post on the hill that even God had not known about back then

On a hot and sticky day where boys waited amid the baking heat

All seemed to stand still in the sudden roar of quiet to those there that day

Broken by the Sergeant’s sudden shout of “guns up!” that tore the silence apart

Rifles swung up then their muzzles pointed out and down across the clearing

Where men of difference moved so quiet in the sea of grass

Then, with hearts beating hard in all the chests of those there that hour and day

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 edited 12/22/2016

Poem from Standoff: Bare


STANDOFF  is a book of poems that I will be publishing soon. This poem is one of them: BARE. I simply decided that I would post this one for the time being. I hold the copyright on this. 

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.

10/3/2016 Copyright GORDON KUHN ass rights reserved.

I wish I could play a harmonica.


I wish I knew how to play a harmonica. For that would be grand to sit on my porch and let the sound slip out towards the sky. I wish I knew how to play a violin, for that would be awesome as I love the sound of such. And then there is the guitar. What a wonderful song it can sing. At last I come to the piano. How fantastic a sound like a band singing all to itself with ups and downs of emotions that can only be reached and touched by a soul inflamed with the love of music. I’ve bought a dozen or so of those cheap harmonicas only to throw them out in time. Oh how I wish I could play the harmonica but its like the flute I have that lies dusty on the shelf and only is picked up when I wish to feel so foolish as to try.

An Uncomfortable Situation, Dealing with Death.


I find myself once more dealing with death.

The past few years have brought more than one sad occasion into my life. I find with each death that it doesn’t get easier with time. It used not to bother me. It does now.

Being uncomfortable with it at this stage in my life is odd. I never would’ve expected that. I guess it’s because the deaths that have occurred primarily have been among friends of mine, or, in one case, the father of a friend of mine who recently passed.

Suddenly I find my world being rocked by an intrusive factor that neither you nor I have any control over. We all know we cannot escape death. That’s not the issue. It’s the hole that’s left in our lives and those of our friends. It’s holding a friend’s hand and wishing that you can alleviate the pain, or help the survivors, or simply trying to make sense of the situation. It’s talking to a friend who is really unable to respond, leaving the room for a moment, and knowing that as you just stepped into the hallway that the friend died.

There is no more communication.

It’s attempting to help the widow or the widower and not knowing what to say. I think that’s the hardest thing, not knowing what to say to the person who’s dying or to the survivors.

In any case, I find myself now struggling as yet another friend has entered the cycle. He and I don’t get along on some issues. We’ve had some rather blunt conversations. Even so I never would have wished this illness on him.

Two months ago he was fine. Then suddenly he contracted a terminal illness: leukemia. Oh I’m sure that the disease was present and had been present for some time, but it just seems to have suddenly appeared. It’s a fast-moving strain. I’ve seen similar before. I spoke with him tonight. I spoke with him and didn’t know what to say. I spoke with his wife and didn’t know what to say. I phoned another friend and didn’t know what to say. I stared hard into our bathroom mirror tonight and didn’t know what to say to myself.

 

 

 

 

COPYRIGHT IN PLACE


Please be aware that this blog and all that is in it is under my Copyright, and that I dearly will take exception for someone to take and use anything that I have written or anything that anyone else has written that appears on these pages or are associated in anyway with my work here.

About July Fourth & an update on Predator.


Surviving the Fireworks

Well, we survived another fourth of being hammered with explosions and pieces of burning munitions falling from the sky. I’ve not been out to look at the screen porch. Hopefully it is okay. Some people just don’t understand that what goes up has to come back down. Fortunately it rained before the rocket show as some people were shooting from the woods where a fire had broken out a few years back when a bunch of kids shot off fireworks. The fire department had to come out and put it out before one of the houses burned down

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Our 11 1/2 year old Great Pyrenees had a tough night. On the 3rd I gave her 1/2 a pill for anxiety and it knocked her down. I’ll never do that again. She was so out of it that she couldn’t get up. Only gave her 1/8th of the same medication last night and it helped calm her without knocking her flat. I will have to let the vet know.

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Predator, The Man Who Didn’t Exist

Well, the killer is still sitting in prison in a 6 by 9 foot cell for 23 hours a day with no one to talk with. His attorneys are still looking at filing appeals. They want him off of death row. Too bad. He beat one woman to death and is a suspect in another grisly murder.

The book is now at 420 pages and that is with my cutting here and there. I have been working on this book now for 3 years. I think it needs to get done.

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Upcoming

A fellow Vietnam Vet wants me to write a book about his tour of duty in Vietnam.

What was left of the helicopter.6.12.15. What was left of the helicopter after being shot down.

We are waiting for Soldier of Fortune to print Shot Down In Laos. It is a story about a rescue mission that went bad in Laos in 1969. Unfortunately the man the story is about died just a few weeks back. His funeral was just a week back.

 

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