STANDOFF excerpt 8.28.19


Crushed Cigarettes Left on the Floor

I met her years back in a local tavern

A bar, a pub, a gin spot, liquor room

And she followed me home without speaking

Without asking, without knowing who she was or

From where she had come from or going to

Her arm draped in mine holding

A cold six pack of beer in a paper sack

Her black knee length skirt bouncing there

While high heels clicked

And left a trail of music as we walked

Then she slipped past as I opened my apartment door

Not speaking, just looking, with a wink

And made her way into the stillness of the room

And came in visit to my bed

Where we sang songs of love for hours long

Until there was no more strength in us to carry on

And we drank the beer then gone warm

From the six pack left in my dead fridge

And lit a cigarette in the dark

A cloud of smoke swirled our heads

Glowed lightly from the light of the moon

In the morning she was gone

And I was left so all alone, so alone

With the scent she left behind slightly hanging in the air

The sheets left were ruffled and wet with sweat

With empty beer cans on the floor by the bed

Where a half smoked cigarette lay crushed upon the floor

She became just a memory then for months to a year

Until she chose to visit once again

She followed without speaking and slipped past me in the hallway

Going in the open apartment door

Where she slipped into my bed in the dark

And nestled with her head upon my neck

We loved each other like it was the day before the end

Then she was gone again in the morning light

Sheets were ruffled and wet with sweat

Empty beer cans beside the bed

Near a half-smoked cigarette that lay crushed upon the floor

Left me with there with the coming of the day and just a memory of her scent

She came and went at times with my not knowing if she would ever come again

While our hearts raced and melted together in the room without any air

With a window wide open to let any breeze in to cool our naked bodies lying there

The moon peeking in at two lovers adrift in moments of sexual wonder

And in the morning, there would be empty beer cans lying on the floor

Near a bed empty without her lying there

While a still smoldering cigarette lay crushed upon the floor

Left me empty somehow with just a memory of her scent.

STANDOFF, bit by bit


Standoff is a book of poetry and short stories. I will be placing posts here as I go. It is published and available at Amazon. You can also buy it directly from me by visiting one of my websites. Questions? I’ll be happy to answer them. Oh, if you buy it from me it is autographed by me to you personally. What a fantastic deal. No extra charge.

STANDOFF

A book of poetry, short stories, and insanity.

By Gordon Kuhn

With one exception[1], this is a work of fiction. The characters and events described herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or to living persons alive or dead.

No part of this publication can be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical method without the prior written permission of the publisher except for brief quotations embodied in critical reviews.

Copyright 2018 Gordon Kuhn, All Rights Reserved

ISBN-13: 978-1724853844

ISBN-10: 1724853848

Published in the United States by Poet in the Rain

PHOTO CREDITS

Cover: Photographer Mr. Derek Stillwagon: A Mother and Her Son by permission Allison Hart

Dedication Photo of Chuck Van Durme by Unknown Soldier

Illustration on Page 2 of Mother and Child from Istock Photo

Helicopter in Flight on Page 51: Charles Van Durme

Charles Van Durme in D.C. Page 56: Ms. Brandy Van Durme

OTHER BOOKS BY THE AUTHOR

Predator Book One “Do You Know How to Fly?”

The Pelman Murders

The Widow’s Cliff and Other Poems

Rabbit in a Box

DEDICATION

Dedicated to a personal friend who passed away June 15, 2015. In this book is his story of a night when his helicopter was shot down.

Charles “Chuck” Van Durme

Oct 20, 1950 to June 15, 2015

Two tours in Vietnam. He was awarded the Bronze Star, the Army Commendation Medal with a V, 16 Air Medals, and a Purple Heart.

Too soon the story of his life was taken from us. But we are left with memories of a man that we called a friend.

His story can be found on page 48.

Contents

POETRY. 1

A War Had Broken Out. 1

Imaginary Horses. 3

There Were Clouds, Weren’t There?. 4

Once a Boy. 4

The Old Undead of Poets. 5

Only the Rabbit Knows. 5

Bare. 7

She had Fame. 8

Nightfall, the Lovers’ Dance. 9

Yesterday’s Child. 10

Crushed Cigarettes Left on the Floor. 10

It’s Four O’clock in the Morning. 13

Walking with a Dead Butterfly. 14

Clay Pots. 15

By the Side of the Road. 16

Questions. 17

Yesterday. 17

Williston. 18

The Wino and Me. 19

The Tree Across the Street. 20

The Tortoise and I 22

I Wish. 23

The Never Meeting of Lovers. 24

A Long Time Ago in the Great Faraway. 25

The Locket. 27

Leave Me Alone. 30

The Spiral Stumbles. 31

The Passion. 32

Lost. 33

Time in the Mornin’ 34

Paper Kites Flying in the Rain. 34

He Let Her Go. 36

Waitresses. 37

Sometimes. 39

Undead Memories. 41

Hidden Moments. 42

Just another Day with You. 43

It’s Five in the Morning. 44

My Daddy’s  Old Ford Truck. 45

Six Years Old. 46

SHORT STORIES. 47

Shot Down in Laos: A true story of death and survival. 48

The Intersection. 57

The Confession. 68

Awake. 73


POETRY

A War Had Broken Out

“Allison’s Poem”

A war had broken out between them

More a skirmish than a war, I suppose

Between a mother and her precious precocious son

Not with weapons, not with bombs, not with guns

But with thought                        

It was a standoff of sorts

Eye to eye, silence ruled

And the boy who thought he would surely win

Soon realized the ice beneath was very thin

He on his side of the table,

Sitting tall in his seat

Fingers resting on the round top

French fries on a plate before him

Or were they tater tots?

A drink beside, he was good to go

But his eyes showed surprise therein

For he had someway crossed his mother just then

Who sat across from him, hands resting on her chin

as she quietly considered the facts

—and him

Her precious precocious son

She was serious, the eyes told all

The son wondered if this war would be fun

And believed he would surely be the one who won

But it all fell into place with just a silent look

The kind that freezes a lad from his toes to the sun

She was right, but he was all in for fun

At least he thought so!

Mom would surely understand, he mistakenly believed

But she was serious minded and not in the mood for games

He foolishly felt he had the right to make a run

To see just how far he could push it

Like we all in life have done at least once

With our mothers there across the table from us

A dangerous place if she could just out and reach

And pop you on the chin

But not all moms are like that today

Sometimes it is just in a certain way

That gets the point across that it is not play

While oddly thinking such was so

And then came the look you see

The look mother’s give their sons, at times

And the room sudden turns quiet and a chill is in the air

It’s that teetering point we all have faced

The edge of the cliff, if we wisely sensed

When a certain line is crossed and the fun is sudden done

For a mother’s precious and precocious son.                                       

Imaginary Horses

I hear the pawing of their hooves

Their breathing in and out of the cold night air

As they stand close beside me in the dark

But are in hiding to my sight.

Even though I wish with all my might

That I could somehow in the dark each one see,

My imaginary horses that come at night;

And I wish I could touch their manes

And that they would remain into the coming light.

But they are there in the night when I need them to be;

And even though I cannot see them I know they are there,

Standing close beside me in the dark,

In the cold and deadly dark,

Gently pawing with their hooves,

Gently breathing in and out the surrounding night air

Their breath floats over and warms me 

My imaginary horses that come and are real to me

With their breath moving in and out in the cold night air

And the soft pawing of their hooves tells me they are there

Standing near in the dark, standing near in the cold night air

My imaginary horses that I cannot see

But I know they are there

My imaginary horses

Pawing

Breathing

in the cold and deadly dark.

There Were Clouds, Weren’t There?

There were clouds, I think, as a child

Weren’t there?

I recall skies and rain.

I recall thunder and lightning

I remember the smell of coming storms.

And the thud of big drops striking the ground all around

As I ran as a child seeking shelter

But I don’t recall clouds, do you? 

Once a Boy

There once was a boy who lived on a boat

The boy was small and the boat was not

Upon a sea of strange waters sailed the two

The boy and the boat until one day the boy forgot

That the boat would float and he would not


Not the end, more to come. Enjoy the music.

Sunday heading towards Monday.


So, it is Sunday 7/21/19 and I am trying to write a short story, finish a true crime novel, submit some poetry for publication, and more…..much more….too much more. Plus, good grief, I haven’t filed my taxes yet for 2018.

So, what’s new with all of you? Anybody got a Hamster for a gift present? I never owned one. I guess as a child I was deprived as all of my friends had Hamsters as pets. Everyone except me.

My mother told me that Hamsters would eat my cat. That was curious as I didn’t own a cat.

2300 hours on April 4, 2019


I have no real title for this message. So I chose the time and date.

Thinking====I do that sometimes. Sometimes I don’t. When I don’t I regret it. I am sure that has happened to all of you as well.

I have a newsletter that I am posting my poetry to because I have come across notes on publishers’ pages regarding contests that rule out posts on FB pages as they claim that constitutes publishing. Really?

Anyway, I have sent of 75 pages of poetry in hopes of being published. I hope the poetry is published. That would make me “legitimate” I think. I hate being illegitimate. Don’t you?

I have to say that I have become addicted to Leonard Cohen’s music. I particularly like Take the Waltz. There is such a story hiding in the lines. You have to listen to it several times.

Well, I tried to post it here but it didn’t work.

Will write more later.

 

 

 

 

Colonoscopy


Warning signs! Bad Omens!

Well, the morning started out hungry. Had gone a day w/o food. Packed up and headed to the site for the colonoscopy and it was drizzling. It went from drizzling to a full blown rain storm.

Then we came across a single car wreck with the car sitting on its ass (no pun intended) pointing skyward. It had just hit the guy wires on a telephone pole after hitting a curb and went sailing up the guy wires and there it was standing on its trunk and rear bumper pointed up at about 10 degrees off straight up. Drove past it as people were getting out of their cars to help the guy stuck in his car about 25 feet up.

Went to where the building was supposed to be and discovered it wasn’t where we thought it was. And, of course, we didn’t have the phone number and I had left the paper with the address at home.

It was dark and raining and I just took a chance and drove out of an empty parking lot, around, and did a 180 back to the corner and thinking that I saw the name in small letters on a sign….drove in its direction.

I was right.

Drove in and found a small waiting room. In awhile they stuck me in another room with the a/c set for sub-zero. Next, doctor was late. (That got him in hot water for other patients later on who had to wait.) Then they came and got me and stuck me in another room with a guy who said he was getting paid by the case and that he was the one with the drugs to knock me out.

Doctor bopped in all happy and I went to sleep. Came to with nurses trying to get me dressed and out the back door…..YES….the back door to the building into the rain where my wife had pulled the car around. NEVER going to do that again.

 

 

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

The Never Meeting of Lovers


The Never Meeting of Lovers

I never met you in the past
I’ll not meet you in the future
I won’t meet you today
Such is life; such is the nature of our souls
But we can sing together
We can sing about our love
If we ever meet and should casually hold hands
While remembering that we had one day met
And hope the memory of meeting one day in the future
Will forever last in song, one written by you and me
Written in the wonder of meeting
As you in my bed would be offered a gentle greeting
While the world outside our door will swing and sway
To the sound of our song written just today
And I’ll sing a song I wrote just for you
While we dance our way into the memory of today
As your holding my hand in yours will surely nurture
My desire for closeness and kisses that will forever in memory stay
And we can sing together of a sweet and gentle love
I never met you in the past
I’ll not meet you in the future
We’ll not meet today
But how can I ever forget you or this song
Somehow we’ll go on as I alone will stay
In my memory of you in our fleet meeting
Such is life; such is the nature of our souls.

Copyright 5.17.18 Gordon Kuhn, All rights

I Recall Your Hand in Mine


It’s two o’clock in the morning
And I recall you lying nearby me
In the dark sweating there from lovemaking
In the long ago in a town far from here
It’s two o’clock in the morning
And I can smell your hair
As it was crushed up by my face
And we laid there sweating in the dark
Aglow from lovemaking in the middle of the night
And outside we could hear the cars on the rain-swept street
There was no air conditioning in that apartment
One bedroom, a kitchen, and old couch in the front room
And we never knew what we’d find in the hall in the morning
When we opened the door to the world
And we’d step over some drunk lost on his way home
It’s two o’clock in the morning
And I recall the sweetness of you lying nearby
In the dark sweating and so tired wrapped together
Exhausted from our lovemaking with only the moon looking on
And the floor near the bed beneath the open window was wet from the rain
And the moon shining into the room at 2 o’clock in the morning
Was the only witness to our love as we lay there together in the dark
Too tired to talk, too tired to sleep, and out of beer
But I recall how we loved that night and then parted
As friends and each went separate ways
But I recall that night — do you?
Do you recall at two o’clock in the morning how we loved
How we loved thru the summer storm
And we laid in our passion covered with sweat and out of beer
Do you recall?
It was two o’clock in the morning and I loved you.

Copyright Gordon Kuhn 2018

In the Dark


In the Dark     Copyright 2018 Gordon Kuhn, all rights reserved

Like a dog in heat he was single minded in his searching
While he roamed the empty spaces nearby ocean waves that crashed upon the shore
The sea fog coated the land and hid him from the safety nearby
Weakly hunting a place to lay his pain racked head
The cheap wine had gotten to his mind and left him stunned and all for dead
Lying in the dark on a rotted floor of an old shack he found by the ocean’s side
Before he fell into a cruel and empty sleep
Enlightenment curled up around him like a coating of smoke
From a fire burning deep within his soul
While others unseen around him in shadows kept hidden
They also slept the deep and troubled sleep, in open air, hiding from the sun
In a cave of despair they all slept where no one can see within memories thin veil.

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.