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.

 

 

 

 

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Friday 3.22.19 & New Poem


Another Friday. Another morning. Decisions to be made.

The property in Albany, GA has a contract on it. Wow, cannot believe how fast that happened. It just all fell in place within less than a week.

HUNGER SEEKING HUNGER

Beyond the window glass
Just there across the green cut grass
Dark blue and grey lies our pond that is filled with life
Pelted with a soft rain that sudden came
Leaving the surface dimpled, breaking the smoothness
Near a group of water birds that sat and pruned their feathered bodies
To dry off the wet from a recent dive for a fish for food
While an alligator who had been asleep in the sun was awakened
Disturbed it slid in off the bank in search of something to eat
Then, tail side to side, slowly the hunt began
With only eyes above the surface
It worked its way toward the birds who turned to look.

Copyright 2019 by Gordon Kuhn

 

Georgia & Poetry


Spent a week in Albany, GA on the 4.25 +- acres there that we own. Visited with the neighbor, his daughter, and her newborn son. Weather was nice. Little rain. Got some things done around the “farm” and in town. Then listed the property for sale. My health is not good and so we decided to sell.

Sending a copy of Standoff to Claire Perkins at claire@booktalkradio.info. She will review and do a radio show with me about the book. Any writer out there needs to know Claire for promotional purposes. She is great and works hard for you.

Anyway, so back in Florida and writing. Had a hard time up there writing.

Seeking Desperation

Desperate for the sake of an attack of desperation
Nothing to say, for what can be said,
As I am being led with just the fact that
The story is that I guess I am acting in silent retaliation
While the walls of life have so much there to be read
And I know, for some, I am not being much of a poetic diplomat
Too frank, too bold, a voice of exasperation
But in honesty, I see nothing to tame in the future
Looking out a smudged window I see a distorted culture
Nothing there that the best despair will be unable to nurture
Nor do it’s best to capture and contain the fumbling lost while
As a writer the writer stumbles forward searching for the proper style
While desperation is unable to hold back life from moving forward
I find myself a boat adrift, floundering, fighting the strengthening move shoreward
Unconscious the craft is of where the rocks and shoals wait to rip apart its hull
While the world is watching from above riding upon a single seagull
That has taken flight to oversee the death or survival
And life then takes on the form or lack of revival
As a thousand voices lifted cannot be heard above the roar
Of the surf beneath where a single bird does soar
And looks away in dismay for an opposite shore
Where peace it will find, peace it is to restore.

2019 Copyright Gordon Kuhn

Georgia & Footprints in Time


We spent a week in Georgia on our property there. It is was nice but a bit sad. Raining in reality and in relationships. Funny how things can change. When someone is ill from drugs or alcohol and they get straight or die it is generally true that the family and those close by are found to be ill themselves. But they don’t recognize it. Such is the case in Georgia.

 

FOOTPRINTS IN TIME

Hours of minutes made to sand were turned
As days once were, they came haunting naked
Beasts as ghosts did arise to hungry feed
Upon the very aperture of thought twisted then to seed
Being spread out before the hosts from near and distant past
Disallowing peace to remain encamped or to last
As the fire of memory rose and clouded the sky
With a smoke meant to hang in the air and not to fly
On winds set to bring each day into focus pure
Instead in memory’s pain the days became obscure

 

Copyright 2017 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.

 

Constant Comment Newsletter


Hi,

I have started a newsletter through Constant Contact. If you wish to receive postings like are on  here then I suggest that you write me and give me your email address for inclusion into my newsletter posts. My email is GKUHNWRITES@AOL.COM and I look forward to communicating with you.

 

Sincerely, Gordon Kuhn

TOMORROW TODAY


Tomorrow came late today
It wasn’t supposed to be
But the day had come to set her free
And there she was, and all was out of the way
Tomorrow came late today
And there was no place left for her to go
Street lights turned on and began to glow
As her love packed up and set about to flow
Down the river and through the town
To the open air where she would find the wide-open sea
Where she would finally find herself set out and freed
And tomorrow came late today
When they found they had nothing left to say
She untied her boat and set herself on her way
Those who stood and saw her go
Only could wave as she turned to the sea
She was on the tide and found herself set free
With a wave, a kiss, and she was gone with the flow
Tomorrow came early today.

Copyright Gordon Kuhn 2018 all rights reserved 10/27/18

A MEMORY OF YOU


Here I stand in the light of an early Indian summer sun
Look through my eyes where it’s just peaking up over distant hills
While you and I stand searching for lions, tigers, sharks, and dragons
Of my imagination where we as children used to run
When you and I were just 8 years old and were addicted to having fun
Running barefoot with stubbed toes across lawns and dirt roads
When life itself was easy and at the end of the day
It always ended on pillows where our curly haired sleepy heads would lay
No one ever warned of changes or the future foretold
Where we met so long ago before fantasy windmills and rainswept windowsills
Blocked the view and destroyed the fun
When we didn’t own a car
But from where we stood we needn’t and didn’t go far
There was no need to feed the adventure
For it was just you and me
And we were completely free
With love enough in our hearts for any 8-year-old to share
When life passed around us without any care
Without any conjecture and life left no scar
Lions, tigers, sharks, and dragons did not mar
The landscape that we ourselves made
In our memories, as we were running unafraid
But now the game has changed
And I look now, searching through the mists of memory for you
Back in the years when all was said to be true
And wonder where the time went, and life was rearranged
Then life changed, and I stand alone now with just a memory of you

Copyright 2018 Gordon Kuhn, all rights reserved 10/26/18

A DEATH


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

A CAST OF ELVIS


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