Category: Uncategorized

• TOMORROW TODAY

  Posted at 8:30 am by Gordon, on October 27, 2018

  
  

  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

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  Posted in POET, Poetry, Poetry, Poets, Uncategorized, writers, Writing | 0 Comments | Tagged GORODN KUHN, Poet, Poetry, Poets, Writing

• A MEMORY OF YOU

  Posted at 7:14 pm by Gordon, on October 26, 2018

  
  

  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

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  Posted in Childhood, POET, Poetry, Poetry, Poets, Uncategorized, writers, Writing | 0 Comments | Tagged childhood memories, Poetry, Poets, Writing

• 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

• 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

• TRANSLUCENT

  Posted at 5:05 am by Gordon, on September 29, 2018

  
  

  Translucent
  It was five o’clock in the morning
  And there’s rain upon the roof
  It fell hard without any warning
  When it swept down the road
  Rushed up through the woods
  Caught the grassy fields by surprise
  The wind bent the bushes and the trees
  Then all was strangely gone
  And, for some reason, in the midst of it
  I recalled ancient tales of Beowulf
  I remembered his meeting with Grendel
  A descendent of Abel’s killer, Cain
  Then the death of the Hag
  Who did her seductive best, but lost to his sword
  Before a dragon felt the cold steel
  Then the rains washed it all away
  Nothing was left for me to ask to stay
  Not at five in the morning
  When the rain came and wet the roof
  Falling hard without any warning
  Sweeping down the road
  Catching all by surprise
  Bending the bushes, trees, and me
  Then was strangely gone.

  Copyright 2018 Gordon Kuhn 9.29.18

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

• My Daddy’s Old Ford Truck

  Posted at 2:23 am by Gordon, on July 28, 2018

  
  

  My Daddy’s Old Ford Truck

  I remember the nights when I asked for the keys
  To my daddy’s old ’49 Ford truck
  It only had the front seat and an empty open space behind
  The tail gate had long been rusted off
  Above the tire wells the sides had holes rusted through
  Where a family of squirrels had set in a pile of oak leaves
  And Dad said it was just a bit of luck
  For them and for me to have a point of remind
  That a home could be anyplace and at anytime
  And you sat so pretty in a summer dress so near
  While we watched a movie on the open air drive-in screen
  And finished off two six packs of some horrible cheap beer
  While other pairs in cars and trucks all open to the night air
  Also paid little attention to the open air movie screen
  But huddled and kissed and made love if they had luck
  Yes, I remember my daddy’s old ’49 Ford truck
  And you so petty in your summer dress sitting so near.
  July 26, 2018

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  Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments

• 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

• The Drunk on the Corner is

  Posted at 5:49 am by Gordon, on April 15, 2018

  
  

  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.

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  Posted in alcoholism, blogging., Catholicism, Crime, death, Literary Arts, memories, POET, Poetry, Poets, religion, The Pope., Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged blogging, Drunks, Holiness, Life, religion, The Pope.

• 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

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