I like this a lot. Good job, Literary Remains. It took a lot of thought I am sure.
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 firstname.lastname@example.org. 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.
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
Today my wife, Jan, and I drove to Tampa looking for a shoes store named Boot Barn. We found it on Adamo, near SR. 60 not far from I-75. Wow, talk about cowboy boots, hats, shirts, and jewelry. It also opened my thoughts and so I thought I would share a bit of personal history. Feel free to comment.
In 1962 – 63, I was in the United States Marines. The company I was in, the unit, was known to be a Landing Support Company. Within that company there were what was called as being teams. In the team that I belonged to was a champion bull rider. He was a corporal. His first name was Ted and I believe his last name was Morris. There was also an American Indian in the unit who rode bulls as well. They actually taught me how to ride bronco and bulls. These were very interesting men. They rode for prize money. They also returned on Sundays from having written and were badly battered. Ted returned to the base one time with a nasty injury to his leg. He had been gored. He drug himself into the squad bay and called to me for help. He could hardly stand let alone walk. He recovered and no one was the wiser as to the state of his injuries. I often wonder about him and that Indian. I wonder if they’re still alive. I wonder if the injuries that they sustained while writing bulls and broncs ever affected their lives later on. I lost touch with them in 1963 when I received an overseas assignment. I never saw them again. It became just another lifetime memory.
Well, I couldn’t find the shoes I was searching for at Boot Barn. However, I had a good time looking at all the boots that ranged in price from low 100s to high 500s. The smell of the leather was a treat. The various style of boots was incredible. There were boots made out of snakes and birds as well as just plain leather. I miss being able to wear cowboy boots. But I have swelling in my legs and my feet. So, I guess my days for wearing cowboy boots is over. But it is a good memory.
Well, for starters, I woke to find the 10K going over the Skyway. Over 11,000 runners. WOW. It was on live from helicopters.
I also have still not gotten my results from my colonoscopy. I can’t believe it is taking this long to get information back.
I wrote two poems this morning and posted them to my network newsletter. I am looking to find a magazine or book publisher. I have over 300 pages of poems now collected that needs to be done something with.
I am doing my best to avoid politics these days. Not doing too well.
Nice morning out. Weather is just perfect. Need to get a shower and get started and to write some more. I need a true crime agent to help with publishing Nightmare in Terra Ceia. Anybody with any ideas?
Thinking about changing the theme on this site as well. I have seen some great bogs and I think this is a bit….dusty? old looking? I don’t know.
Anyway, will be back later.
NOTE: for those who wish to be on my newsletter list please write me at GKUHNWRITES@AOL.COM and send me your email address.
For those who want to buy a book? http://www.authorgordonkuhn.com for autographed copies. If you don’t want that then just go to Amazon and get a download. But an autographed book is much nicer.
Okay, today I received an underwear add in my email. That’s right. I got an underwear email ad. Now, that is fine. The underwear is all with various designs and with various styles of underwear. You have the short short version and then the long long version that goes to your feet. Then you have boxers and briefs and more styles. They are all with designs in color. Fantastic. Creative. BUT where in the hell is the fly????? I can’t find one. So, while the boys are comfortably nested away (that is one of the selling points) the problem arises when the need arises and then you just do what? I guess you have to drop pants and then the underwear to get to the necessary area or ….. what… wet yourself? Damn if I know.
I am really tired of working on videos to post to YouTube only to find months later, if not years later, that someone has placed a copyright claim on them for pictures or (mainly) music. It happens all the time. Then you have to protest to get the ads off your product. It is just nuts. My suggestion is that if you do as I do then you have to keep a record of what source provided you with copyright free music because there are hunters out there that will do this and you may not even be aware that it is going on until you look and find the ads there because they monetize the video to themselves. Just a word to the wise.
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.
Keith nails another one. I really love his posts.
Within us, there are things that make us feel and communicate,
They are sensitive but powerful to the human function.
Necessary are these but not threatening to the survival of ones being,
They give us the ability to seek out and experience the wonders of the world.
The sense of smell gives us the ability to distinguish between fragrances,
To like or dislike what is in the air.
To see is to have the chance of being able too personally witness in color,
Or black and white pictures of the world remembered by your own mind.
Amazing is to hear fore it is the sense of many musical sounds,
To the ears the knowledge of whom or what is near you.
Now the sense of taste is a great and remarkable experience for all,
Eating foods and enjoying drinks, the word flavor means what to your mouth.
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Hey there Mr. Scarecrow
Standing out behind the barn
Just you and that old grey mouse that lives in your hay
Thanks for listening to me the other day
As I sat and let my own rain drop from my eyes to the ground
Hey there Mr. Scarecrow
You are so brave standing in the wind and rain,
Lonely there in the snow and heat from the sun
I saw you every morning and just before I turned out the light at night
Thanks for listening to me the other day, everyday
But yesterday I came to tell you of my love for you and found you gone
You had listened to me cry so many times in the day and night
You had heard how much I want to die
I came once with a knife
And told you I didn’t think it would hurt
Just a quick cut to end my life
Hey there Mr. Scarecrow you were there in silence
As we stood in the day or night and talked
Or when I sat next to you in the snow and the rain
With the knife tucked in your pant’s pocket out of sight
It seems just yesterday that you were there,
Waiting patiently in the sun and in the dark
You and that old grey mouse living in your shirt pocket
But that was before they came when I wasn’t there
And with a match and can of gasoline they burned you down
Oh Mr. Scarecrow, you were my very best friend
I told you of the beating of my mother that I saw
I told you of how my father had in anger walked out
And that he had come back, and my parents sat and cried
But something inside of me had died when I saw the blood
I told you of the pain that will not go away
I told you of the times I wanted to die as we sat alone in the dark
When I showed you the knife and tucked it in your pant’s pocket
But I wasn’t there the day they brought gasoline and matches
And not caring of you or me they burned you to the ground
My best friend, my very best friend, and the house for an old grey mouse
They burned you to the ground
To the ground, to the ground
Where I found the knife I had hidden in your pant’s pocket
So very long ago.
But I never found our friend
The old grey mouse.
Copyright 2019 Gordon Kuhn
Crossing the deepest river without a boat
Sailing the storm washed open sea in a cardboard box
My brain is climbing hills that only I can see
Each upward step is alive with pain granted and felt
With no medication to stop the fire
None exists unless alcohol laced
And it is such that it curls up from the earth below
While others float past talking
Their voices in pleasure do share and grant comfort
To them sharing the night and the day and the world travels on!
While the sky opens and — but not to me
I sing my songs in a vacuum it would seem
While standing in the dark on a street without a name
My voice claims the night in shyness
Beginning soft, then rising up to touch the branches of trees
While many memories come to haunt and
There I am, I’m crossing a river without a boat
Sailing against the wind in an open cardboard box
I speak to those passing in the deep dark surrounding me
But no one responds, no one hears my sound
No one notices me there in the deepest gloom
For, in truth, I am all alone
Alone in the night, alone with the gift
While the fire rages from the earth below
Coursing up my body with flaming words that no one can see or hear
There is no medication to stop the pain
That comes from sentence forming words swarming in my mind
But how glorious it all is to be alone in the night
While my voice lifts and climbs in song aimed at the stars and the moon
While I’m there crossing the deepest river without a boat in search of you
Climbing mountains that only I can see
Copyright 2018 Gordon Kuhn, The Poet in the Rain.