Death speaks thru the window of the train
While we travel going nowhere from the past to the present
in our clothes from best to worse and back again
looking for the answers to the riddle of questions
wanting to know who the Three Stooges represent
in our lives spent deceived by the world surrounding. 5.23.17
Do you like poetry? I like poetry. My dogs have always like poetry. Have you ever heard me read poetry? How about if I sang it to you? Any chance for that? Come on where’s the support here, there, over there. It has to be here someplace, why else would I write poetry? Happy poetry, sad poetry, nonsense poetry, and serious poetry. Ok, you can just sit and read then…..but if you do make it MY poetry that you read: The Widow’s Cliff and Other Poems on Amazon, or for a very select few, Rabbit in a Box also on Amazon.
You do want to support me, don’t you. Of course you do. Amazon, Gordon Kuhn….come and buy a book! My dog thanks you.
The poet speaks in voices unheard
Their words are spread upon a page unread
within the confusion of mind speak
the poet’s pen travels on, and on, and on
and where from does the lighted darkness come
where from does the need arise
to shake the hand of God, I suppose
and yet no one shall ever know.
What haunted inquiries doth possess
The soul of a single man
What creatures known but by him
Shall raise their faces from the darkness
From the vault kept locked within
Where memories persist to crawl
And slither then upon the walls
Where with a sublime poison touch the soul from within
To cradle him and bath him in memories of his sins
Cannot the treasure once spoken of so profound
See past the surface marred with scratches
Caused by the fight for life and light within
The casket of memories held tightly unexposed
Nails seeking a spot so soft to break into the day
And yet, my friend, darkness looms ahead
Darkness seeks the firm foundations grown so weak
Where only memories of evil purpose takes to peak
On a mountain never climbed and waiting
Waiting for the final curtain to descend
Upon the poet whose voice is silent from within. 02/02/17
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
Eric sat up in the smother of hay and looked at the two other mice whose faces had emerged from behind a pile of damp fiber. “I told you he would wake this day,” said the one to the right. “I cast stones and they said it would be today.”
“Oh shut up,” said the one to the left. “What do you know about stone casting.”
“Ha, more than you.”
Slowly the both emerged from the shadows. “You’ve been asleep a long time,” they both said almost in unison. “Mind if I touch you,” the one of the right said and extended a paw.
“Who are you and where I am I,” Eric said pulling back as he realized that both of these field mice were much larger than he, almost like rats.
“Ah, you don’t need to worry yourself about who we are but as far as where you are well, that is another matter.”
“And the time. The time and day of the year is important.”
“Fine,” Eric said angrily. “Where am I. Isn’t this Farmer Gragers’ farm?”
“Yes, but another time and day and you’ve travelled here. You would think you have come forward a hundred years but in reality you slid sideways. We tell every arrival that they have gained a hundred years. It is just easier that way.”
“Yes, Easier.”
“How so? Well, when are able to you will see and find you are different.”
“Yes,” the one on the right said excitedly.
“Can I tell him where he is?” The two looked at each other and then said, “Outside, just down the road is the town of Llandia. Do you know it?” 1/13/17 Copyright Gordon Kuhn Unedited Text.
And so as evening fell fully away from the day and
Those watching went their separate way
Speaking not of evil left there cloaked in dark wings
And left behind small Aleen to sit high upon the hill
The rocky hill that overlooked the city of LLandia
Where the mission keeper sat and looked past them as they left
Brooding about the mission sent him on
And snarled at those who turned to look back at him
For what was their want? Could they have found a better one.
His dark fangs revealed his mood and waited for the taste of blood.
That would run from throats slit by fingernail and dragon tail of wingspan spread
He would wait till fully dark and then mount his quest and deliver the blows
While the silly younger ones left behind who groveled at their teachers feet
Waited for a tasty treat and yet
And yet he recalled Anlock the Strong who spoke to him so long before
Long before the mission clear was in his mind and vision spell
There he had lain away so many days and nights until it became so very clear
That death, dear death would somehow come once again near
And as told when Anloch’s face was close, so close he could hear
The breathing from the lungs deep behind the lacquered armored hide
“Kill them swifty, little one. Surprise those of your kind larger than you.
Surprise them at your strength and keep in mind,
There will come a day when you will have to kill them too.” 1/12/2017
Angels or demons cast their nets
Wide caught those with memories
Memories of rights and wrongs, I think
Those with recall so sharp and clear
Memories of thoughts themselves cursed
Cursed as were the moments in time brought forth
Forth brought the issues as played out in life complex
Angels or demons, I know not which crawl through my mind
And pull me from the present to the past intense
Visions not wished to replay
But seen there on the big screen
Unable to stop them from their haunting. 1/10/17
She came softly
Easily to his bed was led
And he found himself—suddenly dismantled
Unexpected the world spinning about his head
As if enjoying a first time cup of rich Turkish Coffee
Followed by a sip of mint liqueur that was fed
From the tip of his lover’s tongue warm red
That sought his mouth out amid a smile of rapture deep
To share as did they while the world disappeared forgotten
While within tousled sheets the pair gamboled
And he surrendered to her charms thus, so gently wed. 1/9/2017
She had blue eyes,
Vulnerable, blue eyes
And they held him in their grasp
Gentleness lived there so much he had to gasp
And she never spoke; she never once spoke
Yet her eyes could easily jokingly poke
And raise the issue of man and woman
As the world floated past the two who were human
As they lay in a grassy field, in a soft and wavy grassy field
Their hands from the sun wide-open eyes did shield
And his protected hers so deep they were and so blue
As they lay in peace and in love so true.
She had blue eyes, deep, soft blue eyes
Vulnerable blue eyes.
Copyright 2/3/2015 Gordon Kuhn
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
