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
Eric suddenly realized something was wrong. The hay smelled stale, rotted actually. How long had he slept, he wondered? Hours? Days? No, impossible, he had never slept for more than a few hours and if he had someone would have woken him.
He heard shuffling and mumbling coming from off to his left and then to his right. Suddenly, little brown noses poked into the cavity. Field Mice noses. Then he saw an eye blinking at him. “He’s awake!” a mouse voice said to his left.
“No.” A mouse voice said to his right.
Then the noses and the eyes suddenly broke out of the hay and there he sat being studied intently by two field mice, one from the left and one from the right.
“It’s impossible,” said the mouse to the right.
“Well, it is what it is,” said the one on the left. “I told you he was waking up.”
“Yes, you did but….”
Eric suddenly sat up. “Who are you? I don’t recognize either of you.”
“Good God, he can talk,” the mice said together. “I think we should tell the Queen,” said the one on the left. “No, I don’t think that is wise,” from the right. “She’s been bashing people on the head with her club. I don’t even want to go near her,” said the one on the left. “Besides we need more information,” they said together.
So it happened that Eric fell asleep for what appeared to be only a few minutes, but the reality was it was hours and days and months that had passed in a twinkling when Eric finally yawned and sat up in what was now a pollution of rotted hay for he had been left there as the others were unable to wake him. But then there was a shuffling noise in the far in of his den and out popped the faces of two who were his own age, except you had to consider he was actually over a hundred at the time, but not physically. Physically he was only 3 or was it 4. I’m not sure, maybe 5. Yes, let’s say he was 5 and be done with it except…..well….plus a hundred.
They were husband and wife. Best friends. Two who loved each other without question. Her name was Kathleen, Kathy for short. His was Doctor James Briles. He went by Jim.
Kathy spent the last day of her life excited with the prospects of preparing a special dinner for the man she loved. One they would never share. She had gotten her hair done just as it had been on their first date. She had stopped to visit with friends telling them of her plans for the evening.
It was to be a special night. One filled for them with the sense and wonder of simply being in love. But the actions of one man, one monster, turned it into a scene of horror.
Book One is published: Do You Know How to Fly?
You can order it from Barnes and Noble, Amazon has it and also has it in e-book fashion, and I have it on http://www.authorgordonkuhn.com . Order from me and it will arrive with my personal note to you.
So here I sit with the majority of Book Two done and I am procrastinating. Call it what you will, but I just can’t seem to get myself going. I am within reach of being done with Book Two and I just can’t seem to push myself over the edge. Maybe it is a case of fear. Yes, fear.
I have been working on this for 6 1/2 years and to let go of my baby, so to speak, is frightening. Not only that but is it a good book or is it shit? I don’t know. I feel it is a good book but at the same time I am concerned that the author, me, is just delusional. That happens to everyone I think that has created something and who has this ache in their hearts to be looked upon as an artist, relevant for the current times and yet building a legacy for others to look up at and marvel at the work done so far.
So, anyway, I met with retired Sheriff’s Detective Ned Foy who solved the Briles’ murder case and had coffee with him. I gave him a copy of Book One and he said he is excited to read it. He is also looking forward to Book Two.
Now the pressure is on. Actually it had already started this morning at breakfast when Sherry Call Roberts walked up to me and poked me in the stomach asking how close I was to finishing Book Two . Of course she was being playful but the point was simply this: get going and get finished and stop procrastinating. It is easy to fall into that trap. So I am grateful to Sherry and to Ned and to everyone who is bugging the hell out of me to finish the book. It needs to get done.
The other nice thing, and I mean that really, is that Ned told me that he would join the readers I have now and review Book Two. After all, he is the main man on that. It was his case to solve and he did. He can provide me with even more insight than I have now. He’s excited. I’m excited. And, I know that everyone else will be excited too as we all move forward with this. I know I am not alone.
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
He sat up high on the hill above the city of Ilandia His six foot wingspan had been closed and wrapped securely around him more for warmth than stealth and concealment. He sat alone, disliking being near the others who were mostly newlings out for their first hunt and kill mission. They were all several hundred feet below him babbling about how lucky they had been too fly with such a master.
“Master,” he snarled to himself after overhearing one of their comments. “What do they know of Masters. They are too young to know the virtues of such as Anloch the Strong who took out a thousand Betweens on a day many called ‘Judgement Day.'” He snorted and tightened the grip of his wings upon his body.
“Still strong,” he looked down at himself, at the muscle structure of his arms. “After all these years, still strong,” he sniffed in pleasure and recalled his first mission.
“They are missionaries,” Anloch had said in a snarl, his gargoyle like face close to Aleen’s. “Kill them swifty, little one. Surprise those of your kind larger than you. Surprise them at your strength and keep in mind,” his voice dropped low and his lips touched Aleen’s ear, “there will come a day when you will have to kill them too.”
Eric the wee field mouse had spent the night cuddled in a warm spot in a glorious pile of summer fresh-cut hay piled up in a luxurious stack near the old barn on the Parrish Family Alpaca Farm. He stretched and yawned and looked around where he lay at the others still asleep and wondered what wondrous adventures would lay ahead that day.
The smell of the mound sent his mind traveling back to when he was just a baby wee field mouse curled up near his mum. Oh those were great days and nights to be sure until Mr. Parrish put out a bait that wiped out half the Parrish wee mouse homestead. Surely, Eric reasoned, it must have been a mistake for the old man to have been so brutal in dispatching his kin and he argued that position before the Grand Wee Mouse council deep in the old hay stack when suddenly a pitch fork slammed through the nest and skewered two of the council members and then, just as suddenly as the instrument of their death had plunged through the nest it was pulled out with them attached to the prongs and then they were tossed over in the pig pen where Daphne and Derril, the two pigs, were happily munching on a fresh pile of kitchen refuse just tossed in their muddy pen. “Oh, look,” said Daphne to Derril, “look at what Mr. Parrish just done. He killed two of the wee mouse council and tossed them into our muddy wallow. “Oh, it’s alright,” Derril replied with a grunt, “just eat around them. Maybe Chuck the Hawk will see them and come and get them while they are still warm.”
Well, of course, it was a rough awakening for the youngest of the young to see such violence done when they had done nothing to old man Parrish except eat some of his summer corn and maybe a tomato or two and all that nonsense about peeing on Mrs. Parrish’s freshly laundered clothes that she had left out by the clothes line. Mouse pee isn’t all that much and besides, to Eric and the others, it seemed to brighten up the laundry a bit, or so they thought at the time for hygiene was not their thing. No definitely not their thing. Peeing was a mouse’s right, ancient mouse Norman had said as he was tasting a bit of cheese on a piece of oddly shaped wood. He had grabbed a fresh piece and was about to pop it in his mouth when the strangest thing happened, a metal bar snapped down and severed his head from his body. Well, you can just imagine the shock that caused. But Derril the pig reminded them that Norman was ancient and was eating too much and simply had to go. “Yes,” the remaining bunch all agreed and drug Norman’s body and head off to where Chuck the Hawk might find it. Feeding Chuck was a laborious thing but necessary to protect the wee mouse like Eric from being swept up and eaten while out for a stroll over by the pigsty.
With all that sleepily being rewound in his head, Eric the wee field mouse simply rolled over, pulled some hay up close, and fell back to sleep. And, just before falling asleep, he decided he would have to deal with Old Man Parrish soon in retaliation over his attacks on his tribe, for surely this was war, but he wasn’t just too sure how to go about it.