Why is it that we teach children to lie? Why do we tell them lies? Santa Claus! Adults think it is cool to tell children all about Santa Claus. Kids get around older kids and the older kids berate the younger kids making them feel foolish and then the heartbreaking truth is revealed that the adults … parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles….lied to them. And you expect them to learn to be truthful doing this? What about the Easter Bunny and egg hunts? …..bunny = eggs?
Standing naked on the lawn
alone he was one sunlit dawn
the grass beneath his shoeless feet
cut like broken glass in the shimmering heat
with no one for miles around in sight
memories screamed in silence and turned to flight
while each separate living haunted thought
echoed off mental walls of stone
trapped there, held there apart from others’ sight
while caught up in a wind lifted moan
he stood naked beneath an unmoving sun
that dried his flesh and burned his bone
his life before him seen in a looping rerun
while he stood naked there on a grassless lawn
alone, he was, one sunlit dawn .
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
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
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.
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.
I had the oddest thing happen this morning at 0400. Well, first I woke up which wasn’t odd in itself. I had bumped the table near where I was sleeping on the floor and of course it complained that I had done so and rattled and clunked while settling back where it should have been. Tables do that when aroused from their sleep, you know. But that wasn’t strange as I am use to that sort of goings on in the middle of the night with the furniture having a go at having fun. In any case, I decided to go outside and peer out at the dark as it is dark here at 0400. But just as I stepped out the front door I ran into a Martian that I have not seen in years. He was obviously distraught and I asked why. Of course he then politely asked if I would like to share a cup of coffee that he had just made. They do that, Martians. They generally keep a good store of coffee on hand and like to share, but the stuff is absolutely horrible. So, I declined which made him a bit brighter actually as he didn’t want to share in the first place. He then told me that he was moving to Saturn. I asked why. He told me it was because he was a Hillary supporter and upset that she didn’t win. “Oh,” I said, “I didn’t know.” He said it was very true and because he had told his friends that he was moving to Saturn that he had to go. Well, I wished him a good trip and told him I really needed to get back to bed or, at least, back inside as I didn’t want to be caught outside at 0400 with a Martian drinking Martian coffee (dreadful stuff). I mean, try explaining that to the neighbors.