The Three Stooges


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

WHY DO WE TEACH LIES TO CHILDREN?


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?

KIRKUS REVIEW OF DO YOU KNOW HOW TO FLY?


KIRKUS REVIEW

Kuhn’s debut true-crime story shows how a violent man’s life led him to death row.

The author uses interviews and other sources to piece together the life of Delmer Smith, a seasoned career criminal awaiting execution in Florida. Smith was born in Detroit in 1971, on the cusp of the city’s economic decline. By age 14, he was convicted of raping a woman at a carwash where he worked. The 18 months that he spent in a juvenile reformatory dashed any possibility of rehabilitation; instead, he learned “how to be more proficient as a criminal” as he became “a creature without a conscience.” As a young adult, Kuhn writes, Smith carried out burglaries, carjackings, and bank robberies, which eventually led to a 15-year incarceration. After his second prison stint, he moved to Florida; there, Kuhn writes, Smith assaulted and beat multiple women—all the while leading a double life as a “wise and loving uncle” to his two nieces. Eventually, the violence led to a murder conviction. The author interviewed many of Smith’s victims and found that the women were now “desperately seeking someone or something to fully trust again.” Thanks to these firsthand accounts, readers receive a nuanced portrait of a predatory man. Kuhn’s decision to jump between accounts of Smith’s early life and present-day interviews is an effective one; by regularly pulling readers back to the present, he reminds them of the painful, enduring impact of his subject’s actions. Moreover, Kuhn shows a great deal of sensitivity when recounting the crimes, evoking deep pathos instead of graphic sensationalism. That said, the book does include some unnecessary background information, including three pages on Smith’s birth alone; it also bafflingly overuses section breaks, which disrupt the otherwise strong narrative flow.

A thoughtful, engaging account of a brutal life and the carnage that it left behind.

Eric the Field Mouse conti.


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.

 

ALEEN Continued


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 the Tiny Field Mouse Chapter Two


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.

Aleen the Winged


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 Part One


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.

0400 Martian at the door.


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.

A good book for you!


scan-rabbit-in-a-box-cover

This is a book of poetry, a slice of life. It is a reflection of what has been and what will come. If you know of someone who likes to read, likes or even dislikes poetry (some have read this book that do not like poetry and yet they have written me and say write more! because of the way I write) then THIS is the book for you and for your friend. $10 https://authorgordonkuhn.com/