STANDOFF excerpt 8.28.19

Crushed Cigarettes Left on the Floor

I met her years back in a local tavern

A bar, a pub, a gin spot, liquor room

And she followed me home without speaking

Without asking, without knowing who she was or

From where she had come from or going to

Her arm draped in mine holding

A cold six pack of beer in a paper sack

Her black knee length skirt bouncing there

While high heels clicked

And left a trail of music as we walked

Then she slipped past as I opened my apartment door

Not speaking, just looking, with a wink

And made her way into the stillness of the room

And came in visit to my bed

Where we sang songs of love for hours long

Until there was no more strength in us to carry on

And we drank the beer then gone warm

From the six pack left in my dead fridge

And lit a cigarette in the dark

A cloud of smoke swirled our heads

Glowed lightly from the light of the moon

In the morning she was gone

And I was left so all alone, so alone

With the scent she left behind slightly hanging in the air

The sheets left were ruffled and wet with sweat

With empty beer cans on the floor by the bed

Where a half smoked cigarette lay crushed upon the floor

She became just a memory then for months to a year

Until she chose to visit once again

She followed without speaking and slipped past me in the hallway

Going in the open apartment door

Where she slipped into my bed in the dark

And nestled with her head upon my neck

We loved each other like it was the day before the end

Then she was gone again in the morning light

Sheets were ruffled and wet with sweat

Empty beer cans beside the bed

Near a half-smoked cigarette that lay crushed upon the floor

Left me with there with the coming of the day and just a memory of her scent

She came and went at times with my not knowing if she would ever come again

While our hearts raced and melted together in the room without any air

With a window wide open to let any breeze in to cool our naked bodies lying there

The moon peeking in at two lovers adrift in moments of sexual wonder

And in the morning, there would be empty beer cans lying on the floor

Near a bed empty without her lying there

While a still smoldering cigarette lay crushed upon the floor

Left me empty somehow with just a memory of her scent.

Hey There Mr. Scarecrow.

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

A Secret Life: Memories from another life.

A friend from a past life told me of a love
But sadly he said he doesn’t recall her name
That is really such a shame
For way back when he was just age 23
I knew him as we worked for the same company
He met her in a restaurant where she waitressed
Back when he in a suit was dressed
And he fell in love when she caught his eye
Along with his open, clear and honest desire
Hoping to date her but she was married
And his hopes on wing were carried
Right out the front door to fly away
And his heart was crushed on the restaurant floor
Then came a night following the heavy heat of day
Where in a pool hall barroom they met and she chose to stay
With a quart of beer and two packs of cigarettes each the other led
Back to his one bedroom apartment on Osprey
Down the hall from where I lived
There their clothes were soon shed
And in the heavy heat of the night she took his bed
So long ago was that singular day
But the reality was she could not stay
Each of them had a life to live
And she was not free for her love to give
Her face he can see in memory for years thereafter
But sadly, her name slipped away
It is just memories from another life that still remain
Memories from a secret life.


An odd feeling passed over me this night
Cast from memories to paper the wall of my room
How the wind howls and seeks an entry to my soul
Where with barbs it would lay waste without recourse
And show me the insignificance of my life
The blazing fire of anger shared
The paths walked and those failed to pass over
Doors offered and left closed
With life my life is shared and
What could have been is done
For better things I think
Perhaps, but no tally sheet for the score
The butterfly spreads its wings
The rabbit seeks a hole
An end within an end
The spiral stumbles and fails. Copyright Gordon Kuhn Sept. 28,2014



Copyright 2012 Gordon Kuhn

Poet in the Rain

 I found you there early this morning

when I rose sleepy like from my bed,

with fog and cobwebs all fillin’ my head.

There you were in a summer dress

dancin’ dainty like … across the flowers of my mind.

I must absolutely ashamedly confess

You snuck up when I wasn’t looking.

Oh … so softly you took my hand and led

and took up so short of time to up for me remind

of those other times and filled me with wishes

for late night spaghetti dinners

and large glasses of red colored wine.

You passed your way through the meadows

where you said you were just mine.

Led me softly down the oak shaded lane

and there you handed me rose colored petals

just like you did in another lifetime

so many years ago

But then … then there was the pain.                                                                                      7.2.12

Just thinking.

Just sitting here and thinking about life. I wonder about all the people I have known over the years. I let them drift through my thoughts in a slow moving slideshow. Some of my memories are sad and some happy. I guess that’s normal. At least I hope it’s normal.

I just learned the other day that a guy I worked with years ago had died of a heart attack. I hope it was while he was fishing as he loved fishing. He was a bastard in many ways, temperamental, known for an extremely bad temper, a bar fighter, and someone who was not only not to be trusted but someone I will always remember.

I’m simply mentioning Steve as he was a standout, but there were lots of standouts. I’m thinking of him only because I just recently learned of his death, and it will be a strange world to think that he is no longer in it.

Maybe I should try to catalog all of them. I could definitely write a book about the people that I knew when I worked at Scotty’s Home Builders Supply. I could write about the bowling team and all the fistfights that took place in the bowling alley and local restaurants and bars. I could write about the tangled relationships between the men and women who work there. It was very colorful place.

It’s late and I need my sleep. But my thoughts remain on all the people that I have known and know.


The Owl and the Rabbit

The Owl and the Rabbit

 by  Gordon Kuhn  02/28/2010

 You sat, grandmother, and watched me as a boy

and thought of me as some strange toy

your hands folded mildly on your lap

but I could feel the steely endgame trap

that desire you held to me was not so bare

regardless of how soft your faultless stare

I saw beyond as two worlds opened wide to me

I sensed the hidden evil in your soul

and sought to flee from your wicked goal

for no protector there was for me

save myself to keep me safe from thee

for death it was you wished for me

you the owl and I the rabbit be.

************   Copyright by Gordon Kuhn