It was five o’clock in the morning
And there’s rain upon the roof
It fell hard without any warning
When it swept down the road
Rushed up through the woods
Caught the grassy fields by surprise
The wind bent the bushes and the trees
Then all was strangely gone
And, for some reason, in the midst of it
I recalled ancient tales of Beowulf
I remembered his meeting with Grendel
A descendent of Abel’s killer, Cain
Then the death of the Hag
Who did her seductive best, but lost to his sword
Before a dragon felt the cold steel
Then the rains washed it all away
Nothing was left for me to ask to stay
Not at five in the morning
When the rain came and wet the roof
Falling hard without any warning
Sweeping down the road
Catching all by surprise
Bending the bushes, trees, and me
Then was strangely gone.

Copyright 2018 Gordon Kuhn 9.29.18



Copyright 2012 Gordon Kuhn

Poet in the Rain Productions


I got my radio tuned to the Blues!

Uh huh, listenin’ to some smoky, hot Blues.

Hot blues, mama! Hot Blues! Pokey, hot Blues.

Blues playin’ in the mornin’, you lovely woman

with rain fallin’ outside, and more is comin’.

Guitars singing as they are bein’ strummin,’

strummin’ and my heart, my heart be drummin’.

My feet are movin’ to the beat!

So sit yourself down and take a seat.

And please know I got no time for no melodrama.

So don’t be angry with me mama, don’t be angry mama

an’ don’t be lookin’ at me so blankly

no, don’t be angry with me

‘cause you can always be set free.

You got no hold, no mama, no hold on me!

While I’m sittin’ an’ listenin’ to some smoky-hot blues

hot, smoky blues in the mornin’.

That’s what I say

on this rainy, raining, bluesy day.

Mmm hmm, an’ please be knowin’, please  be knowin’

I don’t own no dancin’ shoes

for no slow dance can I do to the Blues.

Suppose I could try if I should so choose.

But I got my radio tuned to the Blues.

Stormin’ outside is what’s in the news.

Stormin’ inside, but not drinkin’ no booze.

Drank it all,

bottle’s empty and got no money

no more money to buy some more liquid honey.

Rain comin’ down in buckets cloud-filled

To the brim, wet and chilled,

To the brim now, yes, wet and chilled

Worry’s I got and am not thrilled

By prospects I’ve been told

With answers for I’m not sold

There’s smoke on the horizon!

Smoke amidst the weatherizin’

Someone said there’s a fire burnin’ in the distance

All the while I be happily singin’ with inconsistence

While I’m listenin’ to the Blues

Those smoky, pokey, mellow old Blues

And I’m listenin’ to the Blues

And watchin’ the smoke curling up on the horizon.




Copyright 2011 Gordon Kuhn

Poet in the Rain


A light rain, soft, comes tapping on the windowpane

a brief rumbling growl, low, no threat drifted over the darkened lane

and flowers awoke and kissed the dew that fell lightly upon their heads

while all the neighbors nearby at home lay sleeping in their beds

and missed the wonder of the night unfold in the dark so close outside

but I alone awake saw it all quietly watching through my windowpane

then turned and sleepy slipped softly back in bed my wife beside

where I lay and gently kissed each fingertip of my sleeping bride.