Predator: Do You Know How To Fly? 09.03.2017 A


This is a continuation of the text in the book: Predator; The Man Who Didn’t Exist; Do You Know How to Fly?

The main title (Do You Know How to Fly?) was a question posed by Delmer Smith to a woman victim as he held our out naked over her 12th floor balcony in the middle of the night and (after he had physically and sexually abused her) he asked her if she knew how to fly.

The book was developed over a period of years with interviews of not only the killer, but of his fiancé at the time, the victims who were alive and approachable, law enforcement, and the attorneys involved. If you desire to buy the book it can be purchased directly from me (I sign it) or at Amazon, or Barnes and Noble, or any bookstore for that matter. My website is http://www.authorgordonkuhn.com  and you can make a purchase there.

Okay, so here we go:

Chapter 2 “He’s my Uncle.”

The defenses plea for mercy.

“He’s My Uncle.”

It is August 14th, 2012 and Mr. Brunvand, Delmer Smith’s defense attorney, will introduce two young women to the Court. They have traveled to Bradenton, Florida from Detroit, Michigan out of love for the defendant. Brunvand plans to show a different side of Delmer to the Court. It is an attempt to obtain some leniency for his client to avoid the death penalty. “Good morning,” he said to the first woman. She had just taken a seat on the stand and been sworn in, “Please tell the Jury your full name.”

“Alicia Phillips.”

“And Alicia, how old are you?” He smiled gently at her.

“Twenty-nine.”

Brunvand continues with questions regarding Ms. Phillips residence and employment. She has come from her home in Bradford, Michigan where she lives with her 3-year-old daughter. She has come to Bradenton to speak in open court on behalf of a man being held on first-degree murder charges.

“How do you know Delmer Smith?”

“He’s my uncle.”

Brunvand asks her if she can point out Delmer in the courtroom “and tell the Jury what he’s wearing?”

She does so, indicating a man seated at the defense table wearing “a striped blue shirt, collared shirt.”

“And is he someone who you consider yourself close to?” Brunvand gently asks.

“Yes, I love him very much.”

“Do you recall an instance as a child where Delmer came to your aid?”

“Yes,” Ms. Phillips went on to tell about an instance where she had “been bad” and was being punished for it by getting “a spanking.” She explained that her grandmother, Velma Shelton Smith, Delmer Smith’s mother, had picked up a switch, her apparent singular choice for dealing with such issues, and was spanking her when her nose began to bleed. Delmer, she told the Court, stepped in between his mother and his niece protecting her from being struck anymore by his mother.

“And he calmed me down, and—you know, he always came to my aid.”

To Be Continued.

AuthorGordonKuhn.com

GordonKuhn.com

or gkuhnwrites@aol.com

 

 

 

 

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Just wanted to take a moment and say thanks for those who have opted to follow or who have commented on my blog. THANK YOU. I appreciate your comments and the fact that you have taken the time to follow me. You are welcome here and I hope that I hear from you.

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and https://easysays.com/2017/08/10/our-home/

 

 

truth slain and random thoughts over ice cream 8.14.17


Truth Slain on a TV Stand

The morning bell was met head-on
And each child followed the trail as winter won
To where truth then was set upon and promptly slain
For sadly truth had gathered thinking it safe
As if fearing safety it mattered simply not
The rot that had grown up in Webster’s lot
While all about the dreamer’s world came that
A web of cotton thread all wound about
That hid the learned from the learning there
With great gashes to the bone through grisly hair
I watched as torment swept up the path
To claim that which was left of the day
Coiled in self-incriminating powered doubt
For none was there with whom to share
And none was there to take the classic dare
But, instead, the gentle waves of sympathy rose
To climb aboard the train of memories
Before the closing bell had rung and
Students filled with nonsense about the world around
Ran home to watch Kukla, Fran, and Ollie
On the small black and white TV screen
That had come to land in a place of pride
An altar of electronic marvel to stun the world
The twisting movement about of rabbit ears
The frantic swirling the antenna about
In hopes to get the camera shot
Before the ending of the show
In search of the spot, the spot, the spot to find
To make the frazzled snow look more real
Where Lucy, Desi, Ethel and Fred would be
Along with an accordion player had earlier graced the day
Making life appear as easy without pain or torment
They lied, the lied, they spun and twisted the thin posts
And they lied, they lied, while we ate cold beans in a pouring rain
While children we ate Tomato Soup with thick buttered white bread
Prophesied to help us in at least 8 ways
Enriched (we found was putting back that removed) for us
Only to be told so many years later that
White bread will kill you as it brings on the fat
And that Lucy and Dezi, Ethel and Fred
Didn’t get along, but we never knew and so
We twisted those damn antennas round and round
Until we found the spot, the spot, the damned spot
And certain ghost like creatures appeared in scattered form
Focused on the glass screen as if the world was somehow going right
While war was off in a foreign land
And so we searched for the spot, the spot, the spot. 8.13.2017

a simple poem and random remarks 2033/08/11/17


I Am On Fire

Gordon Kuhn Copyright 8.11.2017

Within the skull born of female pain
He lashed out at the days but could not steal the stain
That in treasured measure laid its curling tone
Upon the printer’s inked plate during winter’s dying moan
He never thought the deeds quite through each day
While death visited his youth upon its way
Ripping out the contour of his life
Leaving behind the refuse of his strife.
His guilt real or imagined lay deep about his feet
No peace shall he ever through conscience release ever greet
While in the lonely closing of his days
Boxed in, surrounded by a killing maze.

WHAT?


        by improve everywhere

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.

 

 

INTERVIEW WITH CLAIRE-HARRIS PERKINS


What a wonderful idea, I thought, to actually be interviewed by someone who was professional and knowledgeable about my writing. What a treat. And so, when asked, I answered with a loud, “Yes.” How could I not and I found the experience most entertaining and educational at the same time.

First off, I am not the brightest person when it comes to computers and anything electronic hates me from the first handshake. That held true with trying to get Skype to work. It kept rejecting my passwords and then went nuts when I tried to reload with another email address. So, there I was panicking a full hour before the interview and poor Claire who resides in the UK was wrong on the time difference between there and here. She said 10 AM and it was 9:40 when I wrote on Skype asking if we were connected. She wrote back that she had just come home from shopping and that the time for our conversation was 10 and we had an hour to go. I told her it was coming up on 10 and then she realized the time difference was 4 and not 5 hours. So she set off to get the interview going.

She is incredibly professional.  She  sent me her list of questions and she followed that list perfectly. I was thankful that she had done that because I knew where we were going and there were no surprises.

I am attaching the link to the interview.

https://www.booktalkradio.info/gordon-kuhn

Please go and enjoy it and write back and tell me what you think. Claire can be reached at her site http://www.booktalkradio.info she can also be found at her page on Facebook:

Claire Harris-Perkins

So, if you are an author and independently publish you own works contact her. She is easy to talk with and lots of fun.

 

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.