Archive for the ‘Emotions’ Category



Copy Write © 2010 Gordon Kuhn





The quiet girl who lived behind

most surely, slowly lost her mind

for cursed she was in her mother’s womb

she now sleeps, lays lonely in her tomb.


Her spirit un-trapped from flesh and bone

by knife’s edge she worked to hone

and laid her down in water warm

her thoughts now resting from their desperate swarm.


The cut was quick, the blade was swift

and she began in slight pain to drift

and dreamt of days that might have been

were it not her curse from some unknown sin.


That left her born an unpleasant sight

though she wished with all her might

for one dance at her high school prom

for one date with a boy named Tom.


The dog she loved had been recent put away

and now she had not any need to stay

So alone she laid within her bath

and as the world slipped she gave a laugh.


At an empty thought, the joke of life

for which for her had been but strife

she came, years later, stood next to me

two men, not known, spoke that she was now free.


The shackles, bondage had slipped away

as life had drained she could not stay

but came years later wanting me to know

that she had simply had to go


And had wept that faultless night

her eyes burning in clouded sight

and stood before a bathroom mirror

and cursed her life, deaths’ choice the clearer.


The door had closed, I simply had to go

not knowing what to say, the tears did flow

an offer made by she for me to stay

but I had to leave to go my way.


Disturbed, I found her birthright curse

not grown enough myself to nurse

the lost and lonely bare laid feeling there

the hungry haunting sadly painful stare.


And I in shame did in wild confusion slink away

while she said welcome, come please stay

stay this night and warm my bed

or else a broken heart shall leave me dead.


A friend is all I need, nothing else

a friend is all I want, nothing else.

Years passed and she sudden came

not to cast any shame or blame.


Simply to say she’d passed and gone her way.

But, now her presence comes unexpected this day

not to haunt and not to play,

but, just to say, she could not stay.



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Gordon Kuhn © 2011

How strange the night before me spread
as I was taken firmly by a vapor hand
taken from my sleeping bed
while she whom I had recent wed
still slept near where I’d lain my head
and came to find myself being ghostly led
while about me swirled an odd lit land
whose face was naught but singular bled
from darkness deepened beyond darkest dread
past doorways with windowless voices
which spoke of myriads of choices
paths to unknown forces
where gates hung loosely open
no entry words need be spoken
but at length I soon saw through the gloom
and recognized the coming doom
and reaching out I then attacked the evil
that held my hand in deep despair
forced it from its bloody lair
and thus in that world caused upheaval.

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Wakened by a Scream


Gordon Kuhn

Copy Write 2011 by Gordon Kuhn

I was wakened by a sudden scream,

the sound exploded in the darkest hours

engulfed and filled the silent room

silent lit by a full and shining blood-red moon.

I was jerked out,

tumbled out,

forced from a pleasant dream,

to lay in a tormented bed,

in wide eyed surprise,

affright from toe to head,

trying my best how to surmise,

what lay next in life,

did in concealment lie.

In fear then was led.

in silent memory anguish fed,

guilt for sins unleashed to tread

upon issues long thought dead.

Not breathing,

afraid to move.

afraid to live,

afraid to die,

my mind was seething,

afraid the world was passing by,

and no mark upon it had I made,

as if in life,

I had not ever been or stayed.

And listened to my heart,

beating beneath the sheets,

and knew there was,

——no one there,

that I was all alone,

just me,

just me with the moon,

a giant blood-red moon,

silent peeking in the room

the very silent lonely room,

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Copy Write © 2010 Gordon Kuhn

How came this feeling of being——alone

set apart from others who seem to easily, openly share

round about me, as I inwardly feel the cool of stone

my timing is so awkward in attempts to find a way to share

and my voice comes to me as though in an emotionless drone

while others seem to shine and with each word spoken there

match the others in easy developed vocal tone

but I feel and fear it is not the same with me

nor ever was, or ever should, or could ever be

but, even still, the feeling lasts that in someway I am——alone.

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Evening comes and in so doing in growing darkness compresses time just a bit and so we in good company choose to sit and reminisce and think of blessings received and drift in thoughts of loved ones who are not so near.

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MELANCHOLY WISPS OF FEELINGS SILENT SLIP December 19, 2010 Copy Write 2010 Gordon Kuhn  

Melancholy wisps of feelings silent slip to come firmly into place,

then lock themselves tightly in as a broken puzzle would

in mass confusion, spaces filled with misaligned

if not brooding pieces were lifeless left, to complete the mess

and in nightmare could provide the stress not assigned

while I sit and stare off into a simple, soundless empty space

no thoughts given to the cause. Nay, no to any trace.

Mental grown rose petals there,

that once caused thoughts to stop and stare

now dark turn and tumbling fall from God’s sweet grace.

Broken free from their mother’s wooden lifeless teat

cast off, forced off, did they not cry out at the rend?

or, instead dead were before the end,

lost their hold on natures life granting seat.

Brittle left, fragrance gone, surrendered to the wind,

they then come and crumble into nature’s waiting soot

to disappear where they landed put

no comment, no word, no letter did they outward send

and there a part of earthen soil their ashes soon with little thought

of how once their beauty had with awe been sought

now beneath a crushing careless boot to death are put

while stale grey, ink-grey clouds leaded down with heavy remorse

stretch out flat across the gentle, blue-stained concourse

where no winged, hopeful creatures will be or have taken to the air

none could as simply put there are none who any longer care

no simple thoughts of buoyant anticipation that realm did or could open


with another, while damped down, smashed down, in growing depth of

deadly deep despair

while bottomless waters lap at the oar-less boat left floating, drifting with a

cut and trailing rope

that lay drifting in a twisted, curving line.

The craft’s destination left unplanned.

Its cockpit deserted, empty and unmanned.

Boat and line left floating without any clear design

of goal to reach, no course in mind, no map or compass to remind

but trailing, points the way back to where once lived hope.

But hope has passed away, and no longer has its due;

for hope had perished, left to lay still and lifeless

upon the dock where once the world seemed so bright and strife-less.

But then despair—— its life coldly, boldly took and slew

before turning to slice a cut through the boats single safety line

that never had before lost its contact with the safety of that which once kept the craft tethered unharmed through the moving, ever changing passage of

what we call time

but in this wild purchase of despair that which we called protector, safety

calmly slept.

By Gordon Kuhn

Author of Widow’s Cliff and Other Poems
Buy or view the book at:

OR You can go to Barnes & Noble and order it there.
Simply type in The Widow’s Cliff and Other Poems in the search box and order the book.

Poet in the Rain: https://gkpoems.wordpress.com/
Thoughts: http://gordonwrites.com/
Prince of Dan: http://theprinceofdan.blogspot.com/


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The Words Are Flying


Copy Write © 2010 Gordon Kuhn



The words are flying wide and wild this brooding sleepless night,

but none seem to fall in line, nor stay long enough within my sight

to deliver options to my pen, nor to charge the ink lying waiting therein,

a dark liquid which seems to understand my depths of joylessness wherein

I slip in struggle against ill thoughts, brooding views, a clinging fight

and calling shadows show, to me, to the world, a false delight

while trying to raise the alarm and mount a force for urgency to fight

as the fever presses in and is not so soft in touch or pressure light

and there find self trapped, wrapped tight in a blanket of self inflicted doubt

questioning all that lay exposed within a single candle’s flickering light

while all belief told might not be true that comes anxious into view

and a candle weak could easy lose its light if the wind a bit stronger blew.

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