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Archive for the ‘Fantasy’ Category

FACES

5/9/2011

Copyright Gordon Kuhn

Poet in the Rain

====================

Traffic slows, and I, in major working thought, do then suppose,

To try, while the world is in passing, amid birthing, dying throes,

and life’s loves and hates, like ocean waves,

come crashing upon a waiting, aged, and battered shore.

But——for this my curiosity grows,

But for this, but for this, and nothing more;

To introduce questions about issues, life, and things that which

No answers for them can be found, yet how they in power bewitch.

And therefore, in the surrounding still,

as stubbornly my soul will allow, I do question and propose by strength of will,

Else in discontented pleasure of a mixture of regrets would collapse and drown

Would but sink neath the folds of life, and disappear beneath the waiting ground.

Oddly, then, in thought, I am passing the vision intact, and unmasking,

A moment——a spotlighted vagary, licensed to catch up my mind,

Profound and electric as it starts, begins to compose,

While driving and looking out the windowpanes of my car.

A thousand images spring forth at once from both near and far.

Nevertheless, it is the faces in the vision quest that occupy my whimsy this night,

And will haunt my pathway into the coming dawn which, then ablaze in splinters of light,

Will break across the sparkled obsidian garment overhead interrupting the stoic archer

Who, in a locked position, defined by patterned star

Has never let the arrow loose, but then the archer is no true marcher

And from another position in the sky the archer is slain

For such as frozen is when viewed from the top, the bottom, the left

For such the right, the front or the back the original does not remain

And such is the case for changes made to the faces of man and woman cast in light, shadow, or darkness, in the sun, and in the rain.

Those laughing, singing, those sleeping, awake, birthing, dying, dead, and——those in pain.

I find them looking back through the glass from the future, the present, and the past, from up and from down, from side to side

While in my car I do drive as the driver and as a passenger do ride.

Does that matter in the end? The changes along the way?

Are we all so changeable from close and from far?

From birth to death, from smooth to being marked by scar,

I see faces along the path, along the lane, each a centerfold,

Each a separate light, each from a broken, shattered mold

Birthed in liquid we come as chosen to the waiting fold

And with a cut we are set free from the suitcase carried in that we all call: she.

Our mother, our vessel from darkness to light

chosen by some miraculous test of wills that for life will fight

But, I pray thee, think a moment, what if in the fevered search another egg or sperm were there

And they instead had formed a singular conceptive pair

Where would our position, our world, our own star be then?

And what of that pesky problem some like to call “original sin”.

Our birthright in cell chosen made from some divine process we all suppose,

But do you truly know, do the faces really show what was taught,

And what was learned before in death we all repose?

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SWIMMING ALONE

5/4/11

Copyright 2011 Gordon Kuhn

Poet in the Rain

He reached out to the world,

And found he was all alone,

Alone in a sea of blind humanity.

And he crumpled to the floor where,

He lay painful in a ball, curled there.

The world passed by where he lay.

Where he in silence, sang a song he alone did own.

No one heard the words he did try to share.

Not one took note where he did stay.

No one saw him there.

No one seemed to care.

No one stopped to say a prayer.

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ANTIQUE THOUGHTS

4/25/11

Copyright 2011 Gordon Kuhn

Poet in the Rain

T’was twilight’s gentle waking hour.

The day bird sought shelter in its leafy tower.

Came the scent of an approaching shower,

As light creatures sought safety each in their respective bower.

But antique thoughts did in shadows restless roam.

Beneath streetlights, they did seek an easy home,

And focused on a blooded painful zone,

Where they drove their poisoned daggers to the bone.

They circled, and moved in for the kill.

I felt the closeness of their lonely chill.

I walked alone, for from them I had no safe lane or home.

Antique thoughts on darkened wing did in shadows restless roam.

They walked, and flew so close to me,

Remembrances that haunt and chide. Those no one else can ever see.

The ghosts that stood watching near my side,

As antique thoughts upon the night wind did restless ride.

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Tee Tyson does a fantastic job reading my poetry. And, at the very end she does a surprise reading of one her teenage poems that I think is incredible. She doesn’t really know the strength of her talent. Her poem is striking and her reading of both hers and mine is majestic and done far better than I could have done. Thanks Tee!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nd-qQIBNetU&feature=share

Enjoy.

Gordon.

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CLOWNS

CLOWNS

4/11/2011

Copyright 2011 Gordon Kuhn

Poet in the Rain

 

The field in which the lovers quiet lay;

they, quite naked, on that gentle summer’s day.

Naked, but did not seem so to each the other,

flesh to flesh pressed were they,

wrapped in each the other’s arms.

Bewitched were they each by the other’s charms.

 

Surrounded, they, then the enchanted couple did stay,

by a tender, yielding earth’s blanket lay

of soft, dew-kissed, bright-green clover.

There, out of sight, in secret, hidden from the world,

their lives, their futures at once uncurled, were tenderly unfurled;

as they turned their trust in love to each other over.

 

Searching fingertips roamed in quest of communion with their lover,

and, as they did, reached out and touched waiting fingertips in soft discover.

A bond did form, that day, atop the yielding, sweet-soft lay of clover.

Fevered, hungered, searching lips did seek out and find the other.

She being a gentle, farmer’s virgin-daughter, and he a homeless, lonely rover.

They found a love no one could ever harm upon the sleeping clover.

 

Entranced from that day forever more they were.

Seduced by each the other’s charms.

While butterflies and humming birds the air about them did gently fan and      stir.

A relaxing of herself did occur. The broken barrier the waiting shaft exposed.

The tower entered by strong sense of permanence yearning superimposed.

They entered a place, few ever reach, a union strong, too much in love to be     ill composed.

 

He gently wiped the beaded moisture and clinging hair from her smiling face,

then with trembling fingers, her beauty before him did slowly trace.

Amazed at the wonder he saw there in her sparkling eyes,

far bluer than he had ever seen in any lake or ever in the skies.

Therein he saw a future ne’er dreamt could ever hold for him,

and to her pledged his love eternally from that moment forever then.

 

As he lifted her to lightly kiss, he told her his love was twice that of being true.

He vouchsafed himself forevermore to her that warm, hushed, and gentle day,

and the lovers, pressed close again each against the other,

fell asleep hiding in the lay of soft, sweet-summer clover,

caressed by a gentle breeze, while watched over,

guarded by ten thousand clowns set by the breeze to waving.

 

Each clown of summer wore a different colored hat.

A different colored hat upon each stem had Nature formed and sat.

Red, blue, pink, yellow, then, and some a blend, above each clown did stay,

As though Nature, in love with color and with shape, had placed upon each

of them special, dainty, glorious crowns that summer’s day.

Their voices soft but laughter came as in the light wind they did tilt and sway.

 

Twinkling jewels of dew touched more than just a few,

and sparkled as diamonds would when touched, when kissed by the sun,

and the lovers came to know gently each the other that waking day;

for wrapped in a summer’s heat for the first time as they naked lay,

wrapped in the heat of a growing lust for each the other then knew,

wrapped in a soft love that spiked and pierced the soul.

 

And a gallant beauty of a farmer’s daughter that day was set to foal,

from the rapt love, the two lovers that day did share.

Then, as they lay in the hotness of summer, amid the power of a torrid lust;

each pledged the other their lives would from that day forward forever share,

for each the other had grown amid a mounting trust,

a love of which came first and did forever last from that day most fair.

 

And other the years from their love five children lept,

while, always, each lover near the other, the pair was at all times close kept.

Until years had passed, and they were both grown old and gray.

The farmer’s gentle, virgin-daughter and the once, lonely rover,

who, together, had lain one summer’s hazy day surrounded by the soft and      yielding clover

while watched over, they were, by ten thousand waving, laughing clowns.

 

Waving summer clowns, and each had, from the others, all worn different         colored crowns.

The lovers were one day by grown children found; their arms entwined in death        fast asleep.

In gentle passing their pledges to never leave, the other did each keep.

And visited they this place together one final time to lay

side by side, together at rest beneath the earth on that final day

And the clowns of summer danced while their children stood to pray

 

Then they lay the lovers in the waiting, loved blessed ground

at the very spot so long before where the two had each the other’s love found,

Their children and close friends stood with flowing tears wetting fresh dug soil,

used then to forever cover the resting pair in peace to stay

To rest from many long years of earthly toil

Each aged lover beneath a blanket of soft and fertile soil

 

And above the graves, the clowns grew tall

from summer to late that fall.

While crowns, atop each stem, nature placed as a cover,

that forever grows, each summer, above each sleeping lover.

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Midweek and cold outside. Am writing a new poem which I hope I can edit and post today on here and also on my other blogs. I think my readers will like it. It is a love poem about fields, flowers, children, and summer. Lots of wind and rain yesterday, will be dry and clear today. So, until I can finish editing CLOWNS I will wave and go my way, but you can definitely stay and read and comment should you feel that way.  Best to you all this fine morning. I am The Poet in the Rain. Gordon Kuhn

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TO LET THE MUSIC FLOW

April 4, 2011

Copyright 2011 Gordon Kuhn

 

It’s one AM, the dogs are loudly snoring at my feet.

My wife lies peaceful dreaming in a nearby silent room.

But——but, I am glued, held fast by unseen forces to this seat,

While words, lyrics, verses paint pictures in my head that loom,

Larger than life itself, and I could never hope to contain.

I try to focus, to keep the moments clear and maintain

In rational form to understand, but the position, I cannot sustain.

As they dance, dip and sway, for they simply carry me away.

In a sudden rush, in a momentary hush

Where the sounds that I hear become so rich and lush

And, I know I cannot force them here to stay.

I have no right to try to retain

but let them freely pass, to go.

To let the music simply flow.

 

It’s one AM, the sky is black outside.

The stars are there but doing their very best to hide,

As worlds of words swirl about my head,

rich images of distant places my thoughts are fed

I hear the music of distant lands and find my thoughts are gently spread,

In rapture, between heaven and hell, and beyond the gates of each

And I wonder what the muse is trying me to teach.

I know in my heart, I cannot hold the dreams in place

Only memories of the music can I ever hope on paper to trace.

I must let them freely pass, to freely go.

I must learn to let the music flow.

 

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