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Archive for the ‘Poems’ Category

 

THE PENGUIN

3/17/11

Copyright 2011 Gordon Kuhn

 

I woke one night in early May

Of some forgotten year

and I blush to say the date I don’t recall

The number, sadly, wasn’t written on the wall

And the memory of such it was did not stay

Perhaps——memories

Perhaps memories themselves have something to fear

Of being eaten by something much bigger

That might wander in from out of shadows——far to close, far to near

So in safety they lay in hiding,

in safety biding afraid to rise up out of fear

Something close by which by circumstance would somehow trigger——

But, wasn’t Trigger the name of Roy’s fabulous old horse?

Oh——well, I am digressing——of course

I’m sure the evening before had been quite drear

as my headache, at the time, seemed all too massively clear

And stood as a reminder of why I was asleep upon the floor

Halfway to my bed from the apartment’s front door

Which, oddly, appeared through the mental haze,

at that curious time of night or day,

to be standing there, misty-like and bare-naked open

yet I was sure I had closed and locked it before

sometime entering or exiting before I lay and began to snore

perhaps the lock was broken

perhaps it was merely a reminder,

perhaps a shill someone had left lying on the nearby hill

maybe, after all, it was just a broken token

of the raucous night some hours (days?) before

But what was odd at that time of night

Or….was it time of day….

I’m really not so sure

so cannot really say

but beside me stood a well-dressed penguin

still freshly wet from the briny sea

a most handsome chap was he

in his spats and so very tall and stately thin

with what I would say was the most beaky grin

of any penguin I’ve ever yet to see

and he spoke of you and he spoke of me

and of the good, the bad, and of the sin

that someone tried upon my chest to pin

He said his name was hard to spell

So pronounced it phonetically

Very slowly, if I recall correctly the memory tell

But, gosh, I don’t recollect at all now his name,

Even though he said he’d had some fame

Just that it seemed to have the sound of distant surf

Crashing upon a rocky littered thick green turf

Far from where I lay that night or was it day

So, sadly, I’m so sorry,

Just my faded perforated memory

It tends to leak, you see

I find words and ideas simply lying about

Pictures and full-blown paragraphs

Here, there, lying in thick dust upon the floor

And I then begin to really doubt

And wonder if life is all just a pile of serigraphs

That someone bought at some local store

And came and dumped them out upon the floor

so please don’t shout, please, please don’t yell

It was a bad night, very bad, I’m sure,

if I could just recall, you see

And something——something came loose

Something unexpected broke free

And was lost in the dust therein which lay

To be then lost to me, to you, to us it failed to stay

while, from the remaining memory of it all

I do remember the penguin standing near to me

So very well dressed was he,

well dressed and fresh wet from the sea

And——how odd, I do now recall,

That he had a bull frog standing next to him

The reason?

I don’t recall him to ever say.

I’ve no earthly idea and must make an honest plea

In regards to the headache and the fact

It was the middle of the night and I’d really lost track

Or…or…”sigh”…..was it the middle of the day?

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MORNING COMES


MORNING COMES

3/8/2011

Copyright 2011 Gordon Kuhn

 

The morning comes as morning surely does

and I arise to find a cup of steaming coffee waiting there

for my lovely bride her hand has made

a healthy pot for us to share.

 

Then comes toast and marmalade

two basted eggs and, oh yes, some bacon please

which beside the toast upon the plate is laid

a lovely hostess and service with such amazing ease.

 

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A LIGHT RAIN SWEPT THE LANE

3/8/2011

Copyright 2011 Gordon Kuhn

Poet in the Rain

 

A light rain, soft, comes tapping on the window pane

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 window pane

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

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

 

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CURVES (rewritten)

CURVES

3/4/2011

Copyright 2011 Gordon Kuhn

 

 

Curves atop a bedding made

rumpled by love-making play

while a soft breeze moved curtains hanging there

and sunlight gently filtered with great care

dappled then the curves were made

yielding shadows from leaves did lay

softly dancing upon the curves that day

as did lay atop a rumpled bedding made

warm and moist by love-making play.

 

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CURVES

CURVES

3/4/2011

Copyright 2011 Gordon Kuhn

 

 

Curves atop a bedding made

rumpled by our  love-making play

a soft breeze moved curtains hanging there

as sunlight gently filtered with great care

dappled then the curves were made

yielding shadows from leaves did lay

softly dancing upon the curves that day

as did lay atop a rumpled bedding made

warm and moist by our love-making play.

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PASSING

Passing

2/23/11

Copyright 2011 Gordon Kuhn

 

I pass each day in wonder of the love I found

when soft summer winds came to visit on a winter day

and loosed my frozen heart from the mound

of ice had formed and believed would ever stay

but does now dance beneath a warming sun

upon the sandy altar shore beside where the frothy, tossing sea does run

and I walk with the one from whom love for me had sudden come

had sudden come on an icy day, on a quiet winters day.

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UNABLE, COLLAPSING

 

UNABLE, COLLAPSING

2/20/2011

Copyright 2011 Gordon Kuhn

 

I’m collapsing in pain

swept away with the shame

that I cannot capture and hold

the words and phrases so wondrous and bold

which assault, no, no in tenderness touch

yet unaware they are how deep the knife is plunged

with every line that slips past, every beat, every sound

that sweeps me up and tears me apart

leaves me in a crumbled heap

my pen is useless

I cannot keep up

how sad it is to see them fade

from the field from the glade

of flowered birth

oh, God, how I am swept away in pain

adrift, alone, tired, and in shame.

 

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OVERRUN

OVERRUN

2/20/2011

Copyright 2011 Gordon Kuhn

 

Don’t ask me to stop my mind from rushing forward

don’t look for me to block the flow of thought

gushing words from an unwritten book which ought

to be published freely within my mind

open and unlined the contents seek me out

unseen by all but me they fly at my waking thought

more quickly than control is able to hold in place

they consume the space and leave little behind, no trace

they were there unless I capture and place them on a page

in sometimes a rage of flow where my heart is torn apart

for lack of ability to get it down, to place it where it might be sought

by others before the fading of the day as darkness grows

amid the rush the knowledge lost emptiness sows.

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THE DOCUMENT

THE DOCUMENT

2/20/2011

Copyright 2011 Gordon Kuhn

 

And so comes the dawning of the day

slowly, progressively from the east

the night is moving on, unable to stay

always chasing, being chased by the sun

the moon slips into hiding

sometimes to reveal itself during the day

a thin pale slip of light reflected high over our heads

unlike the brightness shown while we lay in our beds

and all the while we go about our lives riding

our planet in its turn around the sun

life for us is so much on the run

between the day and the night

which live in harmony without any fight

they coexist in beauty within our open sight

yet we fail to learn from the grand scheme laid out before

instead we continue to try control and fail to restore

that which we could while nature moves a lesson which is to implore

to entreat its children standing before the door

of destiny to realize we have so much to gain

instead we choose to openly and dangerously stain

the gifts given without any request for payment laid

before us as the document is simply, bold stamped as being paid.

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WISHING

View from the Edge. Alderley Edge: the Pennine...

Image via Wikipedia

 

WISHING

2/19/2011

 

 

Stillness comes my way today and is well put to stay

and how I wish it could

how I wish it would

how I wish that it should

but linger in its way

on its way.

 

But while I wish it would

how I wish it could

how I wish it should

in softness would linger throughout the day

linger while the clear blue of day ascends

while clouds pass by as cotton wisps of candy made

while the hand of an immortal is held, is made to stay

from encroaching, from directing the human play

for sadness cannot in this day pretend

when as truth it fails the post, fails to host

no rain drops from it shall fall my way

and yet, and yet

the stillness does not stay

does not linger on its way.

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