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Someone broke into my blog and sent a viagra message out. I did not send it. You’ve blocked my blogs, two of them, please release them. I’ve blocked the person or company that infiltrated my blog. I’m an innocent party.

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DON’T MESS WITH MY COFFEE

A photo of a cup of coffee.

Image via Wikipedia

DON’T MESS WITH MY COFFEE

2/18/2011

Copy Write Gordon Kuhn

 

Coffee in a plain blue cup

dark brew, restaurant knew

ah, cream to the side, I think

but blink at the suggestion of sugar

need not sweeten the bitter biting taste

to do so would be such a terrible waste

of coffee bean and water made in water hotter

leave out all this other stuff

and, why, for God’s sake all these names are strange I think

but don’t destroy with special crap poured in my coffee

a frothing mess sprinkled with cocoa dust?

for that I would surely frown and my lips would shrink

away from such a polluted mess

and confess I would hate to waste it all

this drink the seller called out is tall

tall?

what happened to the simple cup

now abused by steamed milk and a chocolate machine

a biscotti to the side maybe someone else’s dream

but not mine

please,

just pour the coffee in a plain old eight ounce cup

let me make the choice of if I wish for cream

regular, cow cream, please, not colored, not flavored

simple, savored.

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IN NINETEEN-SIXTY-FIVE

IN NINETEEN-SIXTY-FIVE
11/13/2010
Copy Write Gordon Kuhn 2010

Two whores passed by on a walk
I, one other, we observed and slowed our talk.
His face, I’m sorry, I don’t recall.
His name, my wretched memory, doth forestall,
but both wore uniforms that day of the Corps,
so long ago in the month of June
twelve months past the one in sixty-four,
we both proudly stood tall
in the summer dress we wore
while they in their costume of the night
time bar moved past as if we were not in sight
to one whose distance surely was not too far
from where we walked in opposite directions
each seeking from life some equal perfections
each aware of who and what we were
and neither party wished the other to stir
from restful passing, each thinking we knew who we were
thinking thoughts and wondering what life yet held in store
while strolling along on that cemented shore.

I have no idea about the subject of their talk,
most animated, private, as they did walk
as they went about their daylight walk,
and neither they nor we were out to gainful stalk
the other for professional services of basest means
just walked past, walk past and talk
of financial means or for some small comfort
closing in on some nearby location
dealing with life’s all to violent frustration
lips moving in too old young flesh
artful makeup painted over bruised flesh
going for a talk somewhere
perhaps in truth to nowhere
just then no moment need for one to strive
to be other than what we were that day
in nineteen-sixty-five
.

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Tattoed Wishes

Tattooed Wishes
2/4/2011
Copy Write 2011 by Gordon Kuhn
INTRO NOTE:
You will understand this event
I’m sure.
While driving around looking for a parking spot,
bushes blocking the view,
slowed to make sure the way was clear
another car slid into view
and
stopped.
And so I held my spot
‘till he then slid on past
but the shock of being startled spread across and on my face
led him to believe he could rooster walk
across my bow while I waited to drive into a space
that he now walked past and blocked
and all the while I wanted to kill the son-of-of-bitch
and the feeling went from bad to worse
when another driver took the spot I’d waited for
while he continued to give the look of threat
and I just wanted to smash his fucking face.
Me, angry?
Oh no, not me.

TATTOO WISHES:
So, our cars almost collided.
You dumb bastard driving there
beneath stars and a growing dark
there, while for safety slowing,
we in the busy parking lot.
You were going West
and I was going South.
I was aimed at a parking space
and you were searching too.
We had plenty of choices
so the problem was the view
that blocked us from seeing the other
which was the mother of the trouble
and the beginning of the problem stew.
as our noses both were spotted
by the other when the allotted
space between we two grew smaller
and in irritation you then took the lead
to pass before and park your stinking car
while I sat in escalating await
and in troubled contemplation
and wondered what next to do.
Then, oh then, you hopped out from your car
and stared at me with such a haughty daring look
which was book to that which challenge said
and God I wanted to smash your fucking head
‘til you be found listless and nearly dead
but for the wife, yes, the wife saved your life
you impudent son-of-a bitch
who walked with such a swagger
across in front of me
and dagger eyes placed them upon me
as if to say, “come on, you ain’t so tough”
ah, Christ, the promised land I dearly wished I could have led
you to and dropped you off in front of Jesus
whom I sure would have understood I just had to
answer that haughty swagger look
and close both your eyes
with fisted tattooed black and blue
but for the wife, my wife, I would have had my due with you
and fist tattooed a nice black and blue.

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THE DEATH OF ST. MARY’S

Copy Write 2011 by Gordon Kuhn

1/1/2011

 

A shadow,

there!

Did not you see it by the stair?

A flute player stood lonely with his lute

and plucked the missing strings with his tongue.

From her lung rang out a wordless song,

while long wondered the camel for its missing hump;

and a lump rose up in St. Mary’s concrete throat

at the decline in worshipers who filled the pews,

and wondered about the fuse the laborer lit,

then realized it was a wrecking company

that did accompany a dynamite team

just as the seam was ripped in one big clap of thunder

and St. Mary suddenly went asunder.

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IN SILENCE I’M ADVISED TO BE
12/25/2010
Copy Write 2010 by Gordon Kuhn

In silence I’m advised to be
by those who somehow worry see
for said it is that I expose the inner self
by words said, written, set free by me
to wander off freed from my mental shelf
to wander on, pause, and choose to stay
in place where I might if willing may
place upon the waiting paper page of time
so empty, pure, until I write the ink traced line
and thoughts spill out through the freshly drawn
while others the wish is for me to be withdrawn
by whom then am I advised and told
that I’m far too open, far too bold
and reveal to all, not in fashion of being droll
a wounded, pain filled, tortured soul
and, so, in silence I’m advised, told, warned to be.

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So morning comes as morning does and I awake and for a moment lie between two worlds…….or is it more than two I wonder. The first thoughts are laced with fog and questions which I don’t easily recall as moments slip away to become minutes moving forward into the day. Thoughts like loosed hummingbirds dart here and there trying to find something sweet to eat. Ah, where is the first cup of coffee at?

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