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Archive for the ‘Writing’ Category

My book, Widow’s Cliff and Other Poems is now on Kindle. All the work needed to get it there was finished this morning and the book was uploaded to Kindle.  The cost to download into your Kindle is only 99 cents. Go! Buy! Enjoy!

Best to all, Gordon Kuhn

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Fast note.  My book: The Widow’s Cliff and Other Poems is now on Kindle for 99 cents.

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What????

I don’t understand. Eighteen people visited the site after I put out a comment that I was very frustrated because I cannot figure out how to put a picture on the blog. 18 people. That is more in one week than have been here all month

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  So, I have managed to add the picture to a post. Woo hoo….I wanted it separate. Cannot figure out how to do that.

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FACES

5/9/2011

Copyright Gordon Kuhn

Poet in the Rain

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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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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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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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