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Hi!

I have not used this site for a while as I have been focusing on THOUGHTS. I am going to become more active here and am trying to link the site to the others I use. Thanks to the 14 who have subscribed and I will be doing my best to update and save this site.

A new Ebook on poetry!

http://www.amazon.com/Widows-Cliff-other-Poems-ebook/dp/B004TGUZ10

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

Book is on Kindle

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

THE GARBAGE TRUCK

THE GARBAGE TRUCK
7/6/11
Copyright 2011 Gordon Kuhn “Poet in the Rain”

The bang and clang, a passing metal beast,
In search of an oddly flavored feast.
With rubber wheels, as booted feet,
This day trods upon our quiet street.

Lumbering , stumbling,
It lurches from side to side.
While loudly, to itself, complaints mumbling,
And taking great breaths in its stride

Great gulps of fresh clean air.
Then belches back in thick smoke,
Black and foul back out to share
From twin stacks exhaust to choke

Those of us who might come too close
Its mission we are to observe but not share
The agony of its life, this eater of the morose
But we can still for its life simply offer up our care.

THE GAME AT SIX

THE GAME AT SIX

7/4/2011

Copyright 2011 Gordon Kuhn “The Poet in the Rain”

 

He was six,

I think.

Six is such a young age

To die.

To die when the world is young.

So young and fresh.

Playing baseball.

The bat came back,

Freed from hands

Whose grip was too loose.

So young and guiltless,

And memories now still fill,

Of the sound of the strike,

Against your best friend’s chest.

Just a game, they said.

Just a game.

Three days later,

Standing in a cemetery,

That stretched

To the end of the earth

Or so it seemed.

On a bright, warm, summer’s day.

The sky so clear and so blue.

Where was the rain?

Shouldn’t there have been rain?

Shouldn’t there have been angels there to cry?

They laid your friend away,

In a small white casket,

Flower covered it was.

But wasn’t he allergic to such as that?

Could he sneeze?

Did someone pack tissues

In his pockets?

He always had tissues.

And a minister spoke of heaven,

Of heaven and hell,

And redemption.

And did his best to assure

Everyone there that

A special place there was for those age six.

And those living age six,

Stood in mild confusion.

Was he really in that box?

And the rain then came!

In tears!

It came in streams.

Amid sobs and shaking.

As those age six stood and fidgeted.

It came as a torrent would.

If only the sky could.

But the sky!

The sky, so clear and so blue,

So distant, yet so near;

The sky stayed blue and cloudless.

Blue and cloudless on that fated day.

For clouds there were enough,

There among the living!

There for the one whose heart,

At six, had stopped its beating.

Forever young.

Forever six.

Forever dead.

THE GAME AT SIX

THE GAME AT SIX

7/4/2011

Copyright 2011 Gordon Kuhn “The Poet in the Rain”

He was six,

I think.

Six is such a young age

To die.

To die when the world is young.

So young and fresh.

Playing baseball.

The bat came back,

Freed from hands

Whose grip was too loose.

So young and guiltless,

And memories now still fill,

Of the sound of the strike,

Against your best friend’s chest.

Just a game, they said.

Just a game.

Three days later,

Standing in a cemetery,

That stretched

To the end of the earth,

Or so it seemed.

On a bright, warm, summer’s day.

The sky so clear and so blue.

Where was the rain?

Shouldn’t there have been rain?

Shouldn’t there have been angels there to cry?

They laid your friend away,

In a small white casket,

Flower covered it was.

But wasn’t he allergic to such as that?

Could he sneeze?

Did someone pack tissues

In his pockets?

He always had tissues.

And a minister spoke of heaven,

Of heaven and hell,

And redemption.

And did his best to assure

Everyone there that

A special place there was for those age six.

And those living age six

Stood in mild confusion.

Was he really in that box?

And the rain then came

In tears

It came in streams

Amid sobs and shaking

As those age six stood and fidgeted.

It came as a torrent would.

If only the sky could.

But the sky!

The sky, so clear and so blue,

So distant, yet so near;

The sky stayed blue and cloudless.

Blue and cloudless on that fated day.

For clouds there were enough,

There among the living!

There for the one whose heart,

At six, had stopped its beating.

Forever young.

Forever six.

Forever dead.