Feeds:
Posts
Comments

MEMORY

5/7/11

Copyright 2011 Gordon Kuhn

Poet in the Rain

Ghosts came walking late last night.

They came when the shadows had melted,

Melted and blended into a dark canopy.

When all about me the world was more than still.

Still more than quiet and deeper than I could ever tell,

Or share with you the peace that came about me to stay.

How it came to fold me in its arms and kept me throughout the night that way,

When the ghosts, so well known to me, came walking last night.

They have stood close now for forty-six years, so there was no cause for fright,

We all were so clear in each the other’s sight, so close we might

Touch one another——and did, and wrapped our arms about each in greeting;

In greeting, as the mists of distance fell away, and time melted and fell away.

And, we were as we once had been, on a beach of sand in another land.

Then, in brotherhood, I reached out and shook each man’s warm hand,

As tears came, for my heart was full and breaking, and it could not remain       still;

For, I then recalled, it was the anniversary of our blood brotherhood

When they came walking and talking to my heart of hearts.

They then found an opening to my soul to which they brought cleansing tears,

And were able to wash away the pain I’d lived with for so many years.

Then dawn came upon us and broke the fragile spell and left me with this        memory to try to tell;

Of the anniversary when their ghosts came walking in the night,

And were so close I could touch each one and hear their voices,

And we spoke of life’s choices and I knew the day is not too far distant

When the Ghosts will come walking and take me from this place,

To be forever with them where the land meets the sky and the sea.

For, in time, that is where we shall all be, the ghosts, you and me

Where memories of the real leave for the living more than a trace,

A haunting trace of what was once and is now called memory.

FACES

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?

Today, 5/7/2011 is the anniversary of the landing of the First Marine Brigade, Third Marine Division at Chu Lai, S. Vietnam.  It is also the day I spoke for the very first time to the younger sister of a fellow United States Marine (Ivan Ray Smith) who died at Chu Lai, 46 years ago, cut down by a sniper’s bullet. I have hunted for his family ever since 1965. I have kept a candle lit for both him and for another Marine buddy who died at Hue.

I sat on the phone this morning with tears streaming speaking with someone I’ve searched for, for over 46 years and shared with her the details of  Smitty’s (Ivan’s) last moments alive.

Smitty, and others, walk with me in close memory every day from waking to falling asleep.

Today, I found some peace. Today, something healed a bit, not that it will ever be completely healed, but part of the scars were cleansed from my soul.

Thank you, fellow United States Marine and Veteran of the 5/7/65 landing, Bill Nourse for bringing United States Marine Ivan Ray Smith’s younger sister, Sherry Heagy, and I together on the phone. Thank you for helping bring to an end a search of 46 years. Thank you for helping to heal all three of us.  Now my job tonight is to  contact several of my friends who made that landing with us so many years ago this night and say, “Where were you on 5/7/1965?”  Semper Fi to any Marine who reads this and Welcome Home to all

SWIMMING ALONE

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.

Unwanted Trespassing

UNWANTED TRESPASSING

5/3/2011

Copyright 2011 Gordon Kuhn

Poet in the Rain

What is this place I’ve come to stumble on?

Where others, hitherto my arrival by happenstance, left footprints of their        passing;

In dust where shadows lay thick made of nonporous stone,

And, I feel I might, on some holy ground be, in some profound way:        unwanted in my trespassing.

While a labeled, sealed bottle sits on life’s workbench and at me stares.

Light brown liquid silent peering out of clear cut glass at me.

It would be easy to make a slip, to simply take a single prolonged sip

To feel it burn, running river wide, down my throat——but then, my       friend, nothing is free.

To forget the past, will not, in liquor, in permanence stand to last,

Neither will the pain be swept clear this night from yon-scarred table

Memories of lifelong stains come rushing at me all too fast

It is hard, so very hard at times like this to remain so composed and stable.

What is this place I’ve come to stumble on?

How came I to create such hell as this while through my life I’m passing?

Heavy burdens placed alive upon my heart,

And, in truth, I feel, I might, on some holy ground be, in some profound way:

unwanted in my trespassing.

Antique Thoughts

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.

Tee Tyson Reads Poetry

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.

To Facebook

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.

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.

Wednesday Morning 4/6/11

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