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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

Frustrated

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

This is a test

This is just a test as I am messing around with the header.

Poet in the Rain

THE FUNERAL PYRE

THE FUNERAL PYRE

5/20/2011

Copyright 2011 Gordon Kuhn “Poet in the Rain”

The following is a poetic reflection on

All the Beautiful Things

written by author Andrew Meek.

====================================

The flames licked and sucked upon the food,

T’was fed the crackling heart of fire lent;

As papers, memories, laughter, all the beautiful things, loves past mood

Orange, red, and curling grey rose and ate until all was spent.

Nothing there was to be kept.

All there over each had been wept.

A slender hand fed food the glowing, hungry, naked beast,

Which ate so hungrily the memories stained with fallen tears

And, how oddly, she, the igniter of the flames, not in the least,

Came to realize, burning memories set her free, reduced her fears.

Nothing in memory or tangible she brought there was to be kept.

All brought there over each had been silent wept.

That all that had been or was to be, had come and gone now with the ticking of passing time

As memories had failed to stand with her neither strong nor true

Alone, now, she watched dreams reduce to ashes, and heard a distant church bell chime

And then, in deep and stark awareness knew, she had stood true to herself and seen the issue through.

Nothing else in memory had been for her that day was kept.

All that was or could have been over each had been silently wept.

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.