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Posts Tagged ‘Poems’

PASSING

Passing

2/23/11

Copyright 2011 Gordon Kuhn

 

I pass each day in wonder of the love I found

when soft summer winds came to visit on a winter day

and loosed my frozen heart from the mound

of ice had formed and believed would ever stay

but does now dance beneath a warming sun

upon the sandy altar shore beside where the frothy, tossing sea does run

and I walk with the one from whom love for me had sudden come

had sudden come on an icy day, on a quiet winters day.

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UNABLE, COLLAPSING

 

UNABLE, COLLAPSING

2/20/2011

Copyright 2011 Gordon Kuhn

 

I’m collapsing in pain

swept away with the shame

that I cannot capture and hold

the words and phrases so wondrous and bold

which assault, no, no in tenderness touch

yet unaware they are how deep the knife is plunged

with every line that slips past, every beat, every sound

that sweeps me up and tears me apart

leaves me in a crumbled heap

my pen is useless

I cannot keep up

how sad it is to see them fade

from the field from the glade

of flowered birth

oh, God, how I am swept away in pain

adrift, alone, tired, and in shame.

 

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OVERRUN

OVERRUN

2/20/2011

Copyright 2011 Gordon Kuhn

 

Don’t ask me to stop my mind from rushing forward

don’t look for me to block the flow of thought

gushing words from an unwritten book which ought

to be published freely within my mind

open and unlined the contents seek me out

unseen by all but me they fly at my waking thought

more quickly than control is able to hold in place

they consume the space and leave little behind, no trace

they were there unless I capture and place them on a page

in sometimes a rage of flow where my heart is torn apart

for lack of ability to get it down, to place it where it might be sought

by others before the fading of the day as darkness grows

amid the rush the knowledge lost emptiness sows.

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THE DOCUMENT

THE DOCUMENT

2/20/2011

Copyright 2011 Gordon Kuhn

 

And so comes the dawning of the day

slowly, progressively from the east

the night is moving on, unable to stay

always chasing, being chased by the sun

the moon slips into hiding

sometimes to reveal itself during the day

a thin pale slip of light reflected high over our heads

unlike the brightness shown while we lay in our beds

and all the while we go about our lives riding

our planet in its turn around the sun

life for us is so much on the run

between the day and the night

which live in harmony without any fight

they coexist in beauty within our open sight

yet we fail to learn from the grand scheme laid out before

instead we continue to try control and fail to restore

that which we could while nature moves a lesson which is to implore

to entreat its children standing before the door

of destiny to realize we have so much to gain

instead we choose to openly and dangerously stain

the gifts given without any request for payment laid

before us as the document is simply, bold stamped as being paid.

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NEW COOK

NEW COOK

2/19/2011

Copyright 2011 Gordon Kuhn

 

 

Eggs, please,

basted

what?

basted

lightly surfaced film on top

uh, no, not over easy

basted

no, funny that, no not scrambled

thanks for asking

and, while we are at it,

coffee,

no, not tea,

coffee

basted?

but its easy

I simply want

basted, basted, basted

no, no, not poached

Christ!

basted, basted, like your brains

soft with a film on top.

Oh God. okay, cooked.

okay?

Yes, take the damn shell off first

most people do that.

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LUCKY SOME

12/19/11

Copyright 2011 Gordon Kuhn

 

The lights go slowly out

as neighbors turn to rest

if rest could truly come

it matters not who might be suited best

for in shadows to succumb

but only for a lucky some.

But not for me.

for I am not free

not truly free

 

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WISHING

View from the Edge. Alderley Edge: the Pennine...

Image via Wikipedia

 

WISHING

2/19/2011

 

 

Stillness comes my way today and is well put to stay

and how I wish it could

how I wish it would

how I wish that it should

but linger in its way

on its way.

 

But while I wish it would

how I wish it could

how I wish it should

in softness would linger throughout the day

linger while the clear blue of day ascends

while clouds pass by as cotton wisps of candy made

while the hand of an immortal is held, is made to stay

from encroaching, from directing the human play

for sadness cannot in this day pretend

when as truth it fails the post, fails to host

no rain drops from it shall fall my way

and yet, and yet

the stillness does not stay

does not linger on its way.

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JANET

JAN

MY WIFE, ME LOVE, MY BEST FRIEND

2/13/11
Copy Write 2011 Gordon Kuhn

T’was dark the morning of our meeting
as dark as many prior as I crawled from out my bed
dark as my heart was without awareness seeking
seeking a love so profound and gentle made
then your presence came
within the day
and my heart was stayed
stayed from its singular lonely search
for t’was luck for me that day when first we met
and I felt my heart bound forward
against well practiced fearful restraint
but you gently took my hand in yours
and I saw the world in brighter light
brighter than I had ever been blessed to see
and blossoms opened where dry stalks stood before
in parched and lifeless earth waiting
waiting to be blessed by a shower’s light kiss
a kiss which, in blessing, came that day,
and soft and gentle laid
and brought life to the waiting, stagnant clay
and all about the plants spoke of thee
and opened their blossoms to me in flower
a message from  the Gods that you,
on that astounding day, had unlikely chosen me
and the sun shone and shadow clouds melted from the sky
for I knew this love would not be fleeting
it would last until the day I would die
and no more would I be alone and seeking
for a gentle hand to place within my own
and so I wrote this simple poem
a simple poem to say my heart will never more roam
and dedicate it and my life to you
and thus, in humbleness,  lay the words before you on the thrown
I placed you on that day so wondrous spent,
as I stood in awe of my incredibly lovely one.

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BUTTERFLY

I DON’T EVEN KNOW YOUR NAME

2/8/11

Copy Write 2011 Gordon Kuhn

Who are you?

Where are you?

I spent the better part of the day fighting for your life

do you understand that?

Yet I don’t know you

butterfly.

I and others dealt with the strife

you dropped in our lives this day

and we worked to help you in life to stay

and yet we know not who or where you are

tell me,

butterfly,

are you close or are you far?

Have your wings found the burning match?

You tumbled out and left the door to your soul standing wide

your fragile wings took to the air

and left us to stare at the empty spot

where you left an opening to read your thoughts

of which in ache you confide

the transformation cocoon you left behind

and your poetry screams out in pain

and now in anger I stand and yell at you.

Damn you!

Damn you

gentle butterfly.

Christ, pills scattered across the table top.

A woman drowning reaching for the surface.

Your video of  your daughters left behind

in memory of some happy time.

And mentions abuse and being left and leaving.

It all leaps across the electronic page

stumbles drunkenly across the stage

rushes headlong towards and ending I know not when and

of life and touches deeply hearts you don’t even know.

Do you not even care about the damage you’ve left in your wake?

But the final deed of selfish intent upon us you now bestow

you say

good by

and

good night

as  though going out for a walk

and leave us here now with our fright for thee

as the shadows lengthen and the trace of you is growing thin

as we unite and fight and pray for you

but we don’t know your name

butterfly.

Is this to be the last bit of fame?

Is this the end of your flickering flame?

Is this where ends your last song of another’s shame

that left you battered, bruised, too weak to give out your name?

Am I to be your helpless pall bearer?

Am I and the others simple pawns in the fight against death?

Yes, and my anger grows hot at this error

you’ve placed so many of us in bewildered terror

you wish to somehow drop without any shame

yet you stand and cry out in pain

and sweep us up along with you

and I don’t——damn you——damn us

I don’t even know your name.

Is our fight, our battle is it in vain?

Can nothing stop your onward rush

to meet death with out a blush

without a hush

without a——

Oh God,

oh, butterfly

I don’t even know your name.

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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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