Kurt Philip Behm

Word Massacre (+2)

Ravagers of Poesy,

 spear points of denial

 

Mongol hordes of fancied verse,

spewing dense and vile

 

Free words they herd together,

to drive toward a cliff

 

Trampled once they hit the ground

—by verbal hippogriffs

 

(Buffalo Jump-Sheridan Wyoming: July, 2019)

 

 

 

Reflections Of Self

 

If a genius chooses not to embrace his gift,

will he live to endure deeper pain

 

If an artist doesn’t strive to create and unfold,

will she die in a chasm of chains

 

If a Prophet loses faith and abandons his path,

will he wander a desert unknown

 

If all lovers grow distant, away from the heart,

will the world lose its hope

—so alone

 

(The New Room: February, 2021)

 

 

Rushing Toward Mediocrity

 

Let’s all just be average,

no rich and no poor

 

Excuses our quotient,

single digits the score

 

Masquerading as fairness,

our heritage veiled

 

In lock step we march,

voices mute—nothing hailed

 

(The New Room: February, 2021)