Circa 1956 (+4)

Kurt Philip Behm

When the world was small

my heroes were big

living on a 12’’ screen

the telephone operator knew me by name

when the party line was open and free

on Tuesdays it was the bread man

on Wednesdays came meat

Friday mornings the Fuller Brush man rang twice

Saturdays were baseball, bleacher seats for a buck

and on Sunday to church on my bike

when on Monday the Nun asked where the black eye was from

I smiled and said “ran into a door”

while all the while knowing this was the time of my life

—a time when the world was so small

 

(Conshohocken Pennsylvania: March, 2021)

 

 

 

Tandem Memoriam

 

When time overcomes memory,

and vision retracts

 

The past sits in judgment,

its verdict exact

 

With yesterday’s reason,

tomorrow to blame

 

All hope left in ashes

—truth mourning the flame

 

(Dreamsleep: March, 2021)

 

 

Till Death Do Us Part

 

I stole from myself,

never paying me back,

rich in the spoils of war

 

Identity gone,

the body count total

—larcenous guilt to endure

 

(The New Room: March, 2021)

 

 

 

Timor

 

Fear exposes the underside

of courage

 

The weakest point of strength

—a darker shade of truth

 

(Dreamsleep: March, 2021)

 

 

 

Inkubation

 

Your form is strong,

but your content weak

 

Desire flowing,

 experience meek

 

Trying to fake it

with meter and rhyme

 

Your words never ripen

—green apples in time

 

(Dream Sleep: March, 2021)

  • Author: Kurt Philip Behm (Offline Offline)
  • Published: March 19th, 2021 00:01
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 16
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Comments +

Comments2

  • L. B. Mek

    heartachingly breath-taking, such a harrowing read dear poet..
    a juxtaposition of ideal's:
    of fervent youth embracing all, not knowing there's better to hope for..
    and adulthood's depressingly cynical stranglehold
    of all that good we harbour within,
    in this bleak reality of circumstanced consequence to the narrow possibilities within what remnant hope: we have left, in our lives..
    whether fictitious or biographical, a brave write of insightful cogitation when lost within clouds of reverie's meditation

  • Kurt Philip Behm

    Thanks so much...

    Either looking back or looking forward that was the best time
    of my life, filled with the security of hope, fueled by the magic
    of love.



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