Kingdom of Devils…
majesty screams,
poisoning the darkness
—virulent dreams
(Watching ‘Hemingway’ #3: April, 2021)
Burden Sublime
The weight of your words…
by the pound,
by the pain
The heaviest memories,
forever
—remain
(The New Room: April, 2021)
Holy Water
Sacred in its offering,
christening the past
Wellspring of indulgence
—running free at last
(Dreamsleep: April, 2021)
Some Things Don't Need Explaining...
Like the mist of an early morning rain
and the love of an older dog
Like the spontaneous hug from a passing child
and coffee from a mountain fire
Like a call from an old retired friend
and the memory of one who left
Like those boots now broken in at last
and a map whose roads have changed
Like the smell and taste of a memory lost
and not the mileage but the miles
Like a rainbow reaching out at dawn
and the distant whistle of a train
Like a promise made for its own sake
and a marriage not on loan
Like a burden once it’s lifted free
and the present not the past
Like a thing put off, put off again
and the reasoning unknown
Like an hour spent inside a dream
and a wish that’s more than hope
Like your name when called to stand your ground
and the courage that’s required
Like a song you’ve heard a thousand times
and whose words still feel the same
Like a river rushing toward the sea
and a boy who knows its mind
Like a favored son to share your name
and the bond to keep it so
Like a reason that you can’t disclose
and the one who never asks
Like that girl who keeps your faith alive
—and your heart forever free
(The New Room: April, 2021)
-
Author:
Kurt Philip Behm (
Offline) - Published: April 8th, 2021 09:25
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 12
- Users favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek
Offline)
Comments4
Brilliant!
firstly thanks for bringing 'virulent' to my lacking database, such a flexible word, a diamond of a gift for a wannabe scribbler like me..
and 'some things don't need explaining' is for me, nostalgia: in a poem
and a treasure of a read, one - I shall revisit time n again
Thanks LB. It took over me last night. I could have kept
going for pages. One of my books is a 175 page lyric poem
'titled 'After Midnight.'
Kurt
that tiger's hour, where we of creativity
gather under that gaze of moonlit insomnia
to pen our insight's and question
our very ability to see: what's right...
Amen!
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