With verse in debt to time enslaved,
its prophecy of doom
Whose curse to sling like darts and arrows,
destined for the tomb
All words in red, as blood they drip,
from wounded hearts and minds
My breath to scorch with fire and salt,
—damnation still unrhymed
(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2017)
Forever Wet
If no man is an island,
what can one man be
If no man stands alone,
to write the words, himself to free
If never beats that distant drum,
one marching out of step
Who will swim against the tide,
—their ink forever wet
(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2017)
Voices Not Your Own
“Don’t write for Poets,
their knives unclean
With jagged edges,
whose cuts demean
Their opinions frayed,
by wounds unseen
Whose righteous selves,
reflection preens”
Write for those listeners starved and wild,
with hearts not carved of jade
Call out to those aliens of the light,
still trapped within the shade
With words to christen and words unwashed,
no listener disowned
Each verse a prayer at best when sung,
—by voices not your own
(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2017)
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Author:
Kurt Philip Behm (
Offline) - Published: May 21st, 2017 10:39
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 26
Offline)
Comments3
Hello again my friend. Enjoyed.
Thanks, A. I hope all is well with you.
Kurt
In hospice now after e-coli infection, bowel blockage, lymphedema, and pneumonia. This is soooo scary and crazy. Thanks for your kindness. Downloaded another of your books. Have been too sick to read. Love and hugs.
Love the strong message in verse number one and the flippant fun reflected in verse number two - - good read my friend.
Thanks, Fay!
I'm praying for you (in my Rosary) every day. I know we've never
physically met, but I feel close to you. I hope you are surrounded
by family and friends.
I will continue (and continue) to pray.
Kurt
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