Whatchu gonna do when
the trim is gone
Whatchu gonna do when
the right turns wrong
Whatchu gonna do when
the whistle blows
Whatchu gonna do when
your feet say no
Whatchu gonna do when
the man comes knockin
Whatchu gonna do when
that devil’s laughin
Whatchu gonna do when
your train don’t run
Whatchu gonna do when
the words won’t come
(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2017)
Death Unto Itself
My words live on undefended,
speaking for themselves
My prayer rises, voice ascended,
—death unto itself
(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2017)
- Author: Kurt Philip Behm ( Offline)
- Published: June 28th, 2017 09:25
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 39
Comments3
When the words won't come! Perish the thought! Nothing worse than poet's block, is there? Well done, Kurt!
Thanks, Louis
I agree with the other comments. The last line is the scary one. All the others are not so bad. Great poem Kurt, made me think.
If you think of an Alzheimer's patient, the progression is frightening.
Thanks, Fred
Kurt
Kurt, I did not think of Alzheimers, but now that you mentioned it, I re-read the poem again with this in mind, and you are absolutely right, it is even more than frightening. Was just yesterday talking with my brother in law who is also a very good friend, and told him that I would rather be physically damaged than lose my mind.
So true, Fred. I'd give my eyes and voice before my mind. Unfortunately,
we don't get to choose.
Thanks
Kurt
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