Author: Kurt Philip Behm

I am a lifelong author with 21 books published to date—one best seller. Much of my writing is about the deception of time and its many disguises. My Poetry 'An Anthology Of Perception,' is now available in four volumes. In addition I have a 175 page Poem 'After Midnight,' that was published in 2014. My Historical Fiction series, 'The Sword Of Ichiban' is now up to volume 8 which is being published this Spring ... Vol #1- The Sword Of Ichiban Vol #2- Darkening Sun Vol #3- Revenge Along The War Trail Vol #4- Death From The Sky Vol #5- Jumping Into the Darkness Vol #6- The Fall City Mandate. Vol #7- Approaching Storm Vol #8- Brothers In Blood One autobiographical novel, 'The Death Of The Playground' a Best Seller, published in 2007. One travel novel, 'Searching For Crazy Horse,' published in 2005, recapping my forty years of motorcycle touring in the American Rocky Mountain West. I have written one Children's Book, 'Sammy & Bumpers' that was published in 2016. All of my books are available at Barnes & Noble, Amazon, and better Book Stores world wide. Kurt Philip Behm

Night Hunter

Everybody’s bad day…

a badge without a star

the one who stood when others fled,

each day to raise the bar

 

The one they all could come to,

when freedom was in chains

the light that rampaged in the night

—to hunt what darkness claimed

 

(The New Room: April, 2022)

Angels Conscripted

The sins of religion,

religion of sin

holding God hostage,

a prisoner within

 

An Almighty weapon,

inflicting great pain

heaven in bondage,

redemption in chains

 

The politics of religion,

its dogma a curse

with guilt as the wellspring,

all heretics thirst

 

Angels conscripted

the devil awaits,

for those who would question

—with hell as their fate

 

(Dreamsleep: April, 2022)

Time’s Grip

Trapped inside a wasteland,

dying inch by inch

 

Slave inside a rusted heart,

feelings chained then lynched

 

Later now than yesterday,

earlier than goodbye

 

Spooled like thread that can’t be sewn,

the needle asking why

 

But time contorts, reversing,

trumpets call you home

 

Eyes unspoken, voice untouched,

senses all atoned

 

Words on fire with freedom stirred,

reasons scorched and bare

 

A silence brewing louder,

new light burns through the air

 

Eleven Angels fly as one,

and twelfth, you join their throng

 

With wings now soaring inward

—time’s grip left dead and gone

 

(Airplane To Seattle: March 8, 2017)

 

 

 

Beatified

Prayer without indemnity,

prejudice, or blame,

weaponizing Diety…

a dogma-based refrain

 

Through Him our Divinity

rejoining heart and mind,

to truly know Who reigns supreme

last sacrament defined

 

Religion like the training wheels

discarded when we we’re young,

to free the rider in the wind

—His spokes forever spun

 

(Easter Dreamsleep: April, 2022)