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

Mistral Winds

Humble

before the sea

Steady

within the gale

Intrepid

among the waves

Thankful

—as tides return

(Christmas Tree Island: May, 1991)

Letters In The Wind

Changing the future—changing the past,

a north south reprimand

Each word rewritten—time bespoke,

the present close at hand

(Dreamsleep: November, 2020)

Salvaging The Past

Many nights there were no new dreams,

so I borrowed from the old

Resurrecting the scaffolding

of what lay unbuilt—untold

(Dreamsleep: November, 2020)

Sine Nomine

The largest rock I stand upon

is anonymity

Lodged within the silence

of myself

Calling from those distant lands

in names left blank and mute

Insuring my obscurity

—unknown but deeper felt

(Dreamsleep: November, 2020)

Sheep’s Clothing

Morons and liars,

all facts to mislead

Their wool to disguise

—the truth unperceived

(The Mainstream Media: November, 2020)

Angels On Mute

Welcome loneliness my old friend,

to mark the hours emptiness sends

In the middle of the cold and dark,

the vanishing call of a last meadowlark

leaving me stranded,

deep in the well

Counting the minutes where time has conspired,

lusting for something whose clock has expired

This silence a chorus of Angels on mute,

promising nothing, all vows to refute

left and abandoned

—deserted in hell

(Villanova Pennsylvania: November, 2020)

“Perchance To Dream”

We make our beds and lie in them

—whether we sleep or not

(Dreamsleep: November, 2020)

Android Analysis

Is there truth without belief,

facts left on their own

Disconnected from themselves,

answers poorly shown

Can dogma live in vacuums,

when empty of itself

Will formulaic reasoned minds

—conscript what goes unfelt

(Villanova Pennsylvania: November, 2020)

Trails End

Death is no harder

than living

—when there’s nowhere left to go

(Lenape Trail: November, 2020)

Barren Hill

The fire’s gone out

in the last wooden hut

Fresh snow has been falling,

cold hunger abuts

The Red Coats emboldened

in far Germantown

The wind carries stillness,

with death all around

A General stands watch

on the farthest of hills

His heart never waivers,

his anger instills

The firewood gone

but the embers still burn

O’er forests and rivers,

to Paris in turn

The Schuylkill runs quiet,

Lenape scouts have returned

“Our enemy grows fat, Sir,

in taverns that burn”

The outcome awaiting,

its body count high

Where cabins though frozen

—the stars and stripes fly

(Valley Forge: November, 2020)