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

Hanging On

Diverting his eyes from that last final hour,

denying death its due

 

His conscience and awareness tight in his grip,

ownership unrenewed

 

Both arms around life, he’s forever rejected,

blinded as time starts to bleed

 

Meeting the end in a loss of control

—damned by what he won’t concede

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2020)

Last Windmill Tilting

Is truth that important,

or ignorance bliss

 

Your place on the Ferris Wheel,

roundly dismissed

 

What first must go up,

by law to come down

 

Gravity’s joke,

if not Heaven bound

 

The yes from the no,

the right from the wrong

 

The good from the bad,

the weak from the strong

 

A circular stage

on which we perform

 

Whose show must go on,

to laud or to scorn

 

But why do we wonder

and worry about

 

A dogmatic treatise,

 that one we can shout

 

The flow is unending,

catching all in its path

 

A current that’s ridden

by yacht and by raft

 

The proof’s in the pudding,

the cook still unnamed

 

Whose recipe seasoned,

to praise or to blame

 

One thing to be certain,

these words are not true

 

But then they’re not false,

something old—something new

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2020)

 

 

 

Closing The Circle

Happy endings,

the folly of youth

 

The aged

alone to portend

 

Distance a comfort,

 expiration afar

 

Reality

mostly pretend

 

Death as a concept,

corpse underground

 

As different as night

is to day

 

Two ends of the spectrum,

inextricably linked

 

By time

—ever holding its sway

 

(Rosemont College: October, 2020)

 

 

The Tradeoff

I was perfectly happy,

a singular chime

 

I was perfectly happy,

alone in my mind

 

I was perfectly happy,

my world underscored

 

I was perfectly happy,

my feelings secure

 

I was perfectly happy,

adrift in my world

 

I was perfectly happy,

no feeling’s unfurled

 

I was perfectly happy,

till one fateful day

 

Now misery haunts me

—in love I must stay

 

(West Philadelphia: June, 2018)

Moveable Feast

Be it good or then bad…

defined after the fact

 

Acceptance—rejection,

a dog or a cat

 

The goals of Centurions,

or those of a Priest

 

Different agendas,

a moveable feast

 

Be it virtue or vice,

their adherents will claim

 

Then shout from the rafters,

 to freely rename

 

But in for a penny,

or out for a pound

 

A lasting consensus

—will never be found

 

(St. David’s Pennsylvania: October, 2020)