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

Unto Thee

One last day to suffer,

as silence endures

 

One new day engendered,

to motion toward

 

A musical seamstress,

to stitch me back whole

 

A lyrical consort,

inscribed to behold

 

Each word as my seed,

to lay fertile the plain

 

Each phrase lost and orphaned,

my spirit reclaims

 

That breath once bespoken,

new hope to set free

 

That voice reawakened

—whose soul unto thee

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2020)

Crazy Horse Calls

Beyond my consciousness,

in stark relief

 

A place beyond reason,

all spirits unleash

 

Beneath my awareness,

I inherit the wind

 

Each breath I blow inward,

new endings begin

 

Religion, a concept,

that God can’t abide

 

Dogma a pretense,

idolaters hide

 

In my dreams there’s a voice,

that comes unannounced

 

Its structure on fire,

new words unpronounced

 

Time but a weapon,

to use on the weak

 

Its measuring stick,

to never complete

 

One question—one answer,

for all that transpires

 

In primacy wrapped,

no logic hard wired

 

The years I’d spent looking,

those moments I’d waste

 

When deep from inside,

with subliminal grace

 

The great Crazy Horse called,

chanting words once unknown

 

“Your vision has freed you,

—its voice now your own”

 

(Devil’s Tower Wyoming: June, 2017)

By Morning You Were Gone

In winter, distance forced him into silence
Spring, brought us the promise of fresh captivity and the protection of a wish
On summer days, we played in fields,
and hid from him under the cover of big trees
But in the fall, when our sheets could feel the mocking of his laughter
We listened, to something only you could hear
You smiled at me, as I tried to guard the bed against my fear and hold you tightly against my chest,
but by morning you were gone
And as I lay beside your still and quiet body, feeling the coldness of your disappearing shadow
I thank the trees, the distance, and the spring’s promise
. . . for once loving you and I

(West Philadelphia: November, 1972)