The past is left in mourning,
the future still unknown
The present disavows them both,
not borrowed—never loaned
(Dreamsleep: August, 2019)
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
Imprisoned
In the commercial age,
money captures time
Depleting awareness
—a prison unto itself
(Dreamsleep: August, 2019)
Times Shadow
His final words to the mirror…
“You must now set me free”
All time a reflection
—of what’s never to be
(Dreamsleep: August, 2019)
Optimus Amicus
Is your best friend a dog,
a thesaurus is mine
As yours wags its tail
—mine forever sets me free
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
To Be Alone
I go to the city
To be alone…
Distraction
Calling me away
From myself
Isolating my
Memory
Burying my
Thoughts
In endless concrete
Passing 1000 people
Never meeting
One
Never meeting
One
Who will tell me
About myself
Never meeting
One
Who will tell me
What is real
Never meeting
One
Who will ask the question
Why
In my darkest
Most confused
Moments
I go to the city
—to be alone
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
Not My Wound
I never wrote so you’d approve…
I wrote what I believe
How you felt as you read those words
—is not my wound to bleed
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
Into Their Hands
Dreams, like orphaned water lilies,
float across the surface
Ferrying my last token wish,
adrift—this silver pond
The swans make way,
as faith glides freely upon the wind
Carrying my fervent hopes
into this moment, present sent
Their petals weaving in the breeze,
to spin and turn as one
Silhouettes change and soften,
as the mirrored distance calls
Arriving at the far bank,
two children play and laugh together
With pant legs high and feet immersed,
splashing to and fro
Smiling to each other, their laughter
churns a magic torrent
As they reach into its spray,
and take my dream into their hands
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
The Ink Is Calling
Suspended moments between the lines,
my mind now lost in space
Sublimated syntax buried deep,
my spirit free to race
A light unfiltered, the sound of horns,
my body starts to rise
The ink is calling, my pen in hand,
new words at last—arrive
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
Indifference
To inflict on tomorrow,
the empty promises of fate
The will to reign indifferent
—the devil’s cruelest form of hate
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
Thrice Denied
Searching through the forest,
chasing dreams your sleep has wagered
And finding yourself in the mindless
spatial wasteland
You play two-handed poker
with the devil of your fright
The Prince holding just one card,
as you gamble it all…
Forever promising:
“This hand will be your ticket out”
He deals chance from the bottom,
this third time to be the charm
Your hand is folded,
as the present fires upon the night
Hitting your fate dead center,
all that’s left in quicker sand
Drowning the last excuse
of your bloodless past refusals
Salvation left in full retreat
—all exits thrice denied
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
An Anthology Of Perception 