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

Your Soul’s Release

Can a phrase rule

  over a paragraph

 

Can the right word

  stand alone

 

Can a thought be held

  within one breath

 

Can the truth in short

  be known

 

Can you single out

  the future

 

Can you paraphrase

  the past

 

Can you release the hope

  inside a wish

 

Can you make this moment

  last

 

Can you keep the magic,

  its spell unbound

 

Can Apollo set you

  free

 

Can you say it while

  defying time

 

Can you voice your souls

  release

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)

Wasted Dreams

Delay success for as long

As you can…

Living up to an image

Will only cloud your judgment

Stealing what you can least

Afford to lose

Dragging you into the illusion

And myth

That could take a lifetime

To rail against

Dragging you into the

Vicarious trap

Of praise falsely given

 —and wasted dreams

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)

 

A Melody Of Sages

Prose and Poetry

  came together

 

In a marriage of

  infusion

 

 —each wanting from the other

     what they could not bring

 

—each vowing to the other

    words they longed to sing

 

Birthing a new music

  of epic proportion

 

In an infant now timeless

  beyond simple refrain

 

—with a message for the ages

    wrapped in lyrical rhyme

 

—in a melody of sages

    defying space and time

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)

 

 

Death’s Quota

The flowers all have scattered,

  borrowed feelings cry out loud

 

Mock funeral of celebration,

  grief false beneath their shrouds

 

The mourning congregation,

  to the tavern marched in step

 

A ruse to the departed,

  with each toast his memory wept

 

His friends then hugged his enemies,

  his wife and girlfriend kissed

 

Through the glass a raven watches,

  taking names without a miss

 

A ‘last call’ shouted boldly,

  and all glasses drained of lies

 

As two wings beat out a roll call

  —death’s quota flying high

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)

 

 

What’s Now In Front

Is it Aerosmith or The Eagles for you,

  Republican or Democrat to vote

 

Is it Chinese takeout or Italian bistro,

  or the prose or poetry you wrote

 

Is it bland or spicy, thick or thin,

  as you struggle yet confused

 

Is it yes or nor, or God forbid maybe,

  what’s to gain and what’s to lose

 

Is it briefs or boxers, or none at all,

  is it Winter over Spring

 

Is it rock and roll, or blues or jazz,

  does it have to be one thing

 

Is it dogs or cats, or beer or wine,

  is the difference felt inside

 

When you choose just one, to eliminate,

  what your vanity tries to hide

 

Throw out the rules, pull off the mask,

  to your inner self be true

 

Force not yourself to choose between

  —but what’s now in front of you

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)

Imperfectly To Song

Like me,

 my Poetry is far from perfect

  —a verbal oxen gored

 

Like me,

 my words are often frail and broken

  —still crying to be heard

 

In me,

 the message has found its student

  —to humbly expound

 

In me,

 the truth can accept a birthmark

  —for a promise more profound

 

Unto me,

 the burden is left to finish

   —my life to pledge headlong

 

Unto me,

  the words now free, unsentenced

    —change imperfectly to song

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)