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

The Incarcerated Word

What was created to expose,

  now a fortress meant to hide

 

Bastions of higher learning,

  masking havens safe for lies

 

Where discourse once was treasured,

  the ivy droops and sighs

 

With comfort their true measure,

  the dilettantes all cry

 

Plato is disgusted,

  John Locke is more than riled

 

As a millennium of learning

  is mocked in false denial

 

Students weak and wounded,

  from those lessons never learned

 

Their tomorrow’s but a doomsday,

  their futures sure to burn

 

Those words were there to save them,

  both the hated and revered

 

All truth in dialectics

   —left abandoned by their fear

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2016)

 

Through The Keyhole Darkly

Through the keyhole darkly,

  he could now remember his name

 

Through the keyhole darkly,

  his medicine kicked in once again

 

Through the keyhole darkly,

  he knew his daughter by her face

 

Through the keyhole darkly,

  he was now back home in his space

 

Through the keyhole darkly,

  his dog was closely by his side

 

Through the keyhole darkly,

  his eyes though saddened, opened wide

 

Through the keyhole darkly,

  her voice unwrapped a precious gift

 

Through the keyhole darkly

  a love once anchored, set adrift

 

Through the keyhole darkly,

  he felt the light begin to dim

 

Through the keyhole darkly

  his markers fade, his reference thin

 

Through the keyhole darkly

  the killer thief arrives once more

 

Through the keyhole darkly

  all loss of self—a closing door

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2016)

Checks You Can’t Cash

Do you live your whole life

  in a half empty space

 

Do you swear up and down

  your excuses defaced

 

Do you sing in a choir

  where the music has died

 

Do you brand all as liars

  as your tongue remains tied

 

Do you rob from the master

  just to steal from the slave

 

Do you hide in a mansion

  built on top of your grave

 

Do you look for direction

  trails barren and thin

 

Does your soul beg correction

  torn away from within

 

Do you begin every sentence

  tracing back to the past

 

Do you waste precious moments

   —writing checks you can’t cash

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2016)