The deepest truth lay undiscovered
in the buried words
Like unfound gold existing only
on a pirate’s map
True value in the search required
to seek and grasp
Each phrase a burrowing pen
digs into the readers mine
Fortune concealing veins of discovery
covered and unknown
Ink running free as the shaft leads inward
—anticipation karat pure
(Watching “Hemingway #2: April, 2021)
Illusion to who
or better to whom
the window opens shut
An image ingrained
often betrays
a rose that’s long been plucked
The sun in the moonlight
darkness to burn
a promise made to none
Glory unproud
its victory profane
—the truth an empty gun
(The New Room: April, 2021)
We live in the shadows of your cursed survival
not being killed when so many of you were
the endless rows of benighted headstones
telling of memories never to be
where you wander among them
pledging your heart to what unrequited
condemns you to time
we walk together through years of separation
the voices of the dead confirming
the tryst of our silence
forever pretending that a lyric
can be written after the music stops
that its words can be sung by the Angel guardians
of those long departed
and ignoring my devotion
you embrace the rejection of
the one who never loved you back…
the paramour who condemns you to live in misery
and to live with me
—jilted by death
(Watching ‘Hemingway’ On PBS: April, 2021)
Shrinking time down
to a factor of one
The future and past
cancel out zero-sum
The moment, this instant
the only thing real
Unmasking the present
—nothing left to conceal
(St. David’s Pennsylvania: April, 2021)
Out there alone,
my thoughts zero-sum…
the coyote’s lonely howl
I search for redemption
through cactus and sage…
the silence of an owl
Winter births Summer,
its dream comes alive…
the bear announcing Spring
In thermal forgiveness,
a following storm
—the hawk now on the wing
(Dreamsleep: April, 2021)
I thought perhaps to steal the myth
and hoard away the dream
Mirages fade with pretense lost,
things never what they seem
A future darkness redefined,
the past still yet to know
Intention vested—moments spent
with nowhere left to go
(Dreamsleep: April, 2021)
My fate to be a watcher…
“Regarder Les Autres”
and write from alleys dark but real,
salons for words ill-bred
(Le Grande Hotel Paris: May, 1978)
What has no price
holds little value
Sweat and tears
—outweighing gold
(The New Room: April, 2021)
Sutures of connection,
words tightly sewn
Seaming together
—closing the unknown
(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)
Clouds encircle
sage colored dreams,
ice crystals block the sky
Today in shadows,
yesterday’s warning,
memories start to cry
The stratus thickens,
impending doom,
prophesy to remind
Aeolus has woken,
his rain of tears
—ablution most unkind
(Dreamsleep: April, 2021)
Copyright 2021 Kurt Philip Behm
An Anthology Of Perception 