Poems from Kurt Philip Behm
Writing doesn’t become immortal,
until you leave the words behind
Feelings left to light the way
—in moments undefined
(Villanova...
The gray dawn slaughters
the promise of Spring,
Winter’s desperate last goodbye
Its poisonous haze mocks
a sky forsaken,
the sun again...
I put a saddle on the wind,
and rode it through the storm
The bridle placed, the buckle cinched,
the reins, my horse reborn
Inside each...
So far from where I started,
I wrote my final words
And found a stream to fill the well,
with verses left unheard
My last line most...
The temperature frozen
Old sticks in the mud
New tracks are untrodden
Lost dreams from above
The raisins in darkness
All pits buried deep...