Hard drawn moments look
To shut me down
When the words are gone
Where is my father
I am loosely tethered
To the life I’m in
When the words are gone
Where is my mother
When The Words Are Gone
Reply
Category Archives: kahrmann poetry
What I wouldn’t give to be in a conversation with…
What I wouldn’t give to be in a conversation with
Mozart, Beethoven, Bach, Haydn. Hell. All of them.
Add John Steinbeck and James Salter, Charles Dickens! Leo Tolstoy! Edith Wharton, Shakespeare, Dos Passos, Austen, Emily Dickinson. Hell. All of them.
And Lincoln, Washington, TR, FDR. Hell. All of them.
Dr. King, Mandela, Gandhi, Malcom, Sadat, Eleanor Roosevelt. Hell. All of them.
Cuddle
Per the droppers on the window
hinting the scent of wet leaves
good reading weather
cuddle
Violence
I am sick of violence. All kinds.
Physical. Emotional. Spiritual.
Financial. Environmental. Bigoted.
Your capacity to inflict violence
is not a measure of your strength.
Rubbish. Violence and strength,
nothing synonymous
about them.
Write on
This the pathway to
Words touch tender touch
My page and my hand
Pen sends friendship
To your wordsmith self
Our camaraderie
Write on
People
Smile
Peter S. Kahrmann - Est. 1953 