Tag Archives: poet David Kuhns

Diamonds Hung: Revolutionary IMproVerse Free Verse Poem

Orion’s Belt hung
on the west canyon rim,
like three diamonds
on the velvet black counter
of God’s cosmic jewelry store.

I didn’t ask to buy them,
for they were already in
my possession,
and the experience,
next to the rushing river rapids,
under a waxing half moon,
caressed by the cool canyon breeze,
was priceless.

I simply pointed at the three diamonds,
smiled,
and thanked my Heavenly Shopkeeper .

Patch Adams I’m not: Revolutionary blogging prose

Orange rind post op smile

After fasting for several meals before my heart procedure, I finally got to eat. I put two slices of orange between my gums and teeth. When the nurse came in and ask how I was doing, I said “My teeth hurt when I smile.”
Then I smiled at her.
She asked: “Do they only hurt when you eat? or all of the time?”
I said: “It was a joke, See?” And I smiled even more broadly at her so she could see the orange rinds.
“Oh.”
Ouch.

What Should I Announce? Revolutionary Blogging Free Verse Poem

I stare
into the linoleum void.
Cold it is.
Cold I feel.
Not so cold
as I could soon be.

Inhospitable
hospital.

Why?
My heart,
though stronger,
still ain’t
got
no
rhy-
thumumum.

So masked men
must stop-start it
again,
wire me up,
make me tubular,
give me the ultimate
heart burn.

Cauterize
my over-sized pump
that’s too energized.
That won’t sing: Thump Thump.
Thump Thump.

I hope it works
this time.
But if it doesn’t?
Who should I tell
that I might not return?

My mother worries enough
for the world.
She makes every
small
procedure
into some giant event.
Munchhausen by proxy.

So,
if I go,
I know
she’ll tell,
but probably
only my family.

My friends?
What of them?
She won’t know.

Perhaps Facebook quiet
will spread the word.
If you haven’t heard
by Saturday,
that I’m out …
I’m probably not.
Or maybe
I permanently
am.

Here We Go Again — Another Misguided Love Poem Object: Revolutionary Iambic Poem Lament

I had heard
his rhyming words
before,
espousing how glor-
ious he thought his love.
How she was sent from above.
How she was his true lover.
How he could not imagine another.

And now,
somehow,
he takes up his pen
and again
speaks of his love, sweet.
How she is so neat.

And though this one
is maybe not as fun,
she is not the bummer
as was his love of last summer.

So what am I to believe?
He scarcely took time to grieve
his previous girl
whom (he proclaimed to the world)
was sent to him.
Did she become some whim?

The even deeper question
to this public indigestion
is: Where comes the need to publicly proclaim
about a latest passionate love and flame?

I don’t even want to look
at such posts on Facebook,
because I know I’ll read there
about some new love so true and rare.

Just like we all did last year
about someone who was thought equally dear.
Why does the poet yet again
(as he did back so earnestly then)
feel the need to shout
publicly out
someone he’s now crazy about?

(And it’s not just him.
Many others, seemingly on a whim,
positively state
they’ve found their true mate.)

(And we knowingly smile
and wait awhile
until the new romance starts to fade
like morning dew in a sun-drenched glade).

Why don’t such lovers, instead,
(knowing how emotions so oft are mislead)
watch, wait and see
if the new “we”
(this romantic she plus he)
can make that commitment
which is truly heaven-sent
for eternity?

We can, (and should) I suppose,
publicly disclose
when we are fond of one,
how we, together, have fun.

But to loudly and publicly proclaim
“She’s the ONE!” seems a bit inane.
If this is indeed a love so rare
why not be quiet and keep it hidden there?

At least until it grows and blossoms forth.
At least until love has truly run its course
and we’re ready to shout “S/he and me
will now be us for eternity?”

I, for one, have my doubts
that such proclaimed “true love” will last out,
(just based on experience;
knowing how other ones went.)

Of course, when we hear such a new boast,
we could, I guess, prepare a generic post (or toast):
“OH! You both make such a cute pair!
You and [insert the new love’s name here____].”

That is not at all to say
that the poet should be silent. No way!
We may, in messages between us
expound our full love beyond what ever was.

Such private notes of sweetest passion
put us in Browning’s and Tennyson’s fashion.
Some lovers may in the future find
hope in our quiet proclaimed love divine.

But to place such words out for all to see
Feels like love (and such thoughts) come cheaply.
That it doesn’t really matter who:
We just need someone to publicly woo.

Call me a jaded cynic.
Perhaps it’s true.
But I’ll not mimic
exposing my love to view.

At least ’til I know, and am sure
She’s the one who I’ve searched for.
Then, it would seem quite right
To write a sonnet for our wedding invite.