Poems from Kurt Philip Behm
Death is no harder
than living
—when there’s nowhere left to go
(Lenape Trail: November, 2020)
The fire’s gone out
in the last wooden hut
Fresh snow has been falling,
cold hunger abuts
The Red Coats emboldened
in far Germantown
The...
How is servant
to what
In all I say
—and do
(Dreamsleep: November, 2020)
Over the horizon
a harp is playing
Its call recurring,
its tone Divine
Beyond the swell,
a calm is waiting
Its breeze untethered
—to...
Music is to written words
as icing is to cake
Enhancing what you thought you read,
to joyously partake
A song can climb between the...