Kurt Philip Behm Poems

How now the vanishing wind…

The days are upon us
last season begins
...

When time loses its hold
do you choose a new father

Free of place and all station
...

As long as the wind blows
Poets will not be forgotten

Their words the breezes carry forth
...

Poetry is to be given away
and never ever sold

A gift beyond what time demands
...

I've now started to dream
while being awake

Sleep no longer needed
...

There is an emptiness
between Hemingway's words

A hollow sound
...

The greatest of men
he bled the truth,
his wounds for all to share
...

I believe the last person I shall ever see,
is you
—and you, me
...

Bravery and fear
not either or

But versions of…
...

"Mon Dieu, mon Dieu, "
he screamed to the crowd

"On stage as a vagabond
...