Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Kurt Philip Behm Jul 2017
The ribbon is cut
The die is cast
The cement is dry
Yet nothing lasts
The brazen rewarded
The hero a fool
All reason outdated
New fury the tool

A journey presented
Your ship to go far
With doldrums eclipsed
By the light of new stars
The lands will seem foreign
The people most strange
But they’ll smile as you pass
And call you by name
You run and you run
And you run from it all
With no map to guide you
The albatross calls
And then sweet intention
Returns from respite
Rephrasing the unmentioned
Where maybe you might
In fear of the tonic
All healing disdained
Right, left-side disjointed
The cork from the drain
The covers pull back
Your bones are now bare
The tiller is slack
And there’s nobody there
So you take to the helm
Hands firmly in place
And you care not a whit
If it’s all empty space
As a raven is perched
On the yardarm so high
A land bird that lurches
Cawing all truth a lie
And you wonder then maybe
Have you wandered too far
As you ladle the future
From a long empty jar
The wind starts to move
A gift from the moon
What’s whole has been halved
And the sun almost noon
The rigging is creaking
The mast ever tall
The wind has died down
With no new ports of call
The feeling still burns
In the fire within
To find that one thing
That unfound—to you sings
The ocean is flat
The seas become calm
The seasons repeat
From reflection embalmed
The night sky is clearest
The darkest the days
The winds have escaped you
Adrift you now stay
But then just a wisp
Of a breeze on your cheek
Portends of a magic
And the vision you seek
It strengthens and gushes
Throughout all the night
As the red sky last evening
Had hinted it might
As the headsails go up
The big linen comes down
And you climb up the mast
Stepping over a frown
The creak of the lapstrake
Splashes over the bow
The present’s in sight
Incarnate right now
You look down on a lifetime
In this moment of joy
As the smell of the brine
Covers anything coy
And an Island approaches
From the mist up ahead
As the stillness reproaches
And retreats to its bed
The wonder returns
All speculation begins
Of the magic you’ll find
In this newness again
At the top of a mountain
Strange trees then appear
In a shape that’s uncertain
Neither familiar nor clear
The closer you get
The more they seem to move
As their shapes become giant
And your hopes then behoove
Now anchored offshore
With the dinghy in place
You can see them more clearly
Each shape and each face
Like monolithic Gods
They reign high on the hill
Looking down on who enter
With a warning that’s shrill
But where are the people
The Island is bare
Just giant stone carvings
That linger and stare
As you land on the beach
The ground starts to shake
And from deep in your heart
The primordial aches
The mountain then trembles
All paths become closed
With the thunder a warning
Any trespasser knows
As you run to the dinghy
Its been stolen and gone
And your ship is now missing
In its place just a song
Calling out in those words
That you already know….

“A price not paid dearly
     is only for show”

You turn back to the mountain
And in an explosion of light
You’re lifted up to the heavens
Spun around in a fright
Then shooting straight downward
Toward the mountain below
With force you are planted
Along monument row
And now that you’ve joined them
All questions abide
The distance and separation
In heaven collide….

“Can I leave, am I destined
   to be left here entombed ?”

And in language you recognize
You hear back so soon
From those pillars immortal
Voices start to be heard
Your welcome now total
Reborn in their words

“You can leave if you want to
  the choice is now yours
  but this mountain goes
  with you
  all places defer
  you’ve reached
  through the mystery
  you’ve passed your own test
  the tonic’s within you
   —the raven has fled”

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2013)
Kurt Philip Behm May 2020
How close can you get to the horizon,
how far does infinity feel

How near can you get to the distance,
that pulls, but then never reveals

(Dreamsleep: May, 2020)
The real cost of technology has not been to jobs or the economy, but to the human spirit.  Huge cyber wastelands have replaced what was once a society of human interaction.  We’ve sold our souls for the convenience of not having to know that they’re there. We’ve sold our souls with no repurchase guarantee.  

Some people have many channels in their head like a radio.  Others have only static, interspersed with very few moments of clarity. They live in a self-imposed interference. The reality of their nature being FM, as they ramble the AM stations consumed by the noise. So many of my early years were filled with this AM wandering, always in motion, with my direction in doubt. The clear channels, usually unwanted and tuned out in my programming, were hidden resevoirs of what I had forgotten to learn.

Some of us though, have only one clear and consistent channel. It is a short wave to the future and the past but plays loudest in the present. Crazy Horse was like that. Like all true prophets, he saw through the superficiality and into the meaning that connects all of life together.  His channel had no on/off switch, and he needed no advertising or endorsement to drive home his message.

The price for this clarity he had already paid, and he would ultimately pay again. His message, although often unwelcome, was the warning that his tribe needed to hear. His station was not a place on the dial, but a frequency into the heart of one refusing to change. It was a respite, and last hope, from the threat that European civilization posed to the Oglala Sioux.

The truth, resonating from the deepest places in his heart, burdened him because so few wanted to hear.  His message was ignored by those who still lived in denial. He would remind them: "To live truly free comes at the highest cost of all," and like many great men the idea of Crazy Horse was more welcome than the reality of who he was.  The line crossing over from storytelling — to living the story — left many behind.  The message in his words was often covered over by the smoke of what many still wanted to hear. So often he said: "Looking into the fire you either know or you don’t know," and the difference lies not in the music of the dance — but in the dancer.  

The campfire oftentimes had an illusion unto itself. Its chanting would enlighten the few while only warming the many in a comfort that could not last. Like Muzak, which tries to convince us today that any noise is better than the quiet it replaces, the Oglala Sioux continued to hear a similar monotony — with their heads in the sand.

As I pull into Tuba City, my memory yearns for the simplicity of my old BSA Gold Star, where more was not necessarily better and whose soul I could always find.  The clarity of its exhaust note would reach deep inside me, reminding me that the truth is always spoken to one directly, and the importance of its message only strengthened with time.

Kurt Philip Behm: June, 1971
Kurt Philip Behm Apr 2022
Do you write the words
or do they write you

Are the feelings tattered
or something new

Do you speak in tongues
or in muted silence

Are the moments sacred
or void of credence

Do the questions answer
themselves in time

Do the phrases mingle
but never rhyme

Do the reasons falter
excuse to reign

Do the moments linger
—tomorrow framed

(Newtown Square Pennsylvania: April, 2022)
Kurt Philip Behm Aug 2018
Was there ever a rebel
  on the inside looking out

By definition he’s outside
  —his legend to shout

The insurgent, his tactic
  playing Russian Roulette

Holding the status quo hostage
  —with fear and regret

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)
Kurt Philip Behm Jun 2023
Feel its fury
hear it roar
Avenging Angel
vengeance born

Apostatic
idols vain
Bear the sentence
its will proclaims

Chants of guilt
awaken sinners
From their dark
infected dreams

O’er the mountains
to the ocean
Heaven’s rage
—its verdict screams

(Dreamsleep: June, 2023)
Kurt Philip Behm Apr 2017
The vision intrudes,
  stealing ink from my pen

A thief in the night,
—leaving words that portend

A warning’s been given,
   its mantle thrown down

But truth will speak over,
—what darkness avows

(Villanova Pennsylvania:  April, 2017)
Kurt Philip Behm Sep 2019
The vision intrudes,
stealing ink from my pen

A thief in the night,
leaving words that portend

A warning’s been given,
its mantle thrown down

But truth will write over
—what darkness avows

(Villanova Pennsylvania:  April, 2017)
Kurt Philip Behm Jan 2020
If all ancient philosophy
is a footnote to Plato

Then all modern thought
—is a tribute to Descartes

(Villanova University: January, 2020)
Kurt Philip Behm Jul 2019
Flying above the torment and fray,
the blood drops from my wings

The scars I carry to then remind,
the true cost delivery brings

The clouds incumbent upon my soul,
their cover not to hide

But frame a backdrop of life ahead,
where on Angels wings I ride

My time below and my time above,
both present in me now

As the essence calls from which I’m made,
to return and shout aloud…

“I traveled the earth both far and wide,
its truth did I then search

But wisdom came to me instead
—and there I made my church”

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)
Kurt Philip Behm Feb 2017
Flying above the torment and fray,
  the blood drops from my wings

The scars I carry to then remind,
  the true cost delivery brings

The clouds incumbent upon my soul,
  their cover not to hide

But frame a backdrop of life ahead,
  where on Angels wings I ride

My time below and my time above,
  both present in me now

As the essence calls from which I’m made,
  to return and shout aloud…

“I travelled the earth both far and wide,
  its truth did I then search

But wisdom came to me instead,
—and there I made my church”

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)
Kurt Philip Behm Jan 2019
Own that space
  you walk within

Show your face
  the same again

The facts will change
  the weather turn

But only deep
  within you’ll learn

To own that space
  you walk within

All fear delinquent
  —the renter’s sin!

(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2015)
Kurt Philip Behm Aug 2018
Switching to off,
  the channel went dead

The music silent
  inside my head

The repose of angels
  dreams of a child

Respite from salvation
  —just for awhile

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)
Kurt Philip Behm Jun 2019
Like a wounded dog,
who never forgets

This memory will
not fade

My warning stated,
“The Ice Is Thin”

Where my sun turns
into shade

If I told you once,
I told you twice

“There’s a line,
  you’re not to cross”

But your love trespassed,
with payment deep

Where my bite breaks through
the frost

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2017)
Kurt Philip Behm Mar 2021
The closer we get to yesterday,
the farther away I feel

The longer you stay within my reach,
the more distant I become

Memory lane a withering dream
from a time the past has claimed

Trading those things I used to want
—for what tomorrow brings

(Bryn Mawr Pennsylvania: March, 2021)
It was 3:00 a.m. in Bowie Maryland in the year of our Lord, 1861.

A drum roll passed by in the night not more than a mile away, and Billy couldn’t tell whether it was coming from the Yanks or the Rebs. Both of Billy’s brothers had left home in the past two months.  His oldest brother Jeb having joined the Army of Northern Virginia, while his next oldest brother Seth was now fighting for the Union with Major General George G. Meade in the Army of the Potomac. Billy’s family was like a lot of other families in Maryland, and the Western Shore of Virginia, with some men choosing to fight for the North while many chose the South.

Billy was just about to turn sixteen and still had not chosen his side.  He had friends and family fighting for both and knew that the time was getting short for him to choose.  He couldn’t imagine fighting against either of his older brothers, but once he decided the possibility would definitely be there.  Billy pulled the bed covers over his head and thought back to a more pleasant time — a day when his two older brothers had taken him fishing in Mayo along the western shore of the Chesapeake Bay.

His brothers couldn’t have been more different.  Jeb was large and domineering with a personality that fit the profile of the typical soldier or warrior.  Seth was more studious and would rather have his nose stuck in a book than behind the sights of a Springfield Rifle Model 1861.  The 1861 was the most widely used rifle on both sides. The south called their version the Fayetteville Rifle, and Billy’s Dad had given his to Jeb just before he died last year.  Billy had never fired the big gun and had only carried it for his father and brother when they went on their weekly hunts for deer and small game.

Billy Finally Drifted Off To Sleep …

The next morning, his mother told him that Union soldiers had passed by in the night under the command of Colonel Elmer E. Ellsworth.  They were on their way to Alexandria Virginia to join with Colonel Orlando B. Wilcox in an attempt to retake Alexandria and drive the confederates out.  It was just too close to Washington D.C. and had to be secured. For several months confederate troops had been infiltrating Maryland and sightings had been reported from Hagerstown to Anne Arundel County. Billy wondered about the fighting that would take place later that week and hoped that wherever his brothers were engaged they were safe and out of harms way.

After breakfast, Billy decided to spend the day fishing along the Patuxent River just southeast of his home.  He rode their old Tennessee Walker George as his blue tick hound Alfie ran along side. It took Billy an hour to get to the river and he used the time to once again try and decide what the right thing was for him to do.  He had sympathies for both sides, and the decision in his mind was neither black nor white.  He wished that it was because then he could get this all over with and leave today. Billy was famous in his area for being able to get across the water. Whether it was a makeshift raft, dugout canoe, or just some drift lumber available, Billy had made it across long open stretches of the Chesapeake Bay — never once having been deterred.

He Was An Early Day Chesapeake Waterman

Billy returned home from fishing that day and found his house burned to the ground.  His mother was standing out front still in tears with her arms wrapped around Billy’s little sister Meg.  A rear-guard unit from Ellsworth’s column had gotten word that Billy’s brother Jeb was fighting for the South and just assumed that the entire family were southern sympathizers. Billy’s mother tried to tell the soldiers that her middle son was fighting with the Army of The Potomac.  No matter how hard she pleaded with the sergeant in charge, he evacuated all in the house (Billy’s Mother, Sister and Aunt Bess) and then covered the front porch in coal oil, lit it with a torch, and then just rode away. He never even turned around to watch it burn.

That Union Sergeant had now made Billy’s decision crystal clear, at least for the moment.  Once he got his mother, sister, and aunt resettled, he would make his way to Virginia and join with his older brother in the confederate cause. He remembered his brother Jeb telling him that the Confederate Soldiers had more respect, and he couldn’t imagine them doing to his family what the Union Army had just done.

It took Billy two weeks to get his Mother resettled with family up in Annapolis.  He then packed the little that remained of his belongings, loaded up old George, and said goodbye to the life he knew.  It would be a week’s ride to get past the Union Camps in Southern Maryland and Northern Virginia, and he knew he would have to stay in the tree line and travel at night.  If caught by the Yanks, his only chance of survival would be to join up with them, and he couldn’t imagine fighting for those who had just destroyed his home. His conviction to get past Fredericksburg was now determined and strong.

All Billy had to arm himself with was an 1860 percussion squirrel rifle that his brothers had bought him before going off to war.  It was only.36 caliber, but still gave Billy some feeling of security as he slowly passed through the trees in the dark. His plan was to hug the western shore of the bay, as far as Charlotte Hall, and then take two short ferry rides. His first would be across the Patuxent River and then one across the Potomac on his way to Fredericksburg.  He prayed and he hoped that the ferry’s he found were not under Union control.

Billy spent his first night in Churchton along the western shore. It was quiet and uneventful, and he was actually able to get a good night’s sleep.  He had run out of oats for George though, and in the morning needed to find an understanding farmer to help fortify his mount.  As he approached the town of Sunderland, he saw a farmer off to his right (West) tending to his fields.  Billy approached the farmer cautiously making sure he rode around in front of the farmer and not approaching from the rear.

The farmer said his name was Hawkins, and he told Billy there were oats over in the barn and two water troughs in front of the house.  He also said that if he was hungry there was a woman inside who would fix him something to eat.  He then told him that he could spend the night in his barn but since it was still early in the day, he said he was sure that Billy wanted to move on.

Billy thought it was strange that the man asked no other questions of him.  He seemed to accept Billy for all that he was at the moment — a young man riddled with uncertainty and doubt and on his way to a place he still wasn’t sure was right for him.  The look in the man’s eyes pointed Billy in the direction he now needed to go, and as he turned to thank him for his hospitality the man had already turned back to his plow.

In the barn were three large barrels of oats and five empty stalls. Two of the stalls looked like they had recently been slept in because there were two empty plates and one pair of socks still lying in the stall furthest to the left.  Billy fed George the oats and then walked outside.  Everything looked quiet in the house as he approached the front door.  He knocked twice, and a handsome looking woman about his mother’s age answered before he could knock a third time.  The woman’s name was Martha and as she invited Billy inside, she asked him when was the last time he had eaten?
Yesterday morning Ma’m, Billy said, as Martha prepared him some cold pork and cooked beans.  Billy was so hungry that he thought it was the best thing that he had ever tasted. Martha then told Billy to be careful in the woods because both union and rebel forces had been seen recently and there were stories of atrocities from both sides as they passed on their way.  Martha also said she had heard that Union forces had burned a farm up in Bowie a few weeks ago.  Billy stayed quiet and didn’t utter a word.

Billy Remained Quiet

After he finished his meal, Billy thanked Martha who had packed salt pork for him to take on his way.  Billy walked George to the water trough and waited as George drank.  He looked across the fields and he could sense what was coming.  This tranquil and pastoral scene was soon to be transformed into blood and gore as the epic struggle between North and South finished its first year. It was late fall in 1861 and Billy’s birthday was in two more weeks.  This was never the way he envisioned turning sixteen to be.

Billy thanked Martha, put the salted pork in his pouch, and remounted George. Martha said:  Whichever side you are riding to, may God be with you, young man.  Billy thought it was strange that she knew where he was heading without him telling.  He then also thought that he was probably not the first young traveler to stop at this farm for some kind words and sustenance. He rode back out in the field to thank the farmer, but when he got to the spot where he had met him before, the farmer was not there.  Billy wondered where he could have gone.  As he rode back down the cobbled dirt road, he noticed a sign at the end where it reconnected with the main road — Billett’s Farm. That wasn’t the name the farmer had told him when they were first introduced before.

Hawkins He Had Said

Billy worked his way towards Charlotte Hall.  From there he would head East to Pope’s Creek and try to get on the short ferry that would take him across the Potomac River and over to Virginia. Then Billy was sure he would finally be safe.  Tonight though, he only made it as far as Benedict Maryland, and he again needed to find secluded shelter for the night. Benedict was right along the banks of the Patuxent River where the farming was good, and the fishing was even better.

It was getting dark when Billy spotted what he was looking for.  There was a large farm up ahead with two large barns and three out buildings.  Billy sat inside the trees and waited for dark.  It was inside the outbuilding furthest to the east that he intended to stay the night.  As darkness covered the fields, Billy walked slowly towards the large shack.  He led George behind him by his lead and hoped that he would remain quiet.  George was an older horse, now fifteen, and seemed to always know what was required of him without asking.  Not that you can really ask a horse to do anything, but George did just seem to know.

Billy got to the outbuilding and put his ear to the back wall to see if he could hear anything from inside.  When he was sure it was safe, he walked around front to the door, opened it, and he and George quickly walked inside.  In the very dim moonlight, Billy could see that it was about 20’ X 20’ and had chopped wood stored against the back wall.  There were also two empty stalls and a loft up above about 10’ X 20.’  Billy decided to sleep downstairs in case he had to get away fast, and after tying George to the furthest back stall, he laid down in the stall to its right and fell fast asleep.
Billy doesn’t know how long he had been asleep, but all at once he heard the sound of clicking and could feel the cold hard press of steel against his left temple.  He woke up in a start and could see five men with lanterns standing over him in the stall.  As his eyes started to adjust, he noticed something strange.  Three of these five men were black.

Whatcha doin here boy, and where you headed, the biggest of the three black men asked him?  Billy knew that how he was to answer that question would probably determine whether he lived through the night. I’m headed to Virginia to try and find my older brother. Our farm was burned a few weeks ago and my mother and baby sister are now living with relatives.  I need to let my brother know, so he will know where to find us when the war is over.
I think this here boy’s fixin to join up with the Rebs, another of the black men shouted out.  Tell the truth boy, you’re headed to Richmond to sign up with old Jeff Davis ain’t you?  Billy lied and said he wasn’t sure of which side to fight for and that he had a brother fighting for each.  With that, the biggest of the three sat him on a barrel in the corner and began to talk again …
What you done tonight boy is decide to camp in a rural spot of the Underground Railroad.  You know what that is boy?  We have a real problem now because you knows where it’s at.  We can’t trust that you won’t tell nobody else and ruin other’s chances to get North and be free.  Billy just stared into the man’s face.  He had a strength mixed with kindness behind his eyes and for a reason Billy couldn’t understand, he felt safe in this man’s presence.

Son, we is makin our way over to Preston on the western shore where we catches a train to the North.  We have one more stop before there and that’s at the Hawkins place just thirty miles up the road.  Billy then knew why the stalls back at Martha’s barn had looked slept in.  He still wondered why the sign at the farm entrance had said Billett instead of Hawkins.  The black man then said: My names Lester, and those two men over there are brothers named Rayford and Link.  By now, the two white men were gone and only the four of them were left in the stall.

Since you say you haven’t made your mind up yet about which side to join, let me help you a little with your choosin.  Lester then went on to tell Billy that Rayford and Link had five other brothers and two sisters that were all killed while trying to escape to the North.  Not only were they killed, but they were tortured before being hanged just outside of Columbia South Carolina.  Lester then asked Rayford and Link to remove their shirts.  As they did, Lester took his lantern and shined it over both of their backs.  Both were totally covered with scars from the several lashings they had received on the plantation where they had worked back in South Carolina.  Lester said this was not unusual, and no man should be treated that way.  This was worse treatment than the slave owner would ever do to any of his animals.

Lester then said again: It’ll be a shame to have to **** you boy, but for the better good of all involved, I’ll do what I gots to do. With that, the three men walked outside, and Billy could hear them talking in hushed tones for what seemed like an hour.  Lester walked back inside alone and said: What’s your name son?  We’ve decided we're taking you with us up the road a piece.  You might come in handy if we need a hostage or someone with local knowledge of the area as we make our way t’wards Preston. Go back to sleep and we’ll wake you in an hour when it’s time to go.

Billy couldn’t sleep. It had been a long day of interrogation and darkness was again approaching.  He heard the men talking outside and from what they were saying, he realized they did all of their traveling at night hiding out in small barns and shacks like this during the light of day. He wondered now if he’d ever see home again.  He wondered even more about his previous decision to fight for the South.

In an hour, Lester came in and asked Billy if that was his horse in the stall next to him.  Billy said it was and Lester said: Get him outside, we’re going to load him with the chillens and then be on our way.  When Billy walked outside he saw eight other black people in addition to the three he had previously met.  It was a mother and father and five children all aged between three and eleven.  Lester hoisted the three smallest children up on George’s back, as the other two lined up to walk alongside.  They would make sure that none of the younger ones fell off as they maneuvered their way North through the trees at night.  The mother and father walked quietly behind, as the three large black men led the way with Link scouting up ahead for anything unforeseen.

Just before dawn, Billy recognized where they were.  They were at the end of that farm road he had just come down the day before, but the sign now read in faded letters Hawkins.  Billy looked back at the sign and he could see something written on the back.  As he squinted into the approaching sun, he could see the letters B-I-L-L-E-T-T written of the back of the board.  Billy was now more confused than ever.  Lester told them all to wait in the trees to the left of the farm road, as he took out three small rocks from his pants pocket. The sun was almost up and this was the most dangerous part of their day.

He approached the house slowly and threw the first stone onto the front porch roof — then followed by the second and then the third.  Without any lights being lit, the front door opened and Lester walked inside.  In less than a minute, he was back in the trees and said:  It now OK fo us to makes our way to the barn, where we’s gonna hide for the day.

After they were settled in the five empty stalls, Lester decided who would then take the first watch.  He needed to have two people on watch, one looking outside for approaching strangers and one watching Billy so he wouldn’t try to escape.  What Lester didn’t know was that Billy wasn’t sure he wanted to go anywhere right now and was starting to feel like he was more part of what was going on than any hostage or prisoner.

In another hour, Martha came in with two big baskets of food: Oh I see you have found my young friend Billy, I didn’t know that he worked for the road.  Lester told Martha that he didn’t, and he was still not sure of what to do with him.  Martha just looked down at Billy and smiled. I’m sure you’ll know the right thing to do Lester, and then she walked back outside toward the house. Lester told Billy that Martha was a staple on the Road to Preston and that without her, hundreds, maybe thousands of black slaves would now be dead between Virginia and Delaware.  He then told Billy that Martha was a widow, and both her husband and two sons had been killed recently at the Battle of Bull Run.  They had fought on the Confederate side, but Martha still had never agreed with slavery.  Her husband and sons hadn’t either, but they sympathized with everything else that the South was trying to do.

Billy’s head felt like it wanted to explode.  Here was a woman who had lost everything at the hands of Yankee soldiers and yet was still trying to help runaway slaves achieve freedom as they worked their way through Maryland.  Billy wanted to talk to Martha.  He also wondered who that man was in the field the previous morning when he had stopped to introduce himself.  He was sure at the time it had been Martha’s husband, but now Lester had just said that she was a widow. More than anything though, Billy wanted to talk to Martha!

Billy asked Lester when he returned from his watch if he could go see Martha inside the house.  Lester said: What fer boy, you’s be better off jus sittin quietly in this here barn. Billy told Lester that if he mentioned to Martha that he wanted to see her, he was sure she would know why and then agree to talk with him.  Lester said: I’ll think on it boy, now go get ya some sleep.  Oh by the way, did you get somethin to eat?  Matha’s biscuits are the best you’ll ever taste.  Billy said, Yes, and then tried to lie down and go to sleep.  His mind stayed restless though and he knew deep in his heart, and in a way he couldn’t explain, that Martha held the answer he was desperately in need of.

In about two more hours Martha returned with more food.  She wanted to dispense it among the children first, but three were still sleeping so she wrapped theirs and put it beside them where they lay.  After feeding the adults, she walked over to Billy and said: Would you help me carry the baskets back up to the house? Billy looked at Lester and he just nodded his head.  On the way back to the house Martha said: I understand you want to talk to me. I knew I should have talked with you before, but you were in such a hurry we never got the chance.  Let’s go inside and sit down while I prepare the final meal.

Martha then explained to Billy that she had been raised in Philadelphia.  She had met her husband while on a trip to Baltimore one summer to visit relatives.  Her husband had been working on a fishing boat docked in Londontown just south of Baltimore.  It was love at first sight, and they were married within three weeks.  Martha had only been back to Philadelphia twice since then to attend the funerals of both of her parents.  She then told Billy what a tragedy this new war was on the face of America … with brother fighting brother, and in some cases, fathers fighting their own sons. It not only divides us as a nation, but divides thousands of families, especially those along the Mason-Dixon line where our farm is located now.

She also told Billy her name was Billett, but they used Hawkins at night as the name of her Railway Stop along the Road. Hawkins was Martha’s maiden name and to her knowledge was not well known in these parts. Hawkins was also the name distributed throughout the South to runaway slaves who were trying to make their way North. Martha felt that if they were looking for someone in her area named Hawkins, they would have a hard time tracing it back to her.  The Courthouse that she and her husband had been married in burned down over fifteen years ago and all records of births, deaths, and marriages, had been consumed by that fire.

By reversing the sign at night to Hawkins, it allowed the runaway slaves to find her in the darkness while protecting her identity in the event that they were caught.  Under questioning, they might give up the name Hawkins while having no knowledge of the name Billett which in these parts was well known. Martha also told Billy that she had nothing left to lose now except her dignity and pride.  Her two sons and husband had been taken at Bull Run and now all she wanted was for the war to end and for those living imprisoned in slavery to be set free and released. Her dignity and pride forced her to try and do everything she could to help.

When Billy asked Martha … How did you know the right thing to do? she said: The right thing is already planted there deep inside you.  All that’s required is for you to be totally honest with yourself to know the answer.  Martha then turned back to her cooking.

Lester then walked into the kitchen and said: Martha Ma’m, what’s we gonna do wit dis boy?  Martha only looked at Billy and smiled as she said, Lester, this boy’s gonna do just fine.  Lester then looked at Billy and said: Somethin you wanta say to me son? Billy asked if he could go feed his horse and then come back in a few minutes.  Lester said that he could but not to take too long.

When Billy walked back into the barn, George was tied to a wall cleat in the far left corner.  He walked him out to the water trough in the dark and then back inside where he gave him another half- bucket of oats.  He looked in George’s eyes for that surety that George always had about him.  Just as he started to look away, George ****** up his head and looked to his left.  The youngest of the black children was walking toward George with something in her hand.  She was with her older sister, and she was carrying an apple — an apple for George. George took the apple from her hand as he nudged the side of her face with his nose.  Billy looked at the scene, and, in the moment’s revelation, knew instantly the right thing for him to do.

Billy went back inside where Lester and Martha were drinking coffee by the fire.  Billy told Lester that NOBODY knew these backwaters like he and his brothers. He also told Lester that by joining his cause he would never be faced with the possibility of meeting either of his brothers on the field of battle.  This seemed to strike a nerve with Lester who had a brother of his own fighting for the south somewhere in Louisiana.  In Louisiana, many of the black’s were free men and fought under General Nathan Bedford Forrest where they would comport themselves with honor and bravery throughout the entire war.

Billy then told Lester he had never agreed with slavery, and his father had always refused to own them.  This made the work harder on he and his brothers, and some of their neighbors ostracized them for their choice.  Billy said his father didn’t care and told him many times that … No man should ever own another or Lord over him and be able to tell him what he can or cannot do.

Lester then asked Billy what he knew about these backwaters.  Billy said he knew every creek and tributary along the Patuxent River and all the easiest places to get across and get across safely where no one could see.  Lester said they had a friendly ferry across the bay to Taylors Island, but many times the hardest part was getting across the Patuxent to where they were now.  From here, they would then decide whether to go across the bay to Preston or head further North to other friendly stops along the Road to Delaware. Billy said he would be most helpful along those stops further North and on this Western side of the bay as he knew the terrain so well.

For four more years Billy worked out of Martha’s farm hiding and transporting runaway slaves on their way North.  He would make occasional trips back to Bowie to fortify the barn that the Union soldiers had not burned when they torched his house that day.  His family’s barn would become the main Railroad Stop before taking those last steps to freedom that lay just 100 miles beyond in the free state of Delaware.

After reconstruction, Billy went on to become a lawyer and then a judge in Calvert County Maryland.  Martha had left Billy the farm in her will, and he now used it as a haven for black people who were freely emigrating from the south and needed a place to stay and rest before continuing on to the Industrial cities of the northeast.

When Martha was dying, Billy asked her who that mysterious farmer was that was out tending her field that morning when he first stopped by so many years ago? Martha said:Why don’t you know; that was my father, Ethan Hawkins. He worked that field every day since my husband and two boys were killed.  I’m surprised he let you see him.  I thought I was the only one who ever knew he was there.  But, but, but, your father died many years ago I thought.  Martha looked at Billy with those beautiful and gentle eyes and just smiled …

Seeing him that day had changed Billy and the direction
of his life forever, making what seemed like King
Solomon’s choice — the right and only one for him.


Kurt Philip Behm
Kurt Philip Behm Sep 2020
Some men are rich with a promise,
to others—millions are never enough

Fortune esteems what your vision can dream,
contentment elusive as such

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2020)
Kurt Philip Behm Feb 2018
Living along the ledges,
  life is about the edges

The meaning sharpens and cuts
  —the higher you go

(Bryn Mawr College: August, 2014)
Kurt Philip Behm Feb 2018
We breathe the same air
  and split the same bed

We share a last name
  in silent lament

The children are out
  new grandchildren named

But frozen emotion
  has left us both lame

The sins of the one
  to the other are death

In terminal sorrow
  we take our last breaths

Time has no answer
  and not often kind

Our inner fruit rotten
—just leaving the rind

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2018)
Kurt Philip Behm Jun 2023
24 hours
alone with myself
the road goes on and on

24 hours
in my own space
exemption rides along

24 hours
eternity breached
its imagery returns

24 hours
tomorrow today
whose light forever burns

24 hours
becoming undone
the parts fall back in place

24 hours
the wind at my back
withdrawing from the race

24 hours
a voice calls my name
in birth year reverie

24 hours
my soul to reclaim
in what was meant to be

24 hours
Kerouac ******
a false reflection shown

24 hours
each road sign that calls
direction out on loan

24 hours
the moment reframed
once lost but now refound

24 hours
24 lifetimes
—inward outward bound

(Dreamsleep: June, 2023)
Kurt Philip Behm Mar 2023
Tomorrow left abandoned
with every choice I make
Constricting all potential joy
and limiting my fate
Each short term indecision
restricting unrestrained
My future playing out of tune
a timed and dull refrain
Most often I have missed it
when no outweighs a yes
For temporal gain my judgment strained
—an orphan in regress

(Dreamsleep: February, 2023)
Only heretics
will seek the truth
Against the grain
they find the proof

Pandering Angels
wings on loan
In fear of shadows
— where answers roam

(Dreamsleep: August, 2024)
‘My Oldest And Dearest Friend’

It’s hard to explain the organic quality of a road unless you’ve been down it. Perhaps on a Motorcycle, in the dark and the rain, sometimes afraid, but always with your senses more alive than at any other time.

More feeling The Road than seeing it, and more wishing for the outcome than its certainty, The Road you choose is one that you must travel alone.

The Road knows that I am faithful and no longer in search of another mistress. I ride in awe of her beauty as she brings out the very best in me. Wanting her all to myself, she laughs at my folly, telling me that: “Of course, she belongs to me and to me alone,” as she watches me leave. The breath inside of me exhales, but the memory of what’s not forgotten lingers, and I go to bed each night in a cheap motel feeling her turning inside me once more.

Alone on her twists and turns, my thoughts become guided taking me to places in her grandeur that I would never have gone before. Never promising destination, only duty bound, allowing me to find myself within every drop and elevation that her direction leads.

The Road Only Travels One Way … The Way I Need To Go

I am with her during times of her sickness too. Sitting in the waiting room of her road construction, I watch the large machines rip open her back, replacing what’s vital within her and allowing her to take me to places I have never seen.

The mountains and canyons stand in awe of The Road realizing they only sit in reference to what The Road already knows. Without The Road, their splendor would only be a bleak reminder of potential greatness within themselves. Without The Road to tell the story, their narrative becomes self-serving and unwashed and then unknown — not even forgotten. It is only The Road and its traveler that carries their message for today and a thousand more as it has always been. Footpath or gravel, asphalt or concrete, the surface is only that. It stands as an invitation to the traveler who is quickly absorbed in the motion it instills.

The Road can never offer you safety — protection being the veil that keeps enlightenment out. The Road offers much more. In its total exposure, it removes all invisibility exposing you for what you are today while presenting again what its next turn may bring. The Road places all things in motion, carrying your message inside its spirit while delivering you to a place of immediacy where you arrive alone.

The Road begins where excuses end, leaving weakness along its apron, allowing only true meaning to pass through and by. The Road has no toll beyond the one you set for yourself and has no permanent ending. Endings are something that have already been discarded and left behind.

Do you wish to be great or just to live among greatness? The Road never makes you choose. The Road needs to be ridden like oceans need to be crossed — all meaning pent up in the traverse of its direction. Understanding is just a myth here. True knowledge waits in the deliverance of how you feel once the travel is done.

There is no deal making to be done with The Road, that is for the hitchhiker and those from a lesser time.

If The Road ever were to end, it would end in the transcendence of your spirit — the place where lovers go to die and children of a greater God are born again. The Road gives you this without your asking, and without praise or blame you are accepted for who you have now and forever become.



(The West: August, 2011)
Kurt Philip Behm Nov 2021
Individual’s individual,
summation of one

The snow always fresh,
no marks on the trail

Those tracks left by others,
a map to retreat from

Direction internal
—new spirit to hail

(The New Room: November, 2021)
Kurt Philip Behm May 2021
The dead are tired,
the living go on

Breathless and timeless,
all energy gone

The dead left to wander,
betwixt and between

Finality’s heartbreak
—the end of the dream

(Philadelphia Ronald McDonald House: May, 2021)
Kurt Philip Behm Mar 2021
Prose gets more from poetry,
than poetry from prose

Verse a wellspring where phrases drink
—whose waters flow and flow

(Villanova University: March, 2021)
Kurt Philip Behm Mar 2019
Can you imagine something
  beyond your conception

Can the truth hide from view
  exposed in plain sight

Can you forget to remember
  or remember to forget

Is all darkness misleading
  —the safe harbor of light

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2019)
Kurt Philip Behm Mar 2022
Piecing it together
for a second time
the result was not the same

The years had altered
the way each piece fit
a strange familiar game

Instinct overwriting
what memory lost
the picture starts to clear

My past and future
now conjoined
—as moments reappear

(The New Room: March, 2022)
Kurt Philip Behm Apr 2019
The deeper we get into
  the idea of what’s real,
    the further away we become

Trying to put our formulas
  into a box,
    is folly zero sum

Like the horizon before you
  that you see but can’t touch,
    the truth forever disguised

Its costume to change
  with every reason we claim
    —only the search bringing meaning to the wise

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)
Kurt Philip Behm Feb 2021
You can feel,
but no longer find
the love
Surrounding,
no longer inside
the love
Remembering,
you cannot forget
the love
Lingering,
you wander in search
—of love

(Danville Pennsylvania: January, 2021)
Kurt Philip Behm Mar 2018
If you live long enough
  it all unravels

From the first thing
  to the last

If you reach far enough
  your spirit travels

Beyond the answers
  and questions asked

If you wait long enough
  the seasons meld

Snow and flowers together
  sewn

If you love deep enough
  an Angel guides you

Present, past, and future
  —known

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2018)
Kurt Philip Behm Mar 2018
Twilight fell onto my
  windowsill

Demon fire in full
  retreat

The stars above
  glowing pulls on a rug

Woven deep into the blackness
  I sleep

Days grip is unchained
  the cantor sings as he prays

As St. Michael cries
  THE SERPENT UNDONE

The sun has now left
  though your dreams not bereft

Only the night
—points to heaven above

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)
Kurt Philip Behm Jul 2019
That laughter you hear in the background
—death following closely behind

(Villanova University: July, 2019)
Kurt Philip Behm Nov 2018
Café poseurs,
  internet losers

Reflections through
  the shallow glass

Virtual wishing,
  dot.com remissing

Clicks and bytes
  as the world goes past

(Villanova Pennsylvania: November, 2018)
Kurt Philip Behm Apr 2018
Michael attacked the music
  but the melody struck back

Driving him deeper inside himself
  behind the sequence and the mask

Silence was death unspoken
  and one that only he could hear

As the beat became his death knell
  —a final moonwalk out of time

(Villanova Pennsylvania: December, 2015)
Kurt Philip Behm May 2017
I could package it different,
  I could present it complex,
  —I could try to impress and deceive

But the message eternal,
  and the one truly spoken,
  —needs the simplest of words to conceive

(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2017)
Kurt Philip Behm Feb 2020
Like an exiting wind,
voices leave from within

As the feelings impart,
verbal memories embark

A last spoken refrain,
to escape unrestrained

As the sky opens wide
—heavens breath to provide

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2020)
Kurt Philip Behm Apr 2019
The beginning and ending of all that is known,
  inside of one last wish

To carry the meaning of destiny’s Poem,
  all feelings to enlist

Into the darkness, bound by the light,
  truth filling up the sky

The hopes and desires of the children of dreams
   —to awaken the sleeping Messiah

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)
Kurt Philip Behm Mar 2021
Hey there, high school teacher,
your talent to rebuff
but when you try imagining
your focus coarse and rough

Your feelings mostly borrowed,
your words ill-gotten gains
your hours spent in false critique
of someone else’s pain

You’re outclassed high-school teacher,
your envy on display
your pedantry a mocking tone
and pretense on parade

(To Wayne Miller: April, 1967)
Kurt Philip Behm Dec 2023
The world collectively
lost its mind
When fires burned
our vision blind

From East to West
and North to South
Insanity
from mouth to mouth

The world has finally
woken up
Pundits quartered
their lies corrupt

Mobbed together
they screamed on high
But run for cover
—as truth decries

(Dreamsleep: December, 2023)
Kurt Philip Behm Aug 2020
Foreigner
to death

Alien
to mortality

Gateway
to transcendence

Angel
from beyond

(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2020)
Kurt Philip Behm Apr 2023
The raw material of art
is pain
The grandest illusion of all
is time
Whether parchment, canvas,
melody or stone
Each breakthrough immortal
—creation sublime

(The New Room: March, 2023)
Kurt Philip Behm Jul 2019
Before I started asking,
I was too busy living

The questions still in limbo
—the answers undefined

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2019)
Kurt Philip Behm Aug 2018
There are stages you run to
  and from stages to hide

The performance of a lifetime
  or the shame that will chide

There are actors in character
   and actors on loan

One change in direction
  —and all meaning has flown

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)
Kurt Philip Behm Mar 2019
There are stages you run to,
  and from stages to hide

The performance of a lifetime,
  or the shame that will chide

There are actors in character,
   and stand-ins on loan

One change in direction
  —and all meaning has flown

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)
Kurt Philip Behm Apr 2018
The price of success is
  fame

A debt you can never
  repay

A lien you can never
  remove

A stain from the past
  on today

(Villanova Pennsylvania: December, 2015)
Kurt Philip Behm Jun 2019
Is it a memory that pushes
  the future away

As wishes embody our souls

Is it a promise that opens
  and closes our hearts

All hope to then console

Is it a longing that reigns
  over friendship now lost

Of times once sorely blest

Is it the searching for love
  and the choice to believe

The stars at our behest

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2019)
Kurt Philip Behm Apr 2022
No one lived more inside the moment,
No one left others more bent to his will,
No one remembered more for the things that he said,
No one more misunderstood while being so loved
—than Muhammad Ali

(Louisville Kentucky: July, 2020)
Kurt Philip Behm Apr 2020
Why try to write like somebody else,
by others passion driven

A watered down copy, trespassing free,
to alien words you’re smitten

A copycat artist who mimics the sounds,
your voice a toast unbidden

While somebody’s pain and somebody’s joy
—the stolen horse you’ve ridden

(Rosemont Pennsylvania: April, 2020)
Kurt Philip Behm Apr 2021
Clouds encircle
sage colored dreams,
ice crystals block the sky

Today in shadows,
yesterday’s warning,
memories start to cry

The stratus thickens,
impending doom,
prophesy to remind

****** has woken,
his rain of tears
—ablution most unkind

(Dreamsleep: April, 2021)
Next page