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Kurt Philip Behm Feb 2018
If we let them in,
  serendipity drops

If we keep them out,
  our heritage stops

With open arms,
  to deal from the heart

Or dreams are crushed,
—and cast in the dark

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2018)
Kurt Philip Behm Apr 2022
Torn from the moment,
each page sorely ragged
whose ink has long faded
but memory bound

The story is telling,
its magic eternal
inside it awaits us
—a treasure unfound

(Dreamsleep: April, 2022)
Kurt Philip Behm Aug 2022
I liked Democrats
when they acted like Republicans

(and)

I liked Republicans
when they socialized with Democrats

I liked women
when they reveled in their difference

(and)

I liked men
—when they didn’t act at all

(The New Room: August, 2022)
Chapter 1:  Jack Thought It Was Laughter

Jack thought it was laughter.  The wind blew so hard it actually forced his soul outside where his body would follow. It was at the clearing by the creek where he first saw it. It looked like blood as the wind laughed at the absence of his reflection in the snow.  He didn’t know how to feel and for the first time in this most familiar place, he was really lost.  Fear blanketed the trees and he was alone inside himself.  He was now forced to deal with the result of years of living with only one eye open. He had blinded himself to something he had always denied and was confined to a place where men often become the victims of their greatest undoing.

There were no bear or wolf signs to match the lingering bad intent that was now spread all over the trail.  He looked around and the colors called out to him but there was no rainbow only a prism trapping his unborn redemption inside a false red image. He moved forward slowly unsure of his direction but unable to do anything else.

Fighting this enemy would be much harder now, as fear burrowed deeper and deeper inside. The harder he fought, the harder the fight became. Inside himself, he could feel the object of his intended destruction growing stronger.  In the distance a lone wolf howled — at least it sounded like a wolf. Its cry loomed high above as a mocking echo to his silence calling him in its direction as it then changed into something Jack had never heard before.

Why do men have to go on journeys such as this Jack wondered?  All he saw was darkness as the tunnel bored ever deeply inside him forcing him through the whiteout to the uncertainty beyond.  He wasn’t sure of anything as it howled again encircling him with its cry in the darkness. It was imploring him in his darkest places to finally do something. The far off cry was daring him to finally stop this killer, the one who was hunting in the corners of his affirmation, slaying with its fury all his hopes and dreams.

                                        Suddenly It Stopped

If it was an animal, it had left no tracks to where the wind had been laughing in the dark. It was laughing at a joke Jack still had not heard while creating another memory of something he still had not become. Do men only hunt for something that in the end makes them less of themselves?

Jack grabbed his quiver and bow, secured his pack, and continued North up the trail.


  The Red Stains In The Moonlight Beckoning Him To Follow



Chapter 2:   Jack Crouched In The Darkness

Jack crouched in the darkness.  The tracks looked almost human, but the only heartbeat he could hear was the one now beating inside his own chest.  He’d been following these tracks for the last thirteen hours.  The blood trail had now stopped, but the animal creating it hadn’t.  Jack estimated the loss of blood at over four pints.

What mammal could continue in this cold after losing so much blood?  Jack crested the next hill and saw something moving in the thicket seventy-five yards ahead.  Instinctively, he took an arrow from his quiver and laid it loosely inside his bow.  Would this finally be the moment that he would blow away the myth about the Hairy Man?  Would this be the time that Jack would finally come face to face with his own manhood or would it just be a turkey or a deer hiding behind the thicket now less than thirty yards ahead?

Jack now switched from tracking to stalking mode.  He lowered his body position at least two feet and tried to regulate his breathing.  The movement inside the bushes had stopped, but the tracks leading to them were fresher than ever.  It had snowed during the night and the tracks a mile or so back were rounded and contoured around their edges.  These tracks were sharp and defined with loose snow falling down their sides as if freshly made.  

The bushes moved again, and it was just then that Jack noticed it.  The top of his bowstring had come undone and slid six or seven inches down from the top of the bow.  Panic started to set in as Jack searched for a patch of hard snow to brace the bow against to reset the string.  From the corner of his eye he now saw it.  A large dark figure was stooped and hunched down in the shadows to the left of the thicket as if positioning itself and getting ready to strike.  

Jack pushed and pushed on the bow trying to get it to bend.  Every time he did, the bottom of the bow would slip on the wet snow and ice and the string would once again slide back down and go lax in his hand.  Again and again he tried always with the same result.  There was a tree just twenty feet to his right. The hard bark surface would give Jack the pressure he needed to bend the bow and force the string back up inside the notch.  

The only problem with this new strategy is that Jack would have to turn his back on the thicket bush.  If he were to survive this encounter, he would have to rely on just sounds, feeling, and instinct, as his vision was now turned away from the threat up ahead.  Just as the bowstring snapped into place, Jack felt something large, very large, collide at high speed with his left shoulder.  In a daze he was spun around and thrown face down in the snow and knocked momentarily unconscious.  

When his head finally cleared, he saw the same tracks that he had been following all morning on both sides of his fallen body. They were now heading straight back in the direction from which they had come.  Blood no longer accompanied these tracks, and Jack had to face the fact that maybe, just maybe, what he had been following all day would now be hunting him.

           … And That There May Be More Than Just One



Chapter 3:  Back Down The Trail

When Jack was able to once again walk, he headed off in the direction of the southbound tracks.  He went no more than two miles down the trail when he saw a large deadfall off to his right.  The logs and branches were all disturbed as if something or someone had walked right over them.  Jack followed cautiously.  With one arrow in his mouth, and one on his bowstring, he stepped carefully over the tracks that led around back.

It was around back that he saw the blood trail resume.  It had been over two hours since he had seen any blood, and this worried him for reasons he did not yet understand.   Behind the deadfall, and totally hidden from the trail he had been on, was a clear set of tracks. Something or someone was traveling or being carried or dragged behind these tracks. The blood was evident in the snow, right in the middle of the wide swath it made, at intervals of every ten feet.  The blood was heavier than before. The trail had turned and now headed due West up the 15 degree incline toward the tall mountains not two miles in the distance.  

What kind of animal, other than human, drags away its dying or its dead?  What other animal would put itself at such risk for something in such bad shape?  Wolves and bears will stand and fight to the death to defend their young, but there have never been stories or tales of them carrying off their dead and wounded.  Only humans do this. But the tracks he was now following were too big to have been made by any man.  There was now less than twenty minutes of daylight left and soon Jack would be alone in the dark.  Being in the dark, and in search of what he didn’t know and now feared, was something that was beyond his control but not beyond his haunting imagination.  

One question had been lingering in his mind and bothering Jack all day since his encounter with whatever it was that ran over him and knocked him unconscious. Why had the animal only knocked him down and not then stopped and finished the job?  Jack was unconscious and totally defenseless.  Why was he left alone in the woods just dazed but not seriously hurt?  Why was he left alive to now ask these questions?

Jack had to decide whether to continue following the blood trail or to camp for the night.  He had both a visceral and foreboding feeling that he was not only tracking the animal, or animals, ahead, but that something or someone was also following him and watching his every move.   Being caught out in the dark and alone at night and trapped between what were now at least two monsters was more than Jack could stand.  He decided to stop and wait two hours and watch and listen before going any further.  

With loaded bow in hand, Jack started to climb a seventy-foot -high Douglas Fir that sat about ten yards off the trail.  The tree offered both easy climbing and good cover once Jack was fifteen or twenty feet above the ground.  He had not eaten in over twenty-four hours and now that he had stopped, his ravenous hunger started to set in.  He had been eating snow all day to maintain hydration, but there was no visible food source that Jack could see in the snow. The only food he had brought with him was in the pack that was knocked from his back when the animal charged.  It was nowhere to be found when Jack regained consciousness.  The animal must have carried it off as it headed South and back down the trail.    

The wind blew through the lowlands as it headed toward the mountains and carried with it Jack’s fear — although he knew he couldn’t turn back.  Turning back was now for lesser men, one’s that would then lead lesser lives, separated once again from themselves.  Before the two hours had passed, Jack again heard what he was not able to see. At least two large animals passed below him on the trail and not fifty feet from where he sat high in the tree.  They were also headed West straight for the mountains that were barely visible in the quarter moon’s light. Jack could tell there were two because he could discern the differences in their breathing.  In the deafening silence, their breaths were first high and then muffled then high and then muffled again.  They made no other sounds, passed quickly, and were then gone. Jack decided to spend the rest of the night perched and hidden high up in the tree.

Abandoning all attempts at denial, Jack now reasoned that it was possible he had at least three and possibly four of these monsters headed in the direction that he was committed to follow. He wondered again … Had they seen, smelled, heard, or felt him up in the tree as they passed closely and quietly below?  Did they know he was there and have no fear of him at all. Had their understanding ******* his in what had just happened? Jack felt a strong Deja-vu overtake the prescience of the moment and a drive stronger than ever from inside him told him that he had to go on. He felt he was being lead but by who and for what purpose he did not know.

Daylight finally broke, and Jack dropped to the ground and headed slowly West following the now wider trail as it climbed higher into the trees.  There were now large tracks on top of other large tracks but one thing had not changed.  Massive amounts of blood were everywhere and the blood was still wet.  It took Jack until late afternoon, with dusk setting in, to climb the now steep trail to the mountain’s base.

Just beyond the tree line and in a secluded depression of the mountain to the northwest, the tracks ended.  Hidden in the recess of the mountain’s crease appeared to be the entrance to a large cavern or cave.  Jack walked to within a hundred yards of the cave’s entrance, crouched down, and watched for any movement or noise that might be heard.  In thirty minutes, no sound or motion came from the entrance.  The only thing out of the ordinary at all was the now almost totally red trail — created by the blood leading inside the cave.  

Now was the real moment of decision or indecision.  Now was the moment that all Jack’s life had been preparing for.  Now was the time between myth and reality where the price of the discovery could be the discoverer himself.  Now, it was Jack’s moment.

                                          It Was His Time

With one life-affirming step, Jack moved towards the cave realizing that no matter what, he could not turn back.  He dropped to one knee as he stepped inside the cave trying again to control his breathing as his heart tried to beat through his chest.  With just small rays of moonlight coming over his shoulder from the east to guide him, Jack now crawled into the darkness his bow still in hand.  He traveled not more than fifteen feet when he felt a sharp object underneath his right knee.  As he looked down and let his eyes slowly adjust to the very dim light, he saw that someone or something had made a circle out of rocks about twenty-four inches in diameter — a cooking circle.  He put his hand in the center but the ashes were no longer warm.

With his left knee he stepped on something hard and flat.  When he reached down to pick it up he saw it was a club or a crude hammer.  It had a rock attached to a shortened tree branch with vines and some mud.  It was a rudimentary tool or weapon, and whoever or whatever had made it was not a bear or a wolf or anything Jack had encountered in the wild up until now.

As he continued forward his head bumped into something hard.  He reached up into the darkness and realized he could now stand up, and as he did, he felt an enormous stone structure in front of him.  As he felt in the dark, he could tell it was a giant boulder blocking his way over six feet wide and at least eight feet tall.  Something or someone had dragged, pushed, or pulled the boulder in front of the narrowing passageway blocking further entrance to anyone who might follow.  Was this done by those on the other side of this huge rock or by someone or something that was still hiding on this side?  Jack pushed and pulled and shoved with all his might, but no matter what angle he chose or how hard he tried, the boulder would not move.  

He could sit there and wait, but wait for what?  Surely Jack thought: “Those creatures must have another entrance or exit available to them.  What if they did the same thing to the cave’s outer opening?”  Jack would then be trapped inside a prisoner of no known reality and unable to finish the journey that his life had set him upon. He now questioned what chance he would have had with his one small bow against creatures so endowed.  He realized then that he hadn’t questioned before because the question didn’t exist.  With just his bow, hunting knife, or only his bare hands, it made no difference.  Jack’s spirit was powering this hunt, and in its completion, his soul would hang forever as a trophy he could truly own.

It was at this moment that Jack’s epiphany happened.  What chance would he want to have against these creatures?  They had outran, outwitted, outmaneuvered, and outthought Jack every step of the way.  Why should he think any further pursuit would be different?  With a silent prayer he backed away from the boulder with a reverence only known by those no longer in fear of death.  As he walked back through the entrance of the cave and into the moonlight he stopped.  He removed the arrow from the bowstring, and as he did, he heard a primordial cry calling out from the wilderness.  In his thirty-seven years in the back woods he had never heard such a sound before.  

                             And It Was Calling His Name …

Jack had counted coup on his greatest adversary, and his spirit was now free. He realized that he had finally been absorbed into the great mystery. The one that must stay the way it was — the day before — and the day before that.  It was a new sense of himself that Jack would carry with him to the grave and beyond.  In failing to confront the Hairy Man, Jack found himself while alone inside that dark cave surrounded by his fear and passion for something more.  As he headed back down the mountain, he realized for the first time that it was not about what could be killed in the night but about what was promised with the dawn of a new rebirth … Jack never hunted again.

     The Wild Man Calls From Deep Inside Where Only The                                           Brave Can Hear



Epilogue:

Is the Wild Man only in the thickets and caves or now accepted inside your heart? What did that boulder really have locked behind it?  Who really had the power to make it move?  Is it a boulder we put in front of ourselves feigning entry to who we really are?  These questions and more puzzled and bothered Jack as he stood alone in the dark.  

Who does the Wild Man cry out to and from how far away?

How often have we heard his unanswered screams that we immediately translate into something of our own lesser choosing and something we more than anything want to control.  The Wild Man is the connection to our future, present, and past.  Laying dormant in our denial, he stalks the hidden trails of our hopes and dreams, leaving blood for us to follow on the one’s that we are most afraid to walk.  

Shedding his blood for the misguided, he suffers in our attempt to pretend he isn’t there.  The only part of us that was, is, and always will be, is that which he carries inside.  He dies because it is something he cannot keep.  He lives only by giving us back to ourselves usually at our greatest moments of fear and indecision.  He hides away on a dark mountaintop waiting for us to walk the trail of our own darkness, freeing us during our greatest moments of doubt, then allowing us to turn around and walk back into the light.

Who was it really that was being dragged up that mountain bleeding — and dying of unrecognition?

What Jack had always believed in was the source of his fear.  Tonight, he was at the crossroads of his destiny and all creation. The choice on this night to not believe would have in its undoing — left nothing of Jack.

Before, in always choosing between what to believe and not who, or who to believe and not what, Jack lived his life in the dichotomy of a false existence. Tonight, that dividing line was erased.

The Wild Man lives inside us all!  In exposing the lie that more protection offers us safety, Jack finally found himself.  No longer doomed to search endlessly through the deep snow, he was free to marvel in the connection of all that surrounded him.

I wish the same for you!  

Recognize and release the Wild Man you hide inside.  Refasten the eternal connection between what you fear and who you were meant to be.


Kurt Philip Behm

July 15th, 2010
Kurt Philip Behm Mar 2017
When emptiness
replaces memory

The wind,
—forever ceases to blow

(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2016)
Kurt Philip Behm Oct 2016
When the emptiness,
  outweighs the content

The wind,
—forever ceases to blow

(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2016)
Kurt Philip Behm Mar 2018
When emptiness
replaces memory

The wind
—forever ceases to blow

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017
Jimi’s grand apology
hidden in the words
In lyrics of his soul’s lament
Mary’s name is heard

The Jacks are in their boxes
as midnight plays its chord
Music sighing whispers red
—  Queen still untoward

(The New Room: April, 2024)
For Papa

That monster inside us
devouring the past
Our memories hunted
most recent to last

No mercy is shown us
as darkness creeps in
Today and tomorrow
—lost into the wind

(Tribute To Hemingway: January, 2024)


Lakota Buffalo Prayer

Shooting
today
Killing
tomorrow

Targeted
fortune
Lost
—to the wind

(The New Room: January, 2024)
Kurt Philip Behm Aug 2019
Lost in the miles, lost in the smiles,
the road calls out my name

Throttle in hand, a beckoning land,
no two days then the same

Direction unmapped, my nose to attack,
what’s never been before

Fate rides ahead, making my bed
—the wind to know for sure

(Limon Colorado: August, 2019)
Kurt Philip Behm Oct 2016
If you live your life fully, death approaches as a
   friend

If you’ve risked it all, holding nothing back,
  his greeting will not offend

If you exceeded your limitations, you are finally no
  longer constrained

If you’ve given back more than you hoped to receive,
—the wind whispers forever your name

(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2016)
Kurt Philip Behm Aug 2016
God is a poet,
his blessings in rhyme

Salvation unmetered,
  inspiration divine

His voice calls us inward,
  temptation now gone

Where the wings of an Angel,
  carry words into song

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2016)
Kurt Philip Behm Apr 2018
God is a poet
  his blessings in rhyme

Salvation unmetered
  inspiration divine

His voice calls us inward
  temptation now gone

Where the wings of an Angel
 —carry words into song

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2016)
Kurt Philip Behm Apr 2019
God is a Poet,
his blessings in rhyme

Salvation unmetered,
  inspiration divine

His voice calls us inward,
  temptation now gone

Where the wings of an Angel
  —carry words into song

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2016)
Kurt Philip Behm Feb 2017
God is a poet,
  his blessings in rhyme

Salvation unmetered,
  inspiration divine

His voice calls us inward,
  temptation now gone

Where the wings of an Angel,
  carry words into song

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2016)
Kurt Philip Behm Sep 2020
We die in the present,
but live in the past

Though the moment may claim us
—our memory to last

(Pine Ridge South Dakota: June, 1993)
Kurt Philip Behm Apr 2019
Planting words inside my garden,
  watering them at will

Staking memories long forgotten,
  feelings cold and shrill

Row by row the letters planted,
  phrases start to grow

Whose cool fall day a harvest brings
  —to feed the winter snows

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)
Kurt Philip Behm Jan 2021
The pinnacle of abuse
is preying on your own
Jackal, politician,
mercenary, or priest
Their cloak of deception
hiding unspoken lies
Approaching your doorstep
—in the guise of a friend

(The New Room: January, 2021)
Kurt Philip Behm Sep 2019
I don’t have to slay the dark,
my verse—the wolf unleashed

I don’t have to court the devil,
my words a sword unsheathed

I can live beneath the sun,
or in hurricanes of fright

To sleep beneath a crescent moon
—my poetry to fight

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)
Kurt Philip Behm Apr 2017
I don’t have to slay the dark,
  my verse, the wolf unleashed

I don’t have to court the devil,
  my words a sword unsheathed

I can live beneath the sun,
  with days both clear and bright

Or sleep beneath the crescent moon,
—my poetry to fight

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)
Kurt Philip Behm Jan 2019
Where science ends,
   poetry begins

The wonder of it all
  —questioned again

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)
Kurt Philip Behm Apr 2023
What kind of rational man
believes in justice
What kind of rational man
believes in peace
What kind of rational man
believes in fairness
What kind of rational man
believes in truth
What kind of rational man
believes he’s chosen
What kind of rational man
believes in God
What kind of rational man
seeks life eternal
What kind of rational man
—by His decree

(Dreamsleep: April, 2023)
Kurt Philip Behm Feb 2019
The eyes of a poet
The heart of a warrior
The soul of a prophet
  —but the words of a man

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2019)
Kurt Philip Behm Mar 2018
Old men making deals
  the young taking bullets

Politicians to steal
  no one to prevent it

Athletes and rappers
  sit on the throne

Parents and teachers
  their message disowned

Freedom on trial
  both inside and out

The world in denial
—no place left to shout

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)
Kurt Philip Behm Jan 2019
Old men making deals
  the young taking bullets

Politicians to steal
  no one to prevent it

Athletes and rappers
  sit on the throne

Parents and teachers
  their message disowned

Freedom on trial
  both inside and out

The world in denial
  —all truth cast in doubt

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)
Kurt Philip Behm Mar 2020
The world sneezed,
the demon danced
—the music stopped in time

The world coughed,
the demon choked
—millions now entwined

The world hid,
the demon searched
—new victims running low

The world rose,
the demon dead
—nowhere left to go

(Dreamsleep: March, 2020)
Kurt Philip Behm Aug 2017
When the world turns
   on a whisper

Why do we insist on
  shouting

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2014)
Kurt Philip Behm Mar 2018
Aging like wine,
  the phrases they flow

Their vintage in rhyme
—forever to know

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2018)
Kurt Philip Behm Jul 2017
What can it mean to a new generation,
  when lessons in history
     —fail to inspire

What can it mean to a new generation,
  when watered down values
     —keep dousing the fire

What can it mean to a new generation,
  as men hunt each other
     —their food sources gone

What can it mean to a new generation,
  when the lyrics are distant
     —and they’ve stolen your song

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2014)
The coach signaled timeout and called the team to the sidelines.  There were eight minutes left in the biggest game of their lives, and they would be playing for three minutes with a severe disadvantage.  They had committed a succession of penalties within a span of less than 60 seconds, and they would now be playing without three men on the field.  In lacrosse this is referred to as ‘Man Down.’  

Usually it’s only ‘One Man Down,’ or at the most, ‘Two Men Down,’ but few watching that day had ever seen a team go ‘Three Men Down.’  This meant that their star goalie T.J. Braxton was only going to have three defenders in front of him instead of the usual six.

T.J. had been playing great, but he now had to play for two minutes with three men missing in front of him and then the third minute still missing one. It was going to seem like an eternity.  The coach looked over at T.J. and he was standing off to the side by himself not wanting to either look or talk to anyone during the intermission.  The coach understood this behavior because he had been a goalie himself and decided to leave T.J. alone — totally immersed within his own thoughts.

As they did the cheer to break the huddle, it was for their goalie …”1, 2, 3, Go T.J.”  What would happen now brought more pressure than any goalie should ever have to withstand.  Even going just ‘One Man Down’ would in many cases result in a goal for the other team.  Going ‘Two Men Down’ almost ensures the other team a goal, and anything beyond that just puts your goalie at the mercy of the shooters on the other team.

    And Tonight There Would Be No Mercy To Be Found

T.J. already had 18 saves up to this point with only half a quarter left to play in regulation. Saves are when a goalie either blocks or deflects an offensive shot from the other team. He had only let in three goals all game, and the score was tied at 3-3.  

Pennhurst was a powerful public school with large and fast athletes.  They had not been playing lacrosse as long as T.J.’s private (all-boys) school, Haverland Academy, but their natural athletic ability and inner toughness were making up for any experience lost.  

T.J. would have to defend his goal missing three men in front of him for two minutes and then missing one man for the next sixty seconds.  It was his team’s possession coming out of the timeout, and it was all they could do being so shorthanded to even get the ball across the mid-field line.  The coach’s tactic was not to shoot the ball now but to stall and to try and take as much time off the clock as they could until they could get more players back on the field.  T.J. stood rock solid in the center of the ‘crease’ in front of his goal and looked squarely at the goalie at the other end of the field. The ‘crease’ was the large circle surrounding the goal that no offensive player from the other team could enter. He seemed to not be following the ball and his coach wondered what was going on inside his head.

Playing goalie is 80% mental, and he was hoping his star goalie wasn’t going to have a melt down when his team needed him the most.  T.J. would normally be very active inside his own goal shouting instructions to the defensemen in front of him and trying to best position them for the oncoming attack.    

               Something ‘Seemed’ Different Tonight

T.J. had entered a new zone, one that he had never been in before, and one that only he could understand.  As Haverland’s lead attackman charged the opposing goal, the ball fell out of his stick. It was immediately picked up by the opposing goalie and ‘cleared’ to a midfielder standing outside and to his left.  The midfielder made one more pass to an attackman, and the ball was coming T.J.’s way with only three defenders in front of him to help stop the charge. The ball was again passed to one of their senior captains and their strongest midfielder.  

He juked left as he faked a pass and then as he cradled the ball wildly, he headed straight toward T.J. in the goal.  When he got within fifteen feet of the goal he stopped, set his feet, and with a violent and twisting motion fired an overhand shot across his right shoulder at the ground two feet in front of where T.J. now stood.

T.J. was now eighteen and a half and had been playing goalie since he was seven years old.  He had seen and defended almost every kind of shot and from every angle in those eleven years. He had just never had to do it before with almost no defense in front of him.  As the shot left the midfielders stick, T.J. reacted.  He took two steps forward and was able to scoop the ball out of the air at ankle height before it was able to bounce off the ground. Bounce shots were more difficult to save, and his accumulated instinct and experience allowed him to get this one and at least for now keep the score tied at 3-3.

T.J. ran behind his own goal toward the end line. With the ball in his stick he was trying to take time off the clock.  Only one opposing player chased him, and he was able to do a 180-degree spin, avoid that player, and run back out in front of his goal.  He then cleared the ball, the entire length of the field, to a midfielder standing in the far left corner.  T.J.’s team had the ball within thirty feet of the opposing goal with only two minutes left to run in penalty time.

T.J.’s offense decided it was time to step up and play big.  They managed to take a full minute off the clock with uncanny passing until the referee finally called stalling and gave the ball back to the other side.

As the ball came back in T.J’s direction, two of his penalized players retook the field.  They were now playing with only a ‘one man down’ disadvantage and for only sixty more seconds.

The opposing team set up in a perimeter in front of his goal passing the ball from man to man and then behind T.J.’s goal in an attempt to unbalance a still weakened defense.  As the ball went behind the net, T.J. rotated inside the crease never taking his eye off the ball.  He thought they were setting him up for something sneaky because his fundamental blocking skills on normal shots were so strong. More than anything he didn’t want to give up a cheap goal, and he wouldn’t have to wait long to find out that his suspicions had been correct.

As they passed the ball back and forth behind his goal, an attackman turned and tried to lob the ball over the back of the goal, and T.J.’s stick, to an opposing midfielder who was charging the front of the goal from about twenty-five-feet away.  They were hoping to catch T.J. mesmerized in what was going on behind the net and then reverse field and go in the one direction no one ever expected — over the back of the goal.  

It didn’t work!  As the ball left the midfielders stick, T.J. jumped high in the air and intercepted the pass in the shooting strings of his goalie stick.  He then spun around and ran directly to the out of bounds line to his right. It was beyond the defensive box, and he stood there waiting for someone to challenge him.  He was again trying to take precious seconds off the clock to get his team back to full strength. Although a goalie, T.J. was the fastest player on his team and that speed was like money in the bank to a team that was struggling and in trouble with time running out.

He managed to get the penalty down to twenty two seconds before he finally dished the ball off to another long stick defender and then quickly moved back in front of his goal.  That defensemen got across midfield just before another penalty would have occurred for not advancing the ball.  With only seventeen seconds left on the penalty, the offense passed the ball to the four corners looking for a man who was ‘hot’ (open) who could take the shot and finally break the tie.  With only three seconds left in the penalty their best attackman, John Erasmus, took the ball in his stick and with his left hand fired a side angle shot at the right side of the goal.  It was a great shot, but their goalie made a heroic save. He was also a senior and had transferred into Pennhurst two years ago from a Lacrosse powerhouse school in northern Maryland.

With both teams now at full strength, the ball went back and forth for the final five minutes with very few shots taken at either end.  The ones that were taken were weak and from great distance, and both goalies easily picked them up and started the ball going the other way.  Each shot was critical now because the game was tied with time running out.  Possession was more important than losing the ball to the other team by taking a poor shot.  As the lights shone brightly high above the scoreboard, time ran out in regulation.  The game would now go to sudden death overtime, and it would become about the strength of the face-off men and how hot each goalie was going to be.

    It Was Now About The Face-Off Man And The Goalies

In sudden death, the first team to score wins!  No second chances here it’s do or die time, and everything is amped up to an entirely new level.  Many times, the winner of the face off at midfield wins the game because everything is geared towards that one shot, and the pressure on the opposing goalie is tremendous.  Unless the goalie can isolate himself in a ‘zone of invincibility,’ the chances of blocking a shot in overtime due to a lost face off are not very good.  Just like in the NFL, where the coin toss often determines the winner in overtime, the face-off is like that coin toss only with skill and not luck determining the winner.  T.J. thought back to all the coaches and mentors that had brought him to where he was standing tonight.  They were all somewhere up in the stands, and they were all living and dying with him tonight in the goal.

      T.J. Decided That Tonight It Would Be About Life

The Captains met at the middle of the field as the referee explained the rules of sudden death.  All who were listening thought that the term was aptly named.  They shook hands again and ran back to the huddles on their respective sidelines.  Both coaches gave their overtime strategies to their teams, and they did one more cheer before retaking the field.  Both face off men walked slowly toward each other at the center mid-field line and stared each other directly in the eye.  

The physical disparity between the two players at mid-field was huge.  Haverland’s best face off man, George Arle, was 5’6’’ tall and 160 lbs. Pennhurst’s face off man, B.J. Radford, had been an All-State quarterback on the football team and was 6’3’’ and 225 lbs.  Although Lacrosse was not his primary sport,  he had played it for the last four years and by anyone’s account he was a ‘stud player.’  The skill in taking face offs is unlike any other in Lacrosse.  It’s more similar to recovering a fumble in football or picking up a loose five-dollar bill dropped on the floor in Penn Station in New York.  It’s uncontrolled mayhem with the skill to do it only evident to those who have been there. And it’s those players who know painfully well what it takes to win the fight for the ball.

Although T.J.’s face off man George had had a good season, he always struggled against players that were that much bigger than him and usually lost the ball.  The ref. positioned the ball between the two boys sticks who were both crouched down and ready at mid-field.  The whistle blew, and George lost the ball as B.J. picked it up and charged right over George’s left shoulder.  He was headed in a straight line right toward T.J. who was standing fixed and ready in front of his goal.  B.J. passed the ball to a midfielder who kept it only a second before passing it to an attackman who was off to the right of the goal.  The attackman looked to his left and faked a pass to his right.  He then spun around and with all his might fired a bounce shot on an angle from the right facing side of Haverland’s goal.  

T.J. stepped forward, scooped the ball up on the first bounce, and in one fluid motion flipped the ball out to a defenseman on the left perimeter. This player cradled it inside his long stick as he took off down the sideline and across midfield.  The defenseman made a pass to a middie on the extreme other side of the field who then passed to an attackman. This man ran around behind the net and came out on the other side in front of the goal, shot the ball, but it went wide right.  The other team was closest to the ball when it went out of bounds, so it was Pennhurst’s possession, and it was coming back T.J.’s way.

Their goalie cleared the ball left to a long stick defenseman, who in turn made a long pass directly to an attackman, and the ball was once again in the oppositions stick less than thirty feet from the goal T.J. was defending.  This attackman had no intention of passing.  He put his head down and charged straight ahead toward T.J.  As his coach was screaming at him to pass, and it the midst of five defensive players, he fired off a shot.  It came at a side angle, and, with all of the players surrounding the shooter, it was hard for T.J. to see the ball come off the kid’s stick.  

When T.J. finally did see the ball, it had passed the head of his stick, and he was just able to get a piece of the ball with the bottom of his shaft. It was just enough to deflect the ball upwards and over the goal and into the chain link fence fifty feet behind the crease.  On instinct alone, T.J. ran after the ball and being closest to it when it went out of bounds, he picked it up in his stick and slowly walked forward. This gave his midfielders time to transition back up to the other end of the field.

T.J. was living on borrowed time.  Making one save in overtime was huge, but making two, and one with only the shaft of his stick to save it all, was stretching the limits of whatever luck the team had left.  T.J. easily passed the ball to an unguarded defenseman who ‘walked’ the ball up-field and then tossed it to a midfielder just in front of the offensive box.  

The offensive box is the restrained and shorter ‘boxed-out’ area right in front of the goalie and where most shots are taken, and most goals are scored. The midfielder made a pass to his left to an attackman, who tried to make a long looping pass across the face of the box, but it was intercepted by one of the oppositions long stick middies and passed quickly to another midfielder as it transitioned back again towards T.J. This time the ball was coming straight at T.J., and it had taken less than five seconds to get there.  His team was not set yet and this charge could be the end of it all.

T.J.’s team had been caught napping in an uncharacteristic moment of uncertainty.  Pennhurst’s top midfielder again had the ball, and he was charging at T.J. who had only two players set and not the normal six in front of him to play defense.

Surprisingly to T.J., this player then made a pass to the extreme right corner and that attackman ran behind T.J.’s goal giving his defense more time to reset.  This player then made a pass to the left side, and it was once again in the stick of their best midfielder, Matt Makritis.  Midfielders, or Middies, as they’re often called are many times the best athletes on the team.  They have to play both offense and defense and run the entire length of the field while their shift is on. Makritis was a high school All-American, and he was charging at full speed toward the left front facing side of T.J.’s goal.

                       T.J. Was An All-American Too!

T.J. was also an All-American and had recently been on the front cover of ‘Inside Lacrosse Magazine’ and featured as the #1 player coming out of High School Lacrosse that year.  He thought to himself that all of that press would be meaningless if he allowed this shot to go in.  The opposing midfielder continued toward the crease unguarded, got within ten feet of the goal, and fired point blank at T.J.  No fancy bounce shots or behind the back this time.  This shot was straight at T.J.’s head, and from less than ten feet away. T.J. caught the ball in the fat part of his goalie sticks net.  It didn’t stay there though.  The power of the shot caused it to come out of his stick, in what is referred to as a rebound, as it rolled ten or twelve feet out in front of the goal.

A second midfielder then picked up the ball, and not lifting it from the ground, fired a shot right back at T.J. This was more like a golf shot than a lacrosse shot, and T.J. struggled to see from which direction the ball was coming.  As the ball came back at T.J. at a severe angle, headed toward the left backside of the net, he stretched his body out like a goalie in the NHL.  Doing a full split in front of the net, he was able to get a piece of the ball with his right cleat and deflect the ball off to the left side of the goal. As the ball rolled harmlessly toward the far side of the endline, the referee blew his whistle.  The first three-minute overtime period had ended.

    They Had Survived Sudden Death For Three Minutes

Both teams huddled tightly with their coaches and trainers.  This time though, T.J. didn’t leave the crease at all.  He was leaning against the goal with his back turned to the field. It was almost as if he was talking to someone you couldn’t see and totally immersed in a world of his own.  There are several times in a man’s life that define and underline not only who he is, but who he will then become.  This was one of those times for T.J.

                                 And He Knew It

Both teams wearily took the field.  The pressure of an extremely tight game, and then surviving one overtime period, had taken its toll.  As the face-off men bent low and readied for the ball, T.J.’s back was still facing the field.  When he heard the whistle blow he spun around and it was like someone twice his 6’2’’ size was playing goalie.  He seemed to fill the entire net with his presence and there was an ‘aura’ coming from him that surrounded the entire defensive end of the field.

Once again, George lost the face off to the All-State quarterback and star midfielder, B.J. Radford.  This time however, the look on B.J.’s face was different.  Although fairly new to Lacrosse, inside his chest beat the heart of a champion.  He almost stepped on George as he picked up the ball and headed straight over the mid-field line and directly at T.J.  This senior captain had no intention of passing, and he was going to ‘ice’ the game for his teammates and fans.  B.J. was not known as a great shooter but more for his defensive skills. He was a great athlete though, and this charge was not to be taken lightly by anyone on the defensive end of the field.  

                 B.J. Knew This Was His Moment

Without stopping or setting his feet, he raised his stick above his head and shot the ball toward the right corner of the net at over ninety miles an hour.  T.J. saw this one all the way and caught the ball in his stick.  He then ran out of the goal and passed B.J. who was still coming his way as he charged past him and headed straight down the field.  T.J. was out of the defensive box and headed toward the mid-field line.  He was looking at nothing in front of him except the opposing goalie who was now staring at him with an incredulous look on his face inside the opposing crease.

Everyone there that night had their mouth’s open in awe.  No one expected the goalie to ever make the final break, and no one watching had ever seen a goalie possessed with such speed.  The other team was in awe too and just kept watching him run. They were all guarding open men who they were sure T.J. would eventually pass the ball to.

                                  He Didn’t Pass

When he crossed the midfield line, the fans went wild and stood up.  One of his midfielders had the presence of mind to stay back behind the midfield line so that an offsides wouldn’t be called.  In Lacrosse, you always need at least three men back plus the goalie in the defensive end.  Once T.J. crossed midfield, one of the midfielders had to stay back.

T.J. approached the offensive box in front of their goalie with only one thing on his mind.  He had been acutely watching this kid all day and he had noticed one thing.  This was a fundamentally sound and ‘play up’ goalie and one would who would rise to the occasion when the heat was on.  He had transferred into Pennhurst only two years ago and based on his great skill, he had gotten them this far.  He had one weakness though that T.J. had observed — he couldn’t handle the off-speed shots, especially over his left shoulder.

The left shoulder is opposite the goalie stick’s head if you’re right handed. In his case, the only weakness that T.J. had seen,
other than his struggle with off-speed shots, were those directed high up and left.  Like a changeup in baseball, the off-speed shot often confused the goalie’s timing and could cause him to over or under react at just the right time.  T.J. continued to charge the goal.

By this time, two defensemen from Pennhurst were running from both sides to get to T.J. before he could shoot, but his speed was too much.  As he approached the crease from the right side, he raised his stick above his head.  He threw his lower right elbow at the goalie as if executing a shot.  His stick-head never moved, but the goalie bit on the fake.  He waved the head of his stick high right and then easily lobbed the ball over the Pennhurst goalie’s left shoulder.  The referee blew the whistle — the game was over —and T.J.’s team had finally won.

The other goalie dropped to his knees and then put both hands on the ground in front of him.  T.J. went over and picked him up saying: “You may have lost on the scoreboard tonight, but you never gave up. I’m proud to have played against you.”

Haverland had just won the State Championship, and most watching said it was the greatest goalie performance at any level that they had ever seen.  T.J. was voted ‘Most Valuable Player’ of the game. In the fall, he would be off to a top 10 Lacrosse University where he would major in Criminal Justice and take his goalie skills to an even higher level.

T.J.’s coach told him after the game that you can play lacrosse for your entire lifetime and never be able to play or recreate what you just did.  His future college coach, who had been in the stands watching, came down on the field and put his arm around T.J. after the game and told him the same thing.  He went on to say: “T.J., I had my whole speech ready before you went into overtime.  I thought I might have to come down here and tell you that although you lost — you lost really well.

   T.J. Did Not Want To Believe That Losing Well Was Really Possible!

“You had made all those heroic saves throughout the game for your team, and if you had to lose, it would have been a great way to do it.  The only problem with my prepared speech is that you didn’t lose. As I watched you in the goal with your back turned to the field as the second overtime period started, I said to my assistant coach Dave, who’s over talking to your folks, that our new and future goalie is in a zone that few can ever get to.  He will not be scored on again tonight.  Tonight, and for however long this game lasts — he is truly invincible. And I don’t believe I’ve ever used that word to describe a player before.”

Many years passed and one day T.J got an email from his old high school coach.  The coach told him that once again his school, Haverland, would be playing for the State Championship and he wanted to run his pre-game speech by T.J. before his boys took the field.  It was short and to the point.  What he wanted to tell the boys was: “It wouldn’t be the number of players on the field but who those players were and what was coming from inside their hearts that would make all the difference.”  He then went on to tell the story of T.J. in the State Championship Game that took place over ten years before.  

Some of the boys had heard the story, but all were in awe listening to the emotion and passion in their coach’s voice as he retold the story again.  It was like replaying that game with the current Haverland players and right before the most important game that most of them would ever play.  

Haverland won the State Championship again that day and many of the boys said that it was the pre-game speech about T.J. and his team’s overtime victory that fueled their desire and commitment to make it happen.  It was also a close game, and with two minutes to go the score was again tied. Five times during the game they had gone ‘one-man’ down but had only allowed one goal to be scored during those five uneven possessions by the other team.  Haverland was then able to strip the ball from their opponent twice in the final two minutes and convert both into scores — ending the game at 7-5.

Along a lonely hallway in the back of Haverland’s new athletic center hangs a plaque with the story of that night so many years ago.  But to T.J., and all the members of that legendary team, the thing that hangs highest — is their refusal to lose.

The possibility of being invincible would stay inside T.J. and all who were there to watch him play that night. He learned that at the end of the streak where luck ends, sometimes you have to enter that zone …

                                 And Just ‘Will It’ To Happen.
Kurt Philip Behm Mar 2020
My reward not determined
by anyone else

Thorns as
roses named

Words carry inward
on breath I define

Acceptance
—self ordained

(Dreamsleep: March, 2020)
“Age but a number”
if only that were true
Yesterday reborn again
— memories renewed

(Dreamsleep: February, 2024)


Moments Beyond Time

In search of fresh meat
the future will come
Hour predestined
the hunt zero sum

As seconds approach
impending attack
Free every moment
—time dead in its tracks


(The New Room: February, 2024)


Why

Why isn’t God
transcending
my doubt
Each day more distant
the louder
I shout
Why can’t the Lord
acknowledge
my pain
The light
growing dimmer
— the more I proclaim

(Dreamsleep: February, 2024)
America has lost control
of the Founders rule of law
The criminals are now in charge
as truth has been declawed

Locking up the standard bearers
with new self-serving lies
Banana groves are planted deep
— where freedom used to thrive

(Independence Hall: May, 2024)
Kurt Philip Behm May 2022
Better the will to know
—than to know the truth

(Re-reading Don Quixote: May, 2022)
Kurt Philip Behm Sep 2018
Embracing the present
  freeing the past

Abandoning the future
  —eternity’s mask

Seizing the moment
  lies tumble and fall

Salvation perpetual
—this instant and all

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)
Kurt Philip Behm Apr 2019
Embracing the present,
  freeing the past

Abandoning the future
  —eternity’s mask

Seizing the moment,
  lies tumble and fall

Salvation perpetual
—this instant and all

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)
Kurt Philip Behm Jun 2019
I don’t know if I’m good or bad,
but I’m not for loan

I don’t know if my words will rise,
but these thoughts I own

I don’t know if the questions asked,
will in death rename

I don’t know if this life I live
—will the past reclaim

(Villanova Pennsylvania: December, 2016)
Kurt Philip Behm Jun 2017
It’s not important what I know,
  but what I choose to feel

The facts once vital fall away,
  my fruit now fully peeled

The numbers orphaned, the glory waived,
  a whiter shade of pale

The music constant, the darkness gone,
  all truth—this light unveils

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2017)
Kurt Philip Behm Oct 2016
Time may be short,
  but the memories are long

Of a life I now celebrate,
  in poetry and song

My body though challenged,
  my eyesight forlorn

Those promises I kept,
  the blanket that warms

The sun may be setting,
  with leaves turning brown

But the path clearly marked,
  my journey, my crown

As the light becomes dimmer,
   and the music portends

Not sorrow but gratitude,
—this message I send

(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2016)
Kurt Philip Behm Mar 2018
It comes like
Seems like
Feels like
And speaks like
—a dream

That maybe
This instant
For once
And forever
—can mean

That yesterday
And tomorrow
Break ties
With the now
—and then free

The future
And past
From the
Present
—this moment to be

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2018)
Kurt Philip Behm Apr 2020
How real can you be…
how prescient can you become

How long can the moment last
—to choose or to then believe

(Dreamsleep: April, 2020)
Kurt Philip Behm Feb 2020
A tumbleweed Poet,
Mariah’s delight

The wind for a mistress,
the future in flight

A rambling Sage
with a heart full of why

Forgetting the past
—this moment defies

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2018)
Kurt Philip Behm Mar 2019
Living an eternity
  with each given day

The calendar a slave
  to the present foray

This moment at hand
  the only time you’re ordained

Exploding at once
  —over and over again

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)
Kurt Philip Behm Jul 2018
The older the day
  the sweeter the memory

The sweeter the memory
  no reasons to find

No reasons to find
  tomorrow unmentioned

Tomorrow unmentioned
—the present divine

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2018)
Kurt Philip Behm Jun 2019
January 1st,
a crescent moon

The past crossed over,
the future looms

A New Year dawns,
as daylight breaks

With wishes fresh,
new oaths to take

Feeling lighter,
old burdens gone

New lyrics written,
a familiar song

The year to bring,
what fates allow

As wonder ages
—in this moment now

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2017)
Kurt Philip Behm Jan 2017
January 1st,
  a crescent moon

The past crossed over,
  the future looms

A New Year dawns,
  as daylight breaks

With wishes fresh,
  new oaths to take

Feeling lighter,
  old burdens gone

New lyrics written,
  a familiar song

The year to bring,
  what fates allow

As wonder ages,
—in this moment now

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2017)
Kurt Philip Behm Jul 2017
As days become short
  the more precious each hour becomes

Memories lengthen
  to stretch like the rays of the sun

Time is unfolded
  its layers unmasked to expose

This moment transcendent
—the past and the future deposed

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2017)
Were I to explain
what then would I say …
That the moon loves its axis
that each dog has its day
That the question unanswered
most answered indeed
That each start an enigma
and truth often bleeds
That the mind unexplored
without mention at all
That from season to season
time stumbles and falls
Against my better nature
I’ll place this one bet
The answer you hoped for
— you’re never to get

(Dreamsleep: February, 2024)
Kurt Philip Behm Feb 2018
My conviction
  —my pen
My blood
  is my ink
My spirit
  my foundation
My faith
  is my link
My love
  is the cradle
Where tomorrow
  is born
My belief
  my transcendence
In this present
—adorned

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2018)
Kurt Philip Behm Mar 2017
The day now split
drifts off unpromised,
the dream remains with me

Our words as jewels
now treasured pawn,
their tickets burning free

The nights by measure
mornings fled,
those times you woke and lied

My heart remains
my own to wed,
your wound still deep inside

From spells you cast
upon our gift,
and quarried into stone

The past is black,
the future gone,
—this present mine to own

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2017)
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