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Phil Lindsey Mar 2015
‘Twas the start of March Madness,
And all through the land,
People sat by the TV
With pencils in hand.

The committee had chosen the teams with great care
And everyone hoped their Alma Mater was there.
The teams were selected and placed into regions
With top seeds rewarded for having good seasons.

Badger fans from Wisconsin were
All dressed in Red
With Final Four visions
Dancing  ‘round in their heads.

Kentucky fans claimed
(As they most always do)
The Championship would go
To their Wildcats in blue.

The Blue Devils from Durham
Were also quite hot
And the Duke fans were certain
They would win the top spot.

‘Nova fans were excited; their hopes are alive!
Remember the upset?  1985
An 8-seed back then, this year they're a One!
Villanova Wildcat fans are sure to have fun! xxxxxxx already done.

Now the ‘play-ins’ are over.
But I’m not sure who won
Doesn't matter, the winner
Will be trounced by a One.

I, with cold beer and my bracket,
Settle down in a chair
I’ve picked all the games
Now I’ll see how they fare.

Now Badgers, Now Boilers,
Now Hawkeyes and Bucks,
On Hoosiers, On Hoyas,
On Shockers, and Ducks
Go Flyers, Go Sooners, Come On Musketeers!
Go Cardinals, Go Cowboys….   Gonna need some more beers.

Then all of a sudden arose such a clatter
On the tube Sir Charles was starting to chatter.
“I’m the Round Mound of Rebound, - there’s no one like me!”
“Watch all my commercials, NCAA on TV!”

From Thursday through Sunday
On to Sweet Sixteen,
Elite Eight, Final Four and
All the games in between.
The nation is watching from East Coast to West
Which of the 60+ teams will be best.
With OTs and upsets and a blowout or two,
I am glued to the TV and
I’ll bet so are you.

I closed my eyes for a second, and then fell asleep

But was quickly awakened by my doorbell's loud beep,

And what, to my wondering eyes should appear?

But Sir Charles himself;
 And he asks for a beer!

"I'm not a role model, I just like to dunk.

I took a look at your bracket, and
Most all your picks stunk!"
I turned to ask him to fix it,
But he'd disappeared.
Yes, Sir Charles was gone,

And so was my beer!

Now my bracket is busted,
I’m all out of beer
Merry Madness to all,
I will see you next year!

"A Visit from St. Nicholas", also known as "The Night Before Christmas" and " ' Twas the Night Before Christmas" from its first line, is a poem first published anonymously in 1823, and later attributed to Clement Clarke Moore, who acknowledged authorship in 1837.   from Wikipedia.

Unfortunately, Mr. Moore never had the chance to experience March Madness.  :-)
Just for the record, my daughter graduated from University of Wisconsin, need I say more?
Kurt Philip Behm Feb 2018
After Midnight
The narcissists fall
After Midnight
A new lyric calls

After Midnight
The bugles will blow
After Midnight
There’s more left to know

After Midnight
The lizards collect
After Midnight
All tales to reflect

After Midnight
The ticking won’t stop
After Midnight
The bottom has topped

After Midnight
A cancerous tome
After Midnight
Malignancy known

After Midnight
Betray and deceive
After Midnight
Alone in the siege

After Midnight
All footsteps fall deaf
After Midnight
Last palate uncleft

After Midnight
New story to front
After Midnight
A star for the dunce

After Midnight
The comets rebel
After Midnight
The coroners yell

After Midnight
A suit made of steel
After Midnight
Its melting reveals

After Midnight
The plain and the slack
After Midnight
There’s no turning back

After Midnight
A sacred oath sworn
After Midnight
All memory forlorn

After Midnight
The wheels bend and turn
After Midnight
Lost vision relearns

After Midnight
False birth is stillborn
After Midnight
Old vestments are torn

After Midnight
The here and the now
After Midnight
That one sacred cow

After Midnight
Past-Future unseen
After Midnight
—new eyes that believe

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)
Kurt Philip Behm Jul 2017
With every cold defeat
  of the human spirit

The answers move deeper
  within the polar arc

Victim to its wanton roaming
  and endless chill

Questions left to wander
—fatherless and alone

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2013)
Kurt Philip Behm Feb 2017
A motorcycle and leather bag,
  life seemed so perfect then

When everything I cared about…
  my backseat was for them

The world was such a smaller place,
  ideas grandiose

To wander aimlessly I did,
  and never be morose

The road became my staunchest friend,
  new places passing by

Those girls I met, the love I spent,
  the promise in their eyes

That special place my memory held,
  for years now time sets free

A motorcycle—a leather bag,
  and all that was to be

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)
Kurt Philip Behm Nov 2018
After Midnight
The narcissists fall
After Midnight
A new lyric calls

After Midnight
Last bugle to blow
After Midnight
There’s more left to know

After Midnight
The lizards collect
After Midnight
Old tales to reflect

After Midnight
The ticking will stop
After Midnight
The bottom will top

After Midnight
A cancerous tome
After Midnight
Malignancy known

After Midnight
Betray and deceive
After Midnight
Alone in the siege

After Midnight
All footsteps fall deaf
After Midnight
Lost palates are cleft

After Midnight
New story to front
After Midnight
Two stars for the dunce

After Midnight
The comets rebel
After Midnight
The coroners yell

After Midnight
A suit made of steel
After Midnight
Its melting reveals

After Midnight
That voice in the back
After Midnight
There’s no turning back

After Midnight
A sacred oath sworn
After Midnight
All memory forlorn

After Midnight
The wheels bend and churn
After Midnight
Lost vision returns

After Midnight
False birth is stillborn
After Midnight
Old vestments are torn

After Midnight
The here and the now
After Midnight
That one sacred cow

After Midnight
Past-Future unseen
After Midnight
  —creation redeemed

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)
Kurt Philip Behm Mar 2017
There just below the surface,
  more present than you know

A prophetic Jeremiah,
  tracks leading through the snow

His message serves to buttress,
  those standing in the light

A pipeline to eternity,
—his vision gifting sight

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
Kurt Philip Behm Sep 2016
On my own terms,
  I lived my life
Giving and taking,
  both day and night

On my own terms,
  I lived my life
Some then mistaken,
  some often right

On my own terms,
  I lived my life
Last right of refusal,
  the one holding tight

On my own terms,
  I lived my life
The lows though not many,
  the feelings they wrought bright

On my own terms,
  I lived my life
Words ever radiant,
  the music so fair

On my own terms,
  I lived my life
The sweetness of children,
  my soul they ensnared

On my own terms,
  I lived my life
The darkest of moments,
  their message to share

On my own terms,
  I lived my life
A voice though unchosen,
  inside me declares

On my own terms,
  I lived my life
As the days grew short,
  and the visitors came

On my own terms,
  I lived my life
Their voices cry out,
  now calling my name

On my own terms,
  I lived my life
One verse was enough,
  no time to explain

On my own terms,
  I lived my life
My final breath,
  a lasting refrain

On my own terms,
  I lived my life
The money fleeting,
  any fame now gone

On my own terms,
  I lived my life
A 5-Star boardinghouse,
  no curtains drawn

On my own terms,
  I lived my life
With arms open wide,
  and the peace to move on

On my own terms,
  I ended my life
All that I’ve written,
—turned into song

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)
Kurt Philip Behm Feb 2017
To my Grandchildren, those great and beyond,
  whom I will never meet

Know that I love you and have seen you in the
  eyes of your parents when they were very small
  
I’ve heard your voices in the trees, when the
  wind blows softly calling my name as I walk

I’ve seen your arms reaching out to me in my
  dreams, as you cry “Papa" and then drift away

Your spirit is mine, as my spirit is yours; and no
  lifetime can keep us apart

I watch over you now and will watch over you then,
  whenever the need is great

I’m that voice you hear when no one else listens, and 
  no one else understands

And the heart that feels what you will feel, when no
   one else seems to care

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)
Kurt Philip Behm Oct 2018
Sages and broomsticks
  motherless pearls
Witches that threaten
  fatherless girls
Curse of the ages
  old grudges remain
A coven of stages
  to hide from the rain
The markings of Satan
  the touch of the Lord
A death plated sunset
  and winner forlorn
The trap now a quandary
  and you must break free
As with all soiled laundry
  to burn once deceived
The truth is not distant
  first word never feigned
The peace that you’re seeking
  inside you unclaimed
So let go of the dogma
  the medals will melt
New songs of arrival
  you’ll write most heartfelt
But the moment is now
  and the moment is clear
Once the moment is christened
  new joy spins from fear
To those who still threaten
  with eternity ******…
Say:
        “Away with your blasphemy,
          stop where you stand
        These wings have reopened
          my eyes looking in
        New life has been gifted
          —I’m blessed to begin”

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2014)
Kurt Philip Behm Apr 2019
Science…
  a handmaiden of knowledge

The upstairs maid
  in a mansion of discovery

Chauffeuring itself
  along roads it has built

A quantitative valet
  —in the closet of the unknown

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)
Kurt Philip Behm Aug 2018
The progressive death knell sounded
  —one final serpent to mount

With excuses now abandoned
  —the dragon’s fire is out

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)
Myles A Roth Feb 2010
March Madness

Villanova beat Pitt
I had no money on the game
I really didn’t care

Perhaps March with its
Big thaw
Always
Accompanied
By the frequent Colorado blizzard
Is its own madness

But I have no money on that game
either
Kurt Philip Behm Dec 2016
The rain stopped,
  the sun was gone

Mercy was in
  short supply

Smoke hung over
  the trenches

A bugler in the mud
  with his cry

Bodies were being
  carted off

New songs were written
  to the dead

Just another day in
  World War 1

That started and ended
  in dread

Villanova Pennsylvania: November, 2014:  
Opening page to my new novel, 'Death From The Sky.'
Kurt Philip Behm Apr 2017
Man's inhumanity to man,
  knows no country, religion, or race

Man’s inhumanity to man,
  the one shame that all time can’t erase

Man’s inhumanity to man,
  as constant as the spring driven rain

Man’s inhumanity to man,
—rising over and over again

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)
Kurt Philip Behm Oct 2016
A sweetness comes with age,
  like fruit that’s overripe

A Poet then a Sage,
  on this journey into night

A wish distilled from all regret,
  its seeds to be re-sewn

A sweetness comes with age,
  that buried youth could never know

(Villanova Pennsylvania: October,2016)
Kurt Philip Behm Aug 2018
You stir it one way and they the other,
  but the mixture stays just as hot

You attack their motives and they attack yours,
  while the contents boil and rot

“It needs to be this way”… the other side revolts,
  “Your mind’s faulty with avarice and greed”

The *** has simmered; the broth is thick,
  and its bottom not easy to see

A mutual exclusion, first left then right
  a feast—all soul’s consumed

With spoon or fork, its offering slick
  when the bowls come out at noon

In single file, day turns to night
  pointed talk with nothing said

Both cupboard’s bare, two rat’s within
  guarding their last crust of bread

When the final story is written and told
   of what in concert you destroyed

A drum will beat, zero-sum complete
  leaving you soulless—but still conjoined

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June,2016)
Kurt Philip Behm Jul 2018
Beneath the cover of defeat,
  final victory comes late
  
Sustained only by a will
—refusing to give in

(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2016)
Kurt Philip Behm Jun 2018
The Devil’s Teapot
—a witches brew

Remembrance poured
  in sorrows true

The Devil’s Teapot
  bone china cracked

New leaks a bane
  in virtue lacks

The Devil’s Teapot
  it fills once more

With pain now forked
  to stir rancor

The Devil’s Teapot
  whose lid seals tight

To curse and scald
  —this endless night

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)
Kurt Philip Behm Dec 2016
The present blocked,
  by words unsaid

The pastures torn,
  its furrows bled

The present blocked,
  by words unsaid

The future cries,
—its orphans dead

(Villanova Pennsylvania: December, 2016)
Kurt Philip Behm May 2017
Life’s ending is short,
  its beginning unknown

The middle is long,
  chasing stone after stone

Memories most vivid,
  from decades ago

Feelings now drifting,
  like wind driven snow

Our seconds tick off,
  as minutes run down

The big picture fades,
  tracks left on the ground

Beginning or ending,
  the next step unclear

The last cut the deepest,
—to suture or sear

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)
Kurt Philip Behm Dec 2016
Through the keyhole darkly,
he could now remember his name

Through the keyhole darkly,
his medicine kicked in once again

Through the keyhole darkly,
he knew his daughter by her face

Through the keyhole darkly,
he was back at home in his space

Through the keyhole darkly,
his dog was closely by his side

Through the keyhole darkly,
his eyes though saddened, opened wide

Through the keyhole darkly,
her voice unwrapped the precious gift

Through the keyhole darkly,
a love once anchored, set adrift

Through the keyhole darkly,
he felt the light begin to dim

Through the keyhole darkly,
his markers fade, his reference thin

Through the keyhole darkly,
the killer thief arrives once more

Through the keyhole darkly,
  all loss of self—a closing door

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2016)
Kurt Philip Behm Jul 2018
Money and wealth
  used to accompany class

Now more often than not,
  it tends toward the crass

There used to be style
  that went along with good luck

Now nouveau riche dogma
  just passes the buck

The internet minions
  and rappers galore

Litter our vision
  as they buy out our stores

This newest gold standard
  obsesses with bling

Their knowledge in tatters
  they read not a thing

All intention is focused
  on numbers that climb

Like lasers, they pierce
  the mercurial dime

But time marches onward
  for rich and for poor

Looking back, a past wasted
  —ahead nothing more

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2018)
Kurt Philip Behm Aug 2018
How now the vanishing wind…
  
The days are upon us
  last season begins

All words are regifted
  and placed into song

As time has now shifted
  our last excuse gone

How now the suffering lies…

The light burns immortal
  old visions decry

What’s done long behind us
  new storms call our name

The clouds mark their entry
—the past left to blame

(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2018)
Kurt Philip Behm Jan 2019
Not a professional writer
Not a commercial writer
Not an academic writer
    —of tomes

Not a writer of poetry
Not a writer of prose
Not a writer of colloquy
   —heaven knows

Not a writer of fiction
Not a writer of fact
Not for comic depiction
    —do my words then attack

Not a writer in residence
Not a writer then banned
Not a writer of circumstance
    —just a writer, I am

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)
Big Delta airliner racing overhead , I pray all her
occupants have safe travel this gorgeous Spring day
A passenger from Atlanta scoring a big business deal ,
an elder , excited Grandma on the way to see kids in
Bakersfield
Young soldiers headed home for much needed leave ,
a blues picker leaving Nashville bound for New Orleans
Students headed back to Texas Tech , Notre Dame and
Villanova
Newlyweds on their honeymoon to San Diego , an Engineer with a meeting in Guadalajara , a family reunion in Texarkana* ...
Copyright April 27 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
Kurt Philip Behm Oct 2018
No more book fairs or tours
  no autographs signed

My words are my gift
  the privacy mine

No talk shows or fetes
  New York Times to eschew

Questions unanswered
  —my thoughts unreviewed

(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2018)
Kurt Philip Behm Jun 2017
I don’t bow to money,
  I don’t bow to fame

I kneel to that one thing,
  that time cannot change

I don’t speak for right,
  and won’t speak for wrong

My liege is the truth,
  all court jesters gone

I don’t hope to be knighted,
  my shield more concave

And rejecting all title,
  the past still enslaved

My will lay unbroken,
  my heart for a throne

A crown jeweled with memory
—all scepters disowned

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2017)
Kurt Philip Behm Jun 2018
Sleeping with the Muse,
  my nights have grown short

Sleeping with the Muse,
  my spirit comports

Sleeping with the Muse
  words dance with delight

Sleeping with the Muse
  confronting my fright

Sleeping with the Muse
  her will tests again

Sleeping with the Muse
  not lover nor friend

Sleeping with the Muse
  my dreams sacrifice

Sleeping with the Muse
  all rest put on ice

Sleeping with the Muse
  the whispers come clean

Sleeping with the Muse
  excuses demeaned

Sleeping with the Muse,
  my spool is respun

Sleeping with the Muse
  divorced from the sun

Sleeping with the Muse
  in darkness I learn

Sleeping with the Muse
  the day will confirm

Sleeping with the Muse
  till dawn’s freeing light

Sleeping with the Muse
  —new words to take flight

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)
Kurt Philip Behm Nov 2016
Am I the Poet that I used to be,
  or the Poet of tomorrow

Am I the Poet of this present moment,
  to own or then to borrow

Am I the Poet that I used to be,
  or the one I will become

Are my words fresh made or from seasons past,
—my spirit zero-sum

(Villanova Pennsylvania: November, 2016)
Kurt Philip Behm Dec 2018
The daylight hid from the nighttime
  like a rabbit from the fox

As the sun ran through my memory
  freeing moments that were locked

With twilight came a foretelling
  and its darkness swearing true

But a light still burns inside me
—from a promise left to brew

(Villanova Pennsylvania: December, 2018)
Kurt Philip Behm Dec 2016
A warrior can be an artist,
  but can an artist go to war

Can the craftsman ever breathe the fire,
  that tempered the blade he forged

The warrior-poet, not the poet-warrior,
  the difference in the score

All fury then his words inspire,
—to bridge the liars fjord

(Villanova Pennsylvania: December, 2016)
Kurt Philip Behm Sep 2018
“Commercially Successful”
   —the metaphysical oxymoron

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)
Kurt Philip Behm Sep 2016
At the far end of the casket,
  his girlfriend hugged his wife

And told her she was sorry,
  that she had tried to steal her life

Their tears then ran in unison,
  for one who loved them both

The years they shared now testament,
  to a choice he left unspoke

They never met before this day,
  and would never meet again

But each knew well the other,
and they almost felt like friends

The mistress left, the children wept,
  and the grandchildren played outside

As his wife looked down, saying “your hell has passed,
—sleep well my love, goodbye”

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)

— The End —