Klaus J. Gerken
he travels to italy
and eats pizza and spaghetti
he travels to france
and orders hamburger and
french fries (he’s in
france after all!)
he travels to england
and doesn’t know what to order
“they’re so strange over there
they have nothing we eat here”
he travels to las vegas and says
“what a fantastic place!
they have delicious food
from all over the world!”

kjg 550pm 5 dec 2014

The Rose

Klaus J. Gerken

i cannot deny an arrangement
that shattered what dead men reveal
the living can no more reclaim it
than a raft could be made out of steel
it’s the tale of an angel that wandered
from the realms of the heavens to hell
were this angel not love i’d deny her
for she left me alone when i fell

i stumbled upon a commitment
which made her and i into one
body and soul knit together
tight as the tightest of bonds
but somehow through time’s interaction
somehow through love that was lost
somehow through greed and it’s savior
we bargained and ventured the cost

the night is as dark as it’s ugly
the bed is surprisingly cruel
no blanket to warm this reaction
no lover to wake up this fool
the dream of a rose turns to anger
when the rosebushes gather a crown
and this madman adrift on a feather
swallows his pride just to drown

a broken love
a token love
a flavour of what has been lost
tell me my love
what is above
and what is revealed in the frost?

Copyright (c) 1989 Klaus J. Gerken

The Spirit of CATHAR

Klaus J. Gerken

Sheep graze on the hill below Montsegur
Not far from where the martyrs prayed
The shepherd does not wonder much
about the place: he knows. He says:
‘It was after all my friends and family
‘who died in flames before the dogs.
‘I still retain no love for catholics.
‘I am cathar. My life is in these hills.

‘I sometimes, when the sheep are grazing
‘walk into the citadel and early in the morning
‘when the dew is fresh and air is crisp
‘I can hear the whispering, and these poor souls
‘surround you, telling of the horror
‘and the martyrdom the goodmen faced.’

Copyright (c) 1992 Klaus J. Gerken

Epic Poem

Found my 1967 manuscript of an unfinished epic poem I was writing then called “Modigliani”. I complete 31 pages and 1000 lines. Here’s part of the first page.

Epic Poem

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Two of my Teachers


My art teacher, T.O. LaGrave, and my Latin teacher, W.C. Cunningham in high school (1965/1967). They not only inspired me to learn, but to understand, and most importantly, to ask questions; and if I was not satisfied with the answer, to find out for myself. Their basic premise was that the student must always, in the end, transcend the teacher.