Poem of the Week

March 27, 2008 #479

Dear Subscriber:

This week’s poem of the week is a love poem.

You can hear me read the poem and listen to the music for it at my site by going to http://www.poemsforfree.com and clicking on "Poem of the Week."

Yours,

Nick Gordon

I want you, but I don’t want you to know.
I fear the loss more than I trust the gain.
You are my love. I will not let you go.

Nor do I have the courage to bestow
My love on you, that you might see me plain.
I want you, but I don’t want you to know.

I fear your presence like an undertow
That drags me out unready, trite, inane.
You are my love. I will not let you go.

And yet when you are near I feel your glow
Like sunlight dancing through my windowpane.
I want you, but I don’t want you to know.

Empty but for you, I cannot show
You anything of interest I contain.
You are my love. I will not let you go.

I am a box within a box, safe so.
Sealed from self, I hide from your disdain.
I want you, but I don’t want you to know.
You are my love. I will not let you go.

Poem of the Week

March 20, 2008 #478

Dear Subscriber:

This week’s poem of the week is an Easter poem.

You can hear me read the poem and listen to the music for it at my site by going to http://www.poemsforfree.com and clicking on "Poem of the Week."

Yours,

Nick Gordon

Here are festive flowers for your room,
A spray of springtime on your bare night table:
Placed upon a place within your view;
Placed where best to light your harried heart.
Yet my blossoms can’t dispel your gloom,
Even were they many times more able:
All that gifts from loving friends can do
Sings just one unaccompanied inner part.
The music cannot come from aught but you,
Evangelist beside the empty tomb
Rejoicing with all innocence and art.

Poem of the Week

March 13, 2008 #477

Dear Subscriber:

This week’s poem of the week is a St. Patrick's Day poem.

You can hear me read the poem and listen to the music for it at my site by going to http://www.poemsforfree.com and clicking on "Poem of the Week."

Yours,

Nick Gordon

Seriously, nothing would surprise me.
The land we loved is turned into a store,
Prettied up for foreigners, while we
Are salesclerks and waitresses, no more
The warriors of old, the priests of passion,
Royalty of tongue, the banshee dancers.
Instead, we have become the latest fashion,
Cheapened by the sale itself, the prancers
Kindled by a check to do their chore.

Poem of the Week

March 6, 2008 #476

Dear Subscriber:

This week’s poem of the week is a number poem.

You can hear me read the poem and listen to the music for it at my site by going to http://www.poemsforfree.com and clicking on "Poem of the Week."

Yours,

Nick Gordon

Forty has her husband, child, home.
On her rests much, but she is light of heart.
Rewards are filtered through the clouds of stone,
The merciless routine in monotone
Yielding to her patience, will, and art.