July 31, 2008 #497
Dear Subscriber:
This week’s poem of the week is a Labor 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."
You can post a comment on the poem or read other comments on it at http://nicholasgordon.blogspot.com.
Yours,
Nick Gordon
Note: I will be away for the month of August. The next poem of the week will be emailed on Thursday, Sept. 4.
Let the market set the price of labor!
And who would want to vote for such a life?
Because we live in a democracy,
Our policies are shaped by peaceful strife,
Rewarding those who fight for what they favor.
Despite the logic, what fool would agree,
Alerted to his interest, to turn over,
Yielding neck to economic knife?
© by Nicholas Gordon
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Poem of the Week
July 24, 2008 #496
Dear Subscriber:
This week’s poem of the week is a poem about death.
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."
You can post a comment on the poem or read other comments on it at http://nicholasgordon.blogspot.com.
Yours,
Nick Gordon
You were for us not only love, but bread,
Our source of sustenance as well as joy.
Now not grief but hunger mourns the dead.
We must content ourselves with what we beg,
The bitter gifts no kindness can alloy.
You were for us not only love, but bread.
We miss you, but our hearts have turned to lead.
We cannot one sweet pang of pain enjoy.
Now not grief but hunger mourns the dead.
Nor have we any tears that we might shed
For you, nor thoughts that might grief buoy.
You were for us not only love, but bread,
And so there are no dreams of you in bed,
Nor memories with which my mind might toy.
Now not grief but hunger mourns the dead.
No room, no room, but emptiness instead,
A need that does all other need destroy.
You were for us not only love, but bread.
Now not grief but hunger mourns the dead.
© by Nicholas Gordon
Dear Subscriber:
This week’s poem of the week is a poem about death.
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."
You can post a comment on the poem or read other comments on it at http://nicholasgordon.blogspot.com.
Yours,
Nick Gordon
You were for us not only love, but bread,
Our source of sustenance as well as joy.
Now not grief but hunger mourns the dead.
We must content ourselves with what we beg,
The bitter gifts no kindness can alloy.
You were for us not only love, but bread.
We miss you, but our hearts have turned to lead.
We cannot one sweet pang of pain enjoy.
Now not grief but hunger mourns the dead.
Nor have we any tears that we might shed
For you, nor thoughts that might grief buoy.
You were for us not only love, but bread,
And so there are no dreams of you in bed,
Nor memories with which my mind might toy.
Now not grief but hunger mourns the dead.
No room, no room, but emptiness instead,
A need that does all other need destroy.
You were for us not only love, but bread.
Now not grief but hunger mourns the dead.
© by Nicholas Gordon
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Poem of the Week
July 17, 2008 #495
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."
You can post a comment on the poem or read other comments on it at http://nicholasgordon.blogspot.com.
Yours,
Nick Gordon
Twenty-eight has come to a decision,
Weary of the unrequited years.
Eventually one tempers one’s ambition,
Nullifying fantasies with fears,
Trading passions for secure careers,
Yet retaining rights to one’s old vision.
Each moment of one’s life still sings its song
In harmony enduring with the whole.
Gifts of love will last one’s whole life long,
However much one shifts one’s glance or goal,
The organ tones beneath one’s dancing soul.
© by Nicholas Gordon
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."
You can post a comment on the poem or read other comments on it at http://nicholasgordon.blogspot.com.
Yours,
Nick Gordon
Twenty-eight has come to a decision,
Weary of the unrequited years.
Eventually one tempers one’s ambition,
Nullifying fantasies with fears,
Trading passions for secure careers,
Yet retaining rights to one’s old vision.
Each moment of one’s life still sings its song
In harmony enduring with the whole.
Gifts of love will last one’s whole life long,
However much one shifts one’s glance or goal,
The organ tones beneath one’s dancing soul.
© by Nicholas Gordon
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Poem of the Week
July 10, 2008 #494
Dear Subscriber:
This week’s poem of the week is an epitaph for a cat.
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."
You can post a comment on the poem or read other comments on it at http://nicholasgordon.blogspot.com.
Yours,
Nick Gordon
Maybe I was skittish among strangers:
Only you, my loved ones, owned my heart.
Racing into hiding, I would know,
Given time, the foreigners would go:
Here was home, in which they had no part.
As though I knew my fate, I dodged all dangers;
Nor could I alter it, for all my art.
© by Nicholas Gordon
Dear Subscriber:
This week’s poem of the week is an epitaph for a cat.
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."
You can post a comment on the poem or read other comments on it at http://nicholasgordon.blogspot.com.
Yours,
Nick Gordon
Maybe I was skittish among strangers:
Only you, my loved ones, owned my heart.
Racing into hiding, I would know,
Given time, the foreigners would go:
Here was home, in which they had no part.
As though I knew my fate, I dodged all dangers;
Nor could I alter it, for all my art.
© by Nicholas Gordon
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Poem of the Week
July 3, 2008 #493
Dear Subscriber:
This week’s poem of the week is a poem for Independence Day (USA).
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."
You can post a comment on the poem or read other comments on it at http://nicholasgordon.blogspot.com.
Yours,
Nick Gordon
Fantasies endure the test of time.
Out of myths emerge identities.
Underneath the prose there is the rhyme,
Revealing what was not and could not be.
There is a well-worn scrim across the past,
Hard to see through, absent light behind:
Old, self-serving stories made to last,
Fictive landscapes painted on the mind.
Just listen to the songs of who you are:
Underneath your words are melodies
Long rehearsed, the bedroom door ajar,
Years ago, when truth was meant to please.
© by Nicholas Gordon
Dear Subscriber:
This week’s poem of the week is a poem for Independence Day (USA).
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."
You can post a comment on the poem or read other comments on it at http://nicholasgordon.blogspot.com.
Yours,
Nick Gordon
Fantasies endure the test of time.
Out of myths emerge identities.
Underneath the prose there is the rhyme,
Revealing what was not and could not be.
There is a well-worn scrim across the past,
Hard to see through, absent light behind:
Old, self-serving stories made to last,
Fictive landscapes painted on the mind.
Just listen to the songs of who you are:
Underneath your words are melodies
Long rehearsed, the bedroom door ajar,
Years ago, when truth was meant to please.
© by Nicholas Gordon
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