Poem of the Week

July 7, 2011 #641

Dear Subscriber:

This week’s poem of the week is a philosophical 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

The world's a notebook full of scenes and stories.
What characters must wander through your days!
Each bit of dialogue should serve you well --
Not now, perhaps, but given time to jell,
The databank will yield the perfect phrase.
Your art runs slow, even as life scurries.

Forget, then, all your youthful woes and worries!
Out of what you are will come your grace,
Unconcerned with fortune, time, or place,
Rising from your sea with much to tell.

© by Nicholas Gordon

Poem of the Week

April 28, 2011 #631

Dear Subscriber:

This week’s poem of the week is a philosophical 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

Fortune is the child of will and chance.
In seeking cause, one finds a mute regression.
For some, life is an incandescent dance,
Though others tend to look at it askance,
Yearning for what's not in their possession.

Nor can one ever know what would have been.
In judging fortune, there is no reward.
Now is what one has to choose or spin,
Ever of one's will the sovereign lord.

© by Nicholas Gordon

Poem of the Week

September 30, 2010 #601
 
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
 
Seventy-one lives well with his afflictions,
Entering the ambiance of his age.
Vulnerable in ways not seen before,
Eating less, exercising more,
Not easily he alters predilections
To fit within the contours of his stage.
Yet how much good it does is hard to gauge.
 
One finds oneself now near the distant shore;
Now the cliffs rise up with more conviction,
Enduring truth no sea can veil or suage.
 
© by Nicholas Gordon

Poem of the Week

January 21, 2010 #565

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 also cast a vote for it to boost its popularity on Yahoo Buzz.

You can post a comment on the poem or read other comments on it at http://nicholasgordon.blogspot.com.

Yours,

Nick Gordon

Forty-eight reserves the right to ramble,
Open to what gifts might come her way,
Remembering that every day's a gamble,
That absolutely nothing's here to stay,
Yearning for far more than she can say.

Even love eternal cannot last.
In time it passes on, like hours, like years,
Granting grace in golden goblets cast,
Hammered in a heat that blinds and sears,
That breaks the heart with happiness and tears.

© by Nicholas Gordon

Poem of the Week

July 30, 2009 #541

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 also cast a vote for it to boost its popularity on Yahoo Buzz.

You can post a comment on the poem or read other comments on it at http://nicholasgordon.blogspot.com.

Yours,

Nick Gordon

Seventy-nine has just one working kidney.
Even that one doesn't work so well.
Vast domains of knowledge, passion, pleasure,
Eagerly await his ample leisure,
Nor have they aged, as far as he can tell.
The problem is he's in such pain he simply
Yearns for moments peaceful, clear, and still.

Needs are hopeless mountainsides, nor is he
Interested in digging deep for treasure.
Now it is enough each day to fill,
Enduring grace too bountiful to measure.

© by Nicholas Gordon