Fifty-Seven's Not Afraid of Silence

January 4, 2021

Dear Subscriber:

Each week we examine a theme from a variety of points of view. The theme for this week is visions of truth, or epiphanies, in honor of Epiphany, which is celebrated on January 6.

I welcome comments on my poems at https://nicholasgordon.blogspot.com.

A philosophical number poem about a woman who visits the altar of her soul:

Fifty-seven's not afraid of silence,
In which the self can take a well-earned breath.
For her there is no urgency to time,
There being an eternity till death.
Years are but the borders of remembrance.

So does she find the doorway to her presence,
Entrance to which needs no shibboleth,
Visiting an oft-neglected shrine.
Even as she walks her length and breadth,
Not moving, she beholds her radiance.

© by Nicholas Gordon

To see this poem on my site, go to https://www.poemsforfree.com/57.html. For more philosophical poems, go to https://www.poemsforfree.com/philosophicalpoems.html .

This week’s theme: Visions of Truth
January 4: Fifty-Seven’s Not Afraid of Silence

Poem of the Week

January 5, 2012 #666

Dear Subscriber:

This week’s poem of the week is a poem for Epiphany.

You can hear me read the poem and listen to the music for it at my site by going to http://www.poemsforfree.com/week.html .

Yours,

Nick Gordon

Each of us might follow a bright star,
Perhaps to a redemptive revelation,
Intending, then, to change the way things are,
Passionate to socialize salvation.
However, please beware of what you do:
Ambition, even selfless, can turn sour.
No truth fits all, though burning inside you,
Yearning less for paradise than power.

© by Nicholas Gordon

Poem of the Week

January 6, 2011 #615

Dear Subscriber:

This week’s poem of the week is a poem for Epiphany.

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

Each year again the gifts are given gladly,
Perhaps because one wants to be a gift.
In goods there can be good, yet sometimes, sadly,
People get the thing but not the drift.
How could the wise men come without some token,
A gift to give the child, new born a king?
Nor could their words speak as their gifts had spoken,
Yielding love incarnate in a thing.

© by Nicholas Gordon