November 24, 2011 #661
Dear Subscriber:
This week’s poem of the week is a poem for Thanksgiving.
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
Tell me, please, whom I ought to thank,
Having come here not of my own will.
All life can seem like a sadistic prank,
Nor can I count the creatures I must kill.
Kids imagine witches, werewolves, ghosts.
Scientists see horrors every day:
Guests that eat the insides of their hosts;
Insects that cut up their living prey.
Viciousness can sometimes seem the main
Ingredient in this well-seasoned stew;
Nor can I live without inflicting pain,
Grace for which I guess I should thank You.
© by Nicholas Gordon
Showing posts with label thanksgiving poems. Show all posts
Showing posts with label thanksgiving poems. Show all posts
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Poem of the Week
November 25, 2010 #609
Dear Subscriber:
This week’s poem of the week is a Thanksgiving 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
Trees about to bloom, in bloom, full-leaved;
Harrowing escapes, fresh plums and pears;
A cold, gray afternoon, a son long grieved;
Nearing home, the last long flight of stairs;
Kindnesses returned, a glimpse of breast;
Scent of lilac, hunger, tell-tale pain;
Gifts one cannot use, a playful pest;
Illnesses one would not wish again;
Victories, defeats, the urge to dance;
Imitation whipped cream, the real thing;
New thoughts, a lingering death, a brief romance;
Grace to love whatever life may bring.
© by Nicholas Gordon
Dear Subscriber:
This week’s poem of the week is a Thanksgiving 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
Trees about to bloom, in bloom, full-leaved;
Harrowing escapes, fresh plums and pears;
A cold, gray afternoon, a son long grieved;
Nearing home, the last long flight of stairs;
Kindnesses returned, a glimpse of breast;
Scent of lilac, hunger, tell-tale pain;
Gifts one cannot use, a playful pest;
Illnesses one would not wish again;
Victories, defeats, the urge to dance;
Imitation whipped cream, the real thing;
New thoughts, a lingering death, a brief romance;
Grace to love whatever life may bring.
© by Nicholas Gordon
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Poem of the Week
November 26, 2009 #557
Dear Subscriber:
This week’s poem of the week is a Thanksgiving 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 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
There is no hope without the help of grief.
Hope is kindled from a bed of ashes,
A history of holocausts and lashes,
Needing anguish to persuade belief;
Kindled only by a desperation
Strong enough to dry a pelting rain,
Grace that is the apogee of pain,
Intending more than personal salvation.
Vested in each sorrow is a dream,
Innocence surrounded by despair;
Nor are we grateful just for what is there,
Giving thanks for what we would redeem.
© by Nicholas Gordon
Dear Subscriber:
This week’s poem of the week is a Thanksgiving 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 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
There is no hope without the help of grief.
Hope is kindled from a bed of ashes,
A history of holocausts and lashes,
Needing anguish to persuade belief;
Kindled only by a desperation
Strong enough to dry a pelting rain,
Grace that is the apogee of pain,
Intending more than personal salvation.
Vested in each sorrow is a dream,
Innocence surrounded by despair;
Nor are we grateful just for what is there,
Giving thanks for what we would redeem.
© by Nicholas Gordon
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Poem of the Week
November 27, 2008 #509
Dear Subscriber:
This week’s poem of the week is a Thanksgiving 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 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
There is no joy that does not speak of longing,
Having come a long, hard way to love.
All happiness is earned, all bliss belonging,
Nor can one be alone, though lonely prove.
Kindness is a kind of gratitude,
Sign and source of pleasure in one's being,
Giving thanks by giving, as the shrewd
Invest in what they have small chance of seeing.
Very little time is spent in singing.
Instead, we speak of what we want or need,
Not knowing every moment we are bringing
Gifts to those whose music we might read.
© by Nicholas Gordon
Dear Subscriber:
This week’s poem of the week is a Thanksgiving 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 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
There is no joy that does not speak of longing,
Having come a long, hard way to love.
All happiness is earned, all bliss belonging,
Nor can one be alone, though lonely prove.
Kindness is a kind of gratitude,
Sign and source of pleasure in one's being,
Giving thanks by giving, as the shrewd
Invest in what they have small chance of seeing.
Very little time is spent in singing.
Instead, we speak of what we want or need,
Not knowing every moment we are bringing
Gifts to those whose music we might read.
© by Nicholas Gordon
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