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

Poem of the Week

June 26, 2008 #492

Dear Subscriber:

This week’s poem of the week is an anniversary 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 we have a little bit of Eden,
An innocence deliberately detained.
Praised be love, that holds the heel of heaven,
Preserving what would else escape from pain,
Yet now renews the heart again, again.

For love depends upon a tended garden
Older than the myth of Adam’s fall,
Underneath the usual confusion
Resisting the implacable illusion
That makes of love a dream beyond recall:
Here it lives within the garden wall.

© by Nicholas Gordon

Poem of the Week

June 19, 2008 #491

Dear Subscriber:

This week's poem of the week is a graduation 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

Given that we're happy to be here,
Remember what we're gaining and we're losing.
Admittedly, the moment is confusing,
Demanding sad farewells and well-earned cheer.
Underneath the moment is the motion,
A silent passage out to open sea,
Taking place regardless what may be
In front of us, a ritual commotion.
Of what we are, but little will remain,
Nor will we ever come this way again.

Copyright: Nicholas Gordon

Poem of the Week

June 12, 2008 #490

Dear Subscriber:

This week’s poem of the week is a Father'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."

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

Yours,

Nick Gordon

How might a sacrifice seem like a gift?
Altruistic pleasure comes from love,
Plumbing depths within which monsters move,
Piercing hearts within which demons drift.
Yet love comes naturally, as one might shift
From darkened fields one’s gaze to lights above,
Astounded by a wonder that will prove
The bridge across one’s first, most wrenching rift.
How might one live insatiably with joy,
Each moment filled with grace one knows is true,
Reasoning from premises that were,
‘Ere life on Earth, deep-rooted in the soul?
So like the sea will love one’s spirits buoy,
Doing what no self alone can do,
As monsters still the ancient waters stir,
Yearning, yearning ever to be whole.

© by Nicholas Gordon

Poem of the Week

June 5, 2008 #489

Dear Subscriber:

This week’s poem of the week is a philosophical 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 things we least imagine are what happen.
The memory is so unlike the dream!
Love, pleasure, pain, the sadness of life’s passing
Are strangers that we met along the way.

And we ourselves are nothing like the selves
We were and thought, perhaps, we’d always be.
Somehow we got turned into our parents,
Failing neither more nor less than they.

Still we dream and hope for something better,
And pray that no catastrophe comes near,
Knowing that it will, and we will suffer,
And be ourselves far less than we would wish.

This, at least, we know: that disillusion
Is not the quiet ending of the dream.
For dream we must, but, with an inner smile,
Embracing both the nature and the need.

© by Nicholas Gordon

Poem of the Week

May 29, 2008 #488

Dear Subscriber:

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

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

All of you must know how much I loved you.
Never did I stint on saying so.
In death you were the song that let me go
To sleep in beauty, dancing as I sang you.
And though I'm gone, don't think that I'll forget you.
Just think of me as waiting, even though,
Agnostic or believer, you may know
No certainty beyond what love can tell you.
Each of you still lives within my heart.
Though I am not, I am. So is the truth
Opposed to sense, more relevant than thought.
What is, is often what could never be.
Nor need you grieve, though we may seem apart.
Sing with me, as we look back with ruth,
Each the source of what sweet balm we sought,
No mother and children more in touch than we,
Deep within life's unsolved mystery.

© by Nicholas Gordon

Poem of the Week

May 22, 2008 #487

Dear Subscriber:

This week’s poem of the week is a Memorial 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

Maybe there's a good excuse for fighting;
Every era has its righteous wars.
Maybe wrongs require bloody righting,
Or self-defense gives warriors just cause.
Remember, though, the legacy of pain,
Intense and passionate, a world of wounds,
Agony unveiled again, again,
Livid in the light of lonely rooms.
Death is a relief, but think of those
Alive with grief, whose loved ones lie in rows,
Youth on youth in neat, well-ordered tombs.

© by Nicholas Gordon