Moses Never Reached the Promised Land

January 15, 2015

Dear Subscriber:

This week’s poem of the week is a poem for Martin Luther King, Jr.’s birthday about never reaching the promised land.

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

Yours,

Nick Gordon

Moses never reached the promised land,
And I, too, died upon that distant mountain,
Resting on the laurels of my dream.
There is no end to struggle, no safe refuge
In which one can say, yes, I have arrived,
No longer feel the guilt of privilege,
Let go the fierce anxiety for justice,
Untie the knots of conscience in one’s soul.
The promised land’s a vision, not a place,
Held within the unrelenting heart.
Each generation must behold its beauty,
Reach for its uncompromising goodness,
Know that its long looked-for realization
Is in a time zone one will never see.
No matter. There’s a joy in going forward
Greater than the joy of going home.

© by Nicholas Gordon

Go Gently, Gently into That Good Night, a play on Dylan Thomas' "Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night"

January 8, 2015

Dear Subscriber:

This week’s poem of the week is a play on Dylan Thomas’ “Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night.”

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

Yours,

Nick Gordon

Go gently, gently into that good night.
Let the sunset crown the end of day.
Do not rage against the dying light.

Wise men at their end know dark is right,
Life and death one blessing, and so they
Go gently, gently into that good night.

Good men, looking back upon the bright
Dream that kept their inner brute at bay,
Do not rage against the dying light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
Then grieved it as they danced along its way,
Go gently, gently into that good night.

Grave men blessed by love with blinding sight,
Knowing too much beauty to be gay,
Do not rage against the dying light.

And you, dear reader, when you reach that height
And look down on the abyss with fear, I pray,
Go gently, gently into that good night.
Do not rage against the dying light.

© by Nicholas Gordon

Here's a Blank Sheet of Paper

January 1, 2015

Dear Subscriber:

This week’s poem of the week is a poem for the New Year.

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

Yours,

Nick Gordon

Here’s a blank sheet of paper. Another one.
An illusion, to be sure. An annual one.
Pretend each year that you can start anew.
Pretend each year that you’re no longer you.
Years come and go; that yearly pretense lasts,
Not discouraged by its many pasts,
Enduring because necessary for
Whoever seeks improvement yet once more.
Yearly resolutions tend to fade,
Each weakening soon after it is made,
As one retreats again from plans to dreams,
Real change being harder than it seems.

© by Nicholas Gordon

Here's a Blank Sheet of Paper

January 1, 2015

Dear Subscriber:

This week’s poem of the week is a poem for the New Year.

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

Yours,

Nick Gordon

Here’s a blank sheet of paper. Another one.
An illusion, to be sure. An annual one.
Pretend each year that you can start anew.
Pretend each year that you’re no longer you.
Years come and go; that yearly pretense lasts,
Not discouraged by its many pasts,
Enduring because necessary for
Whoever seeks improvement yet once more.
Yearly resolutions tend to fade,
Each weakening soon after it is made,
As one retreats again from plans to dreams,
Real change being harder than it seems.

© by Nicholas Gordon

Mary at Midnight, the Babe in Her Arms

December 25, 2014

Dear Subscriber:

This week’s poem of the week is a poem for Christmas about reason and faith.

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

Yours,

Nick Gordon

Mary at midnight, the babe in her arms:
Ever the myth makes its way to the heart.
Reason gives way to desire and art,
Rendered quite mute by the quake of its qualms.
Yes, of course there are angels filling the sky!
Choirs of angels – how could there not be?
Heavenly hosts like a luminous sea
Rejoicing as God comes to Earth from on high!
Is this true? I mean really? As true as my thumb?
Sense has a way of making no sense.
The value of each soul needs a defense.
Maybe a sign can be more than a sum.
Angels sing daily as humans do ill.
So sing with them! Sing! Of peace and good will!

© by Nicholas Gordon

How Strange, the Way Life Comes upon the Moment

December 18, 2014

Dear Subscriber:

This week’s poem of the week is a poem about happiness for the holidays.

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

Yours,

Nick Gordon

How strange, the way life comes upon the moment!
Accident seems no more blind than choice.
Perhaps there is no clarity in comment.
Perhaps one needs to hear one's wordless voice.
Yet there one is, with life no less a gift.
Happiness heeds neither time nor place.
One sails on course; one does not mean to drift.
Life, however, sets all winds to grace.
In this time of yearly celebration,
Do, then, sing the melodies of joy,
Alive to beauty, ripe for revelation,
Yet perfectly in tune with each sensation,
Sense of life no living can destroy.

© by Nicholas Gordon

Blessed Are Those Who Can Embrace the Darkness

December 11, 2014

Dear Subscriber:

This week’s poem of the week is a poem for Hanukkah about life and death, light and darkness.

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

Yours,

Nick Gordon

Blessed are those who can embrace the darkness,
Opening the way to loving light.
No DNA can fail to fear its death,
Nor asthmatic fail to fight for breath,
Instinctively in terror of the night.
Even so, we know life can't be endless.

Some would like their being to be endless,
Each day, each hour, each moment free of darkness,
The fear of it, the thought of coming night
Hidden 'neath the holiness of light,
Ever wishing for eternal breath,
Less alive since less alive to death.
In faith one finds an antidote to death,
Zealously believing in an endless
Afterlife, a being beyond breath
Breaking like a dawn upon the darkness,
Each soul reborn into eternal light,
Timeless in a garden shorn of night,
Happiness forever free of night.

Each moment is a moment because death
Lets one limn the ecstasy of light,
Lets one grasp one's joy because not endless,
Every moment bearing one towards darkness,
Now each more dear for one's short lease on breath.

Grace can be granted in a single breath
As one finds Eden on the edge of night,
Blessed by both the light and coming darkness,
Rejoicing in the gift of life and death.
Infinity is instant and yet endless.
Each consciousness is blind yet full of light.
Let each moment be eternal light
As all that is, is compassed in each breath.
Nor can one be but one is all and endless,
Despite the doleful destiny of night.
Knowing this, one need not turn from death,
Embracing it, for life is lit by darkness.
No God need turn that darkness into light,
Nor miracle decree the death of night,
As every breath sustains a grace that's endless.

© by Nicholas Gordon