Weekly Poems from Poems for Free: A Philosophical Poem About Generations and More by Nicholas Gordon
GENERATIONS ARE LIKE STREAMS
Generations are like streams
Fed by storms in paradise,
Leaping down in waterfalls
That smash upon the rocks below.
More placid now, they bear the weight
Of barges on their oily breasts,
And cool the coils of power plants,
And make of love a sacrifice.
Near the sea they flatten out
And drop their rage among the reeds,
A swamp of toxic testament
Filtered through the mangrove roots.
They start and end with love. Between,
They pick up silt and carry it
Through life, up to the delta’s edge,
Where, washed by fear, they join the sea.
FAMILIES ARE CREATED OUT OF LOVE
Families are created out of love
And live within the cup of love’s large hands.
No momentary pain can love remove
Or taint the trust of one who understands.
We live at times at odds with those who love us,
Colliding in our anger like great waves,
Refusing to have anyone above us
Nor willing to give up what passion craves.
But anger is a storm we know will pass,
And freedom is the nature of the will.
We run like wild horses through the grass
Yet know we are constrained by hunger still.
Sometimes, obsessed with losses and with gains,
We turn towards home and find that love remains.
I USED TO BE COMPLETELY CRUEL AND HEARTLESS
I used to be completely cruel and heartless,
Using girls, then tossing them aside.
I used to feel an angry, bitter hunger,
Not knowing why, nor looking much inside.
I used to think the goal of life was pleasure:
My own, of course, whatever that might take.
A woman’s feelings had to be her problem.
Self-sacrifice was always a mistake.
And so, with just the slightest twinge of conscience,
I hunted for my lonely ecstasy;
And even when I wanted a companion,
The only one I cared about was me.
We make our worlds, like God, in our own image:
Mine was a metropolis of stone
In which all souls were either fools or cynics,
Doomed to take their pleasure on their own.
And then I fell in love with you, and somehow
Your happiness meant more to me than mine.
The desert became green and lush with Flowers,
And like a sun my heart began to shine.
And like a wind I swept across the ocean,
And like a star exploded into night,
And like a song I held love in my hands,
And like an angel knew that this was right.
All that I had thought was proven wrong,
All the lies to justify my greed.
To love was to embrace the pith of life,
To feel a joy far stronger than a need.
And if I could so love, I could be loved,
Could think someone might want me and believe it,
Could let another know me without shame,
Could give my self and know I could retrieve it.
All this I tell you that I might be known,
That all of me no longer be alone;
And if you do not love the one I am,
So be it. I will weep, but understand.
JASMINE
Jasmine was my best, most loyal friend,
A lover to the bone, all hot affection.
Squirming out the moment I came near,
Making for my nose or inner ear,
In ecstasy she’d lick away dejection,
Nuzzling with neither strategy nor end.
Even death has made her no less dear.
TIDES RETURN THE FAVORS THEY HAVE TAKEN
Tides return the favors they have taken,
Having had sufficient time to turn.
All enjoy more riches than they earn,
Nor need surrender what they have forsaken.
Kindness, like a candle caught in mirrors,
Sees itself in infinite regress,
Giving that keeps giving its largesse,
Imitating what it has been given.
Vast and bountiful, creation shimmers,
Intimate in ways we cannot know.
Nor do we fail to glean more than we sow,
Granted light that glows down to its embers.
FREQUENTLY ONE FINDS A LITTLE SUNSHINE
Frequently one finds a little sunshine
In places where the forecast calls for rain,
Restoring the sweet sense that one is sane,
Suddenly bursting through the broken cloud line.
There is, when one is walking up an incline,
A source of strength no apathy can drain
Nor gradient preclude through pitch or pain,
Nestled in the core beneath one’s fault line:
Interior even to one’s soul,
Vaster than the panoply of night,
Embedded in the very act of being,
Resident in every thought and word.
Silent is the longing of the bowl,
A yearning absolute and infinite,
Revelation of eternal feeling
Yet dancing motionless to songs unheard.
THANK YOU’S HOWL LIKE WIND ACROSS THE DEAD
Thank you’s howl like wind across the dead,
Howl dark and cold through trees that cannot speak,
As none below has ears for what we say,
Nor can a smile crease a vanished cheek.
Killing lays all souls on one small bed.
Yet we must thank you for ourselves, to seek
One moment of forgiveness on our way,
Unloosing tears we weep but cannot shed.
About the Author
Nicholas Gordon is a poet and the webmaster of the popular poetry site, Poems for Free at http://www.poemsforfree.com. He holds a Ph.D. in English and American Literature from Stanford University. For most of his working life, he taught English at New Jersey City University, in Jersey City, NJ.
Charles Lloyd Quartet ‘ Night blooming Jasmine ‘ ( Berlin Jazz Festival 1982 )
Write a Comment