Love Poetry

THE POINT IS JUST THAT I DON’T SEE THE POINT

The point is just that I don’t see the point:

However much one wants to be turned on,

Ecstasy can put things out of joint;

Yearning is for what will soon be gone.

Each can choose content or discontent;

All are happy, if they would be so.

Revelation isn’t Heaven sent;

Out of what you are comes what you know.

Forget, then, the pursuit of the sublime.

There is no thing that’s needed – all is here.

Happiness will settle in, in time,

Enduring, though the weather may turn drear.

One must plod to plow, and plow to plant.

X marks the heart, where lies all one could want.

A VALENTINE IS NOTHING LIKE

A Valentine is nothing like

A chocolate or a rose.

For in a week these shall be gone,

But Valentines remain.

If love were always sweet to tongue

Or fragrant to the nose,

Each day would be like Valentine’s,

And we would go insane.

A Valentine just hangs around

Waiting to be kissed

Long after special days have passed

And every days are here.

So one is wise to choose one well

And chocolates to resist.

For in the midst of mania

It’s nice to have one near.

LOVE IS NEVER EASY

Love is never easy, but

It turns life into song.

There is no bit of circumstance

That love cannot transform.

There is no weary moment

Of anger or despair

That love cannot convert to grace

And render whole and fair.

How passionate the paradise

That comes from knowing well

That someone in your happiness

Finds pleasure for himself.

How sweet the gift of giving to

Someone who gives to you,

A selflessness that gives to self

More self than self is due.

With all the searing madness of

The world from day to day,

And all the dreary sadness that

No joy can take away,

There is one truth more beautiful

Than anyone can bear:

That two can trust that when they turn

They’ll find the other there.

YOU HAD ME FOR A NIGHT, THEN TURNED AWAY

You had me for a night, then turned away,

Inspiring a love you didn’t want.

I was a fairy you might unenchant

To show yourself that you could have your way.

And now I’m left with all the shame of love

That unashamed took pleasure in your joy.

You used me as a fake, erotic toy,

Not caring much what I was thinking of.

The worst is that I long for your caress.

I know you’re just annoyed, which drives me mad!

But knowing how completely I’ve been had

Does not, alas, make me want you less.

ONE NIGHT I SAW AARON

One night I saw Aaron,

The next he was dead.

Now I can’t remember

The last thing he said.

There is no reason,

No reason at all,

Why this one last thing

I need to recall.

The last night I saw him,

He, Mark, and I,

I had no idea

He was going to die.

It was just the usual

Basketball game,

Joking and cheering,

All just the same.

The Earth should have screamed,

Some song should have played,

Some mark should have told us,

All gross and decayed.

But the game simply ended

And we left the gym.

And that was the last

I’ll see of him.

LEST YOU LEAVE YOUR OPTIONS IN THE SUNSHINE

Lest you leave your options in the sunshine

Unprotected from night’s bitter shade,

Now you may take them on the lunar wind,

Alive to phantoms vivid as your face

Reveling in front of reason’s door.

Nor could your own inventions offer more,

Even those transfigured from your race,

Which, privatized, seem downsized, somehow thinned.

Yet here is all the wealth the past has made,

Each relic dipped in age-old vintage wine,

A treasure-trove of comedy and grace

Resting where your faith must go forth blind.

COULD I BUT GIVE YOU COMFORT IN MY DEATH

Could I but give you comfort in my death,

How might I tell you what you meant to me?

All I did, both night and day, was love you,

Rulers of my kingdom and my heart.

Like gods, at last you claimed my painful breath,

Opening the door to mystery,

The final gift of all the gifts you gave me,

Taking what I could no longer give you

Even if I tried with all my art.


- Nicholas Gordon

THE LAST DEPRESSION LED TO HOLOCAUST

The last depression led to holocaust.

The rationale for massacre is fear.

Long before it starts, the game is lost.

The neighborhood of hate is always here.

The best place to begin is one’s own heart.

There the mad dogs pull against their chains,

Lusting to tear some stranger’s throat apart,

Rage that only love and patience tames.

Each heart becomes a lantern in a crowd.

Yes, people see according to your light,

As you by theirs – but speak of love aloud,

Lest other voices drown the coming night.

And do not turn away from victims’ cries,

For evil’s spooked by nothing more than eyes.

ST. PATRICK RID THE EMERALD ISLE OF SNAKES

St. Patrick rid the emerald isle of snakes,

Though only those that crawl upon the ground.

Perhaps not even he had what it takes,

Although a puissant saint, and well renowned,

To cast out those whose children still abound.

Remaining in our hearts, as when of old

In Eden green they tempted us to sin,

Cold and lean they grow more passing bold,

Knowing we’ve cast out the saint within.

HARDLY A DAY GOES BY THAT I DON’T THINK OF YOU

Hardly a day goes by that I don’t think of you,

Mostly in anger, sometimes with hatred.

I loved you nearly half my life, and now

The bad has swallowed up the good, has eaten my heart.

How sad that I must bury so much of me!

I wish I could bury you.

The real, living you I don’t want to hear about.

You were once what I lived for, and now

I don’t even want to know when you are dead.

THANK YOU FOR LOVING US

Thank you for loving us,

Having us in.

All you have given

Now we hold within.

Kids out in limbo

You made your own,

Or else we might still be

Unloved and alone.

EASY IN THE CATACOMBS

Easy in the catacombs

A soul might find the Son

Shining on the patient bones

That wait upon the One,

Each a tale long untold

Regarding faith long gone.

PLEASE BE ASSURED THAT WHAT YOU READ IS TRUE

Please be assured that what you read is true,

Although to some it may seem more symbolical.

Sometimes the myth itself becomes historical,

Sustained by being simply what one knew.

On Passover, we read the ancient story,

Very certain that what happens there

Embodies something true that all Jews share,

Remnant of when God revealed His glory.

YOU ARE FIVE

You are five!

A big girl now!

Reading on your own!

I know you can

‘Cause look at this:

You’ve just read this poem!


- Nicholas Gordon