Weekly Poetry from Poems for Free: A Poem for Martin Luther King, Jr.’s Birthday and More
HATRED HAS NO COLOR, CREED, OR RACE
Hatred has no color, creed, or race.
All hate, more or less, and thus destroy
The fragile ecosystem of the heart,
Restoring which requires faith and grace.
Each must love for any hope of joy,
Disciplining hate with well-honed art.
I HAVE A FRIEND WITH BENEFITS
I have a friend with benefits,
Whom off and on I see.
While I use her to get my kicks,
She also uses me.
She’s not my girlfriend, just a friend
With whom I have some sex.
Too young to love, we play the game
And wonder what comes next.
We try out stuff from porno sites,
Watching what we do
As though we were on film, and someone
Else was watching, too.
Yet somehow, somewhere even we
Still know we yearn for love,
And wait like withered stalks to feel
That wind within us move.
THERE IS NO MOUNTAIN HIGHER THAN THE WALL
There is no mountain higher than the wall
That comes between two people once in love.
But time can tear a mountain down with tears
As former lovers slowly move towards touch.
There is no happiness in hard, cold anger
Twisted like a girder in one’s way.
The sun and rain can manage to grow flowers
Across the bleakest crust of lava plain.
So we, too, I hope, can manage friendship
Upon the battlefield of past defeat.
I would not want to lose our years of loving
To moments caught for good in bitter light.
ERIC
Eric gave his life to save another,
Refusing to reduce it to his breath.
In his time of truth he faced his shudder,
Choosing life by going to his death.
EVEN ANGELS FEEL THE PANGS OF LOVE
Even angels feel the pangs of love.
(Vicariously, of course – their love is pure.)
Each finds a human love to serenade,
Leaving its perfection in the shade,
Yearning for the pain it must endure,
Near ecstasy with what it knows not of.
HOW BEAUTIFUL THE LIGHT UPON THE WATER
How beautiful the light upon the water!
A momentary dance across the heart:
Past all wit, all will, all words, all wonder;
Past hope, past dream, past truth too deep to chart.
Yes, there is much that cannot be forsaken,
For it is far too lovely to conceive,
Of which no single part can be partaken
Unless one is oneself what one would grieve.
Remember, then, this joy beyond all feeling,
Touched by tears more tender than revealing,
However shaped by ritual or art.
HUNGER IS AN ORGAN TONE
Hunger is an organ tone,
A single note sustained
Perhaps until one is before
Paradise arraigned.
Yearning doesn’t end with love,
Vintner of despair.
All the love one can conceive
Leaves some longing there.
Even in one’s lover’s arms,
Needing nothing more,
There’s a void within the heart
Increasing loss with store.
Nor can one love but feel that pang,
Empty at the core.
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.
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