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Nigel Lesmoir-Gordon Poem
Riding bareback ‘cross the wide plains
Brave Geronimo in his deep pain
Makes his pathway, looking forward
Never losing faith in fortune
To the far off land Dakota
Where he will seek for an answer
To the question that pursues him:
How and why and where he came from.
Warrior, peace man, loving life
Through this world’s unending strife
Boldly, lonely, empty-hearted
Seeking out the place he started,
Gripped and held in life’s deep wonder
Hearing only endless thunder.
‘Cross the wide, dark Gitchigumi
Named and famed by the Ojibwe
Through the lands of the Navajo
Apache, Cherokee and Sioux
On and on he journeys fiercely
Never pausing, never fal’tring
Prowling through his mind’s great vastness:
Infinite, eternal, endless:
Here he seeks to cease pretending
That he knows his life’s true meaning.
Without guide, without companion
Through forests wide and darkest canyon
Holding fast his faith in meaning,
Hope and purpose to his dreaming
Of his love at home awaiting
His return with light enlightened.
Copyright © Nigel Lesmoir-Gordon | Year Posted 2016
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Nigel Lesmoir-Gordon Poem
Imploding organs whistle smaller that the day of crimes
That time recorded
PRISON RAT –
Reflect a moving shade.
Chimneys melt like wax imagined moonlight rooves
CRACK THE SKY –
Emulsion’s vestibules!
The theme dissolves a strip of light I lick
And trim the flights of high electric bulbs –
The word an insane caption each man traps:
Release one prisoner per line!
In words the choosing starts to loose
What rubbish I have hidden:
I am the pauses
In the yellow silken dust
Not sinking not swimming
Alive in the light
To my ears to my eyes
To my hands to my mind:
SIX MILLION TONS OF LOVE
Sperm a feast
While men who walk in circles through the stars
Blow passion
A bottle high upon the shelf
The bouncing summit floods inspire
The hanging man to take the moment
To the glass
AND NEVER TURN THE BACK
Copyright © Nigel Lesmoir-Gordon | Year Posted 2016
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Nigel Lesmoir-Gordon Poem
It is as if I strangely sit between unfoldment and the
pit turn the heart and bend the lip of ageless silent
sun and trees of passing pageants aimed to please
the garish and the blinded throng from heaven sent in
hellish garb of bodies blown from end to who
have no goal but to amend raise sails and forward
step by step into the gaping jaws of death whose
heat and dust is lust to men who search for pleasure
here and call the flush of genius to stand before the
whirling throng of those who would be gods and dirt
where chance stands up and stares at passing
shows on empty streets and fields laid bare by
greedy hands heaped up on aimless needs
this play is not what you have made but is the
evening’s splendid ray that fall on ruins old and new
on tower street and avenue where tired feet that
cannot stay fall on and on monotony and pave the
way to gluttony
Copyright © Nigel Lesmoir-Gordon | Year Posted 2016
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Nigel Lesmoir-Gordon Poem
Dull stood sorry then winked
Away his message to his mind.
He stood alone and took his
Hand across his battered chest,
Wondering if he or anyone
Could replace the loss he suffered.
The word had come mingling in
His jelly kind of mind.
He had not heard it –
Had not heard one syllable.
He crept kindly to his
Sorry soul and winked
At the candle by his elbow
Careful not to blow it out.
The flame flickered and leaped
At the ceiling tracing elongated
Shadows over his sad memories
As he looked down from the bridge
And wishes he was not dull
Or shattered in this fashion.
Copyright © Nigel Lesmoir-Gordon | Year Posted 2016
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Nigel Lesmoir-Gordon Poem
The sad wakes leaving
Yes………… only petals of
A yellow tulip—pickled in a rose bed grieving
The loss of morning
The mortician's flower Strewn room sees
Roses bloom
And petal
Gaily
The river rides them
And the water dyes them
Black and Sadly its eyes
Are grimly weeping
Into the bank
Waking The bees to buzzing
Copyright © Nigel Lesmoir-Gordon | Year Posted 2016
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Nigel Lesmoir-Gordon Poem
When all is down and come to nought
The path we take is rarely thought
To end in more than misery;
And what more can we prove to be
Of something eyes can never see.
A street of dirty dreaminess
A green-tinged lane from nobleness
Has stretched perception up to this
But left our feet in mud;
Swirling patterns, burning atoms,
Molding minds in raging matter
Heat upon heat
The shameless stars
Make life a thorough melting pot
That raves at nightmare pitch
Binding a body tight
Copyright © Nigel Lesmoir-Gordon | Year Posted 2016
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Nigel Lesmoir-Gordon Poem
THROUGH COOLING ROWS OF MIRRORS
The frozen cheeks of children spoon the air
With mandrake callings
Grim intracted products breaking
Membranes off the waves.
ANOTHER DAY IS COMING
Through the breeze electric blueness
Once and forever
Daughter of the stone tomb
Bearer of man the womb choosing
Misty swirl – blossom of morning light
Lunge in the cave of day.
MIST OF SPIDER-BLEACHING SHADOWS
Parade of the flower-bed veils
Drop of ancient autumn
Mistress of the pilot’s eye
Spinning messages through trees.
GRASP IT. GRASP IT
Be seen above the bee’s quick turnings
Make gold the apple’s greenness
Silent churchyards in the blue and graying town
Through peoples’ eyes the seven dreams come leaping
A shadow of a letter from a friend’s dismembered hands
Unbroken by the voicing of his echoes.
Copyright © Nigel Lesmoir-Gordon | Year Posted 2016
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Nigel Lesmoir-Gordon Poem
MYSELF I NEVER KNEW THE WAXY LEAVES OF BEING
Grow dream and pipe design
Grow sharp and to a vision of a dance
That enters mind of another body/brain
Slighted and distilled until that time
Goodbyes and paper greetings shuffle
WILD THINGS AWAIT THEIR TURN.
Copyright © Nigel Lesmoir-Gordon | Year Posted 2016
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Nigel Lesmoir-Gordon Poem
Feet Pounding
Metal Door-Knobs
Slip away
Piling at the corridor's end.
Over and over doors sweep open
And faces blossom like tulips opening
Everything closes.
The gas chamber is
Mobile again
And makes Good speed –
God speed.
The yawning awning
Collapses sideways
On the massing crowds
Copyright © Nigel Lesmoir-Gordon | Year Posted 2016
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Nigel Lesmoir-Gordon Poem
Time-struck in the Intervals of Space the Atom-Lover makes his way;
More weary in a weightless sense Than Atlas, overspent and out of reach -
Soft feet upon a fallen leaf.
I SIT ASTRIDE THE SUN AND SPEAK WITH GOD:
He burns then spreads my flesh to show Blood’s wisdom
MEANING IS IN THE MAKING
We take our passage through the ceiling of books' doors. We fly through woods, green lanes, loaded hedges, fields, dust and our wings cloud the rain. We stop and hide to see Death watch my coffin burn. The laughing wood explores my Flesh. I touch the eyes of love. A smile.
CONCLUSIONS CONCLUDED THE FEELING FOLLOWS ME
Beside my eyes I see your dreams have walked away, sweet tears. My ears eat air. I read my distance in the clouds, old winds, Blue skies, turn to trees so quiet,
Soft feet upon a fallen leaf.
LOOK - STAND - BE OFF
He weeps the songs of rivers burning. I wait for breath to celebrate the page. Our joy in alleys dark and beautiful. Dangerous as speech.
SPARE ME
Voices from within my straining thighs inspire the moaning little things to answer me....... This building's girders dream................
His agents trap the falling words
And stop.
Copyright © Nigel Lesmoir-Gordon | Year Posted 2016
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