Monday, November 20, 2017

Astral Eminence




Astral Eminence
by Edward Gordon

I’ve seen empyreal dwellings from here,
Obscured by mortal overlays of light,
Without inclination of just how near
I came to neglect their unearthly sight.

Though countless journeys through abating strife
Remand my substance to graveyard remains,
I’ve witnessed how times of temporal life
Mete immortal minds everlasting reigns.

When some sickness therefore opens the light,
Without trepidation keeping me bound,
I’ll hazard a step and enter the site
Of territories for which I was crowned,

Wherein lands thereof my losses make sense,
And pitiful pain grants preeminence.


(c) 2017 Edward Gordon. All rights reserved.

Monday, November 6, 2017

Aja



Aja
by Edward Gordon

I feel her before I hear her.
A feather wind that lifts me aloft,
And carries us past the thresholds,
And into a limitlessness sleep.

She’s there before the dreaming starts;
She’s there on the grass just outside.
She calls to me to sit with her
And smoke a Vantage cigarette.

To see the lights of our city
Stretching out in streams below us,
A timeless plane of seventy-seven
Where Pachappa Hill has always been.

Jet hair touches down like silk
To the middle of her back upon
An RCC sweatshirt she told me once
She only wore after graduation.

With her knees pulled up against her chest,
She watches out beyond us to
The Riverside city in a petrified year
Of memories, distilled until they are good.

But then she rests her head upon her knees,
And her blue sigh speaks of all the waiting.
She turns to slightly look at me,
And her China smile dispels my haste,

Inviting me to stay with her here,
And make new memories beyond this place.


(c) 2017 Edward Gordon. All rights reserved.

Friday, October 20, 2017

Requiem Sonnet for a Mall



Requiem Sonnet for a Mall

by Edward Gordon

The market sun sets on our mall for good.
Chain stores sit empty like derelict tombs. 
Vanishing kiosks without livelihood
Race with restaurants for an end that looms.

Lots of parking without driving around,
And bustling sounds—the clamoring kind,
Are gone like the overhead speaker sound
Shoppers could hear with their subconscious mind.

But finite square feet limited its sprawl,
And boundless demands Amazon fulfilled.
No crowds, no cash register protocol,
Just keyboards with bank cards hereafter billed.

A fossil fan of the spasmodic spree,
I reminisce our mall despondently.

(c) 2017 Edward Gordon. All rights reserved.

A Gothic Gospel



A Gothic Gospel

by Edward Gordon

Impotent angels watch over and weigh
The ancient horror of God’s great display:
A convict’s cross, and his child will pay
For errors we made on that good Friday.

Forsaking him to a darkened priesthood,
While loving the world much more than he should,
He left to those watching his blood-stained wood,
Hoping we’d better ourselves (if we could).

But flesh we needed to eat most he kept,
Snatching his body away while we slept,
And leaving with us a faith too inept
To ask for mercies we should not accept.

(c) 2010 Edward Gordon. All rights reserved.

Tuesday, October 17, 2017

Broken Street Sign



Broken Street Sign

by Edward Gordon

Our flaccid street sign hangs from a pole.
We finally chose to get it fixed.
Pointing in right directions its role.
Oh, but how cleverly we were tricked.

We voted it up, not thinking first.
The sign, therefore, drooped and bent over.
It seems the rusty pole was far worse.
So, it sways in damaged disorder.

Who can tell where it’s pointing today?
If the wind blows it points a new way.
Once it promised to show the right road.
Now we’re astounded, if truth be told.

(c) 2017. Edward Gordon. All rights reserved.


Sunday, October 15, 2017

I am Going to Die



I am Going to Die

by Edward Gordon

I feel my sentence approaching its dot.
I wonder how long I can say that I’ve got?
My Grandma’s obituary said ninety-two.
My dad made the mortuary at sixty, too.
So, what of my own flow on this planet called, Earth?
What time will it reclaim my water and dirt?
A lifelong debt that must be atoned,
Whether I knew it or not, it was always a loan.
And the inconvenient fact, I sometimes forget,
Is the interest accrued are my karmic regrets.
But those I’ve affected may forget once I’m out.
They’ll leave me to places I know nothing about,
Some space where I float upon slow astral streams
While my memories and meaning fade as lost dreams.
I wish I could bravely face my demise,
But courage is held by the faithful—not wise,
And faith falls at the feet of the words I despise:
That eventually, ultimately, everyone
Dies.

© 2017 Edward J. Gordon. All rights reserved.

Late Flowers



Late Flowers

by Edward Gordon

What is it with flowers that bloom in October?
Don’t they know the fall is not sober?
They’ll die in a month, but now they will shine?
Where were they hiding in the youth of the springtime?
It’s gone passed them now; it must be too late.
All the roses and Lilies have bloomed.
All were vased and brightened up rooms,
But these purple petals and yellow ones come
Soaking up water and the last of the sun,
Like any time now is better than never,
Or a flash at the end can be worth the beauty.
…and clearly, they’re right, as I stare in fatuity.

© 2017 Edward J. Gordon. All rights reserved.