Thursday, November 27, 2014


Gentle Reader,

What you’ll find below is an upside-down anthology of sorts: a journal of my frequent morning musings from January 2008 till now, in reverse order.

Much of what I write here is verse in traditional rhymed iambic pentameters, old fashioned in form but contemporary in topics and idiom. It asks to be read aloud so that the effects of rhyme and meter may be felt.

Sometimes I write brief prose essays, but even my verses are essays, or attempts, pursuing a line of thought to some conclusion, though more sonorously than those in prose: discursive verses, I call them.

In either case, you’re the reader over my shoulder as I write, which makes my writing different than when I have no audience in mind but only a vague urge to express. So I thank you for whatever attention you give my words and thoughts and feelings because you might so easily attend to something else, and you soon will.

To beguile you to linger longer, though, I’ve coupled most of my compositions with a photo or image I’ve taken or borrowed, which often corresponds with my words of that day.

Thank you for visiting here.  I hope you enjoy your stay and are moved to come back soon.

—Alan Nordstrom

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    Give thanks for living in this universe
    And thanks for knowing what a miracle
    Life is on Earth, a planet that can nurse
    And nurture life, both plant and animal.

    But whom are we to thank for all of this
    Good orderly direction cosmically,
    That everything’s not merely hit-or-miss
    But manifests a purpose we can see?

    Good Orderly Direction’s acronym
    Is GOD, which we personify to name
    Someone to praise, giving all thanks to Him—
    That Source from which the universe once came.

         The force that through the green fuse flows
         Is that from which our Universe arose.


Wednesday, November 26, 2014


 “Sole judge of truth, in endless error hurl’d;
 The glory, jest and riddle of the world”:
 So Alexander Pope once summed us up,
 And any thinking person would say, “Yup,
 He’s nailed us there, nor have we learned since then
 To act more sanely and behave like men
 Not children with no sense of consequence:
 Bone headed, narrow minded, dumb and dense.
 But now, so much more powerful, we must
 At last outgrow our envy, pride and lust,
 And all the rest of our inherent errors
 Endangering confused, wayward wayfarers.
 Perhaps with this analysis by Pope
 We’ll rectify our ways—our only hope.


Tuesday, November 25, 2014


     Eyes closed, the poet stares into the void,
     The unformed sea of roiling consciousness
     Where everything potential is deployed,
     While seeking some coherence in this mess,
     For something out of nothing may appear
     Amazingly, which he, alert, might see,
     The notion or the image growing clear
     As words give birth to its reality.
     Just as, somehow, mentality arose
     From energy and matter still inchoate,
     Likewise an unshaped composition grows
     Within the consciousness of a blessed poet.
          Therefore he roams and ranges in his mind,
          Uncertain but still sure of what he’ll find.


Monday, November 24, 2014


A young boy from the neighborhood came by
To sell hand-crafted baubles that he’d made,
Woven from plastic threads—a kid not shy
To tout the traits of what he had in trade:

How this one would hold keys, that be a ring,
Another might a nifty bracelet make—
“See how it stretches on elastic string!
It’s guaranteed to widen but won’t break.”

I bought a couple do-dads for a buck,
Not yet remembering when I’d done the same
Thing as a boy, going door to door with pluck:
Touting hand-woven pot-holders was my game.

     These days it’s verse I weave from sundry sounds.
     Careful to keep my meters within bounds.


Sunday, November 23, 2014


     When we grow wise, then we shall realize
     That double sapience in our own name
     By following what reasoning best applies
     To justify the merits of our claim,

     And more than simply knowing that we know,
     We’ll do those deeds that circumspection leads
     Us to perform that set all hearts aglow
     Because they satisfy our truest needs.

     Thus wisdom’s that potentiality
     Inherent in the nature of our kind
     Which manifests its full reality
     When wit and will and heart are well aligned.

          Before too late, I trust we’ll recognize
          That our true destiny is growing wise.


Saturday, November 22, 2014


     Doc Martin now seems resolute to leave
     Portwenn, shut down his practice and begin
     A surgical career and never grieve,
     Exchanging rural peace for London’s din.

     That his Louisa soon will birth their child
     Does not deter him from this enterprise,
     Since his ambition can’t be reconciled
     With motives he has yet to recognize.

     The truth is that he loves her and Portwenn
     And that he’s needed more in this small town
     Than any other place he’s ever been—
     Despite his curtness and perpetual frown.

          It’s time the Doc is finally reconciled
          And settles down with his new wife and child.