Wednesday, April 1, 2015


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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                      All those who think that matter is the source
                      Of mind will find their errant thought off course
                      By having hitched their cart before the horse;
                      The other way around they must endorse:
                      That mind is matter’s origin perforce,
                      The only way to joy and not remorse.


Tuesday, March 31, 2015


               From celebrations when you’re born
               To lamentations loved ones mourn:
               Your life’s a circle turning round
               From birth canal to earthy mound:
               Thus fit it is to mark in rhyme
               Your start and end in mortal time.


Monday, March 30, 2015


for Ervin Laszlo

            Let’s say, as many do, we do not die
            But rather, pass away into a zone
            That disembodied spirits occupy,
            The tale of which from ancient times we’ve known.

            No longer just a superstitious fable,
            But validated now objectively,
            Not by a medium with a wobbly table
            But protocols that prove veracity,

            The afterlife exists, to be explored
            By those of us still on this earthly plane
            To learn what revelations ghosts afford
            And what enigmas spirits might explain.

                 But best of all—to know that we’ll persist
                 And reunite with loved ones we have missed.


Sunday, March 29, 2015



            There’s more to this than we now comprehend
            In our developing cosmology
            About the origin and likely end
            Of what, if anything, we’re meant to be.

            Is ours the only mind that has emerged
            Within the vastness of the universe?
            Are we on track, or has our race diverged
            Since long ago incurring God’s stern curse?

            Or are those ancient stories primitive
            Attempts at making sense of what we now
            Seek answers that our scientists can give,
            Who may not answer why, but when and how?

                 The theory toward which I feel most inclined
                 Is that all things that matter come from mind.


Saturday, March 28, 2015


            Quite evidently, here on Earth we find
            An agency we’ve designated Mind,
            The origin of order and control,
            Assembling many parts into one whole:

            Good Orderly Direction, nicknamed GOD,
            Not a despotic ruler with a rod
            But a generous provider now called Source
            To which for all our needs we have recourse.

            Despite the seeming chaos and real pain

            That mortal earthly wayfarers sustain,
            There’s comfort to be found for misery
            Acknowledging this cosmic mystery.

                 Though enigmatic, history’s not blind,
                 For Mind’s involved in everything designed.