Sunday, October 23, 2016


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



                      The motive to be powerful is one
                      An upright politician ought to shun;
                      Instead, one’s obligation is to serve
                      With patience, skill, integrity and verve.

                     And yet, too often, ego is in charge,
                     Which typically in candidates is large,
                     And being top dog in a nasty pack
                     Means victory goes to those who best attack.

                     Let’s pray for one who’ll rise above the fray
                     And whose integrity will save the day
                     Employing what we all should realize—
                     The attitudes and skills of being wise.


Saturday, October 22, 2016


                        O, wonder, wonder, wonder, wonder, wonder!
                        When suddenly the marvels of this world
                        In mystic revelation are unfurled—
                        Lifting the veil we all have suffered under,
                        And finally our inner eyes can see
                        A blissful vision of Eternity!


Sunday, October 16, 2016


                    While little Tiggy gets the kitchen sink
                    In which to bathe when she begins to stink,
                    Big Gypsy's lifted in the bathroom tub
                    Reluctantly for her bi-monthly scrub.
                    Once rinsed and set back on the toweled floor,
                    They shake and make a shower I deplore

                    Splattering both me and cabinetry
                    Until they’re toweled enough to be set free.
                    And then it’s time to take a sunny walk
                    Diverting them with squirrels and cats to stalk
                    So by the time we’ve squared off several blocks
                    Rousting frogs and stalking pigeon flocks
                    They’re dry and clean and fragrant-fresh again—
                    Pray, keep them out of mud, dear God, amen.


Saturday, October 15, 2016


                    Hard-handed men with hammers banging nails
                    Atop a roof they’re building blocks away
                    Beside whose effort my poor labor pales
                    As I sit in this easy chair and play,
                    Devising lines of cadences and rhymes
                    To build another moment’s monument,
                    A chronicle of sedentary times
                    Inspired by visions sometimes heaven sent.
                    More often, though, pedestrian, like this
                    Tee-tum, tee-tum, a morning walkabout
                    Devised by ingenuity, not bliss,
                    Hack work with little artistry to tout.
                         It seems those carpenters are on a break,
                         So, I’ll shut up myself, for heaven’s sake.


Thursday, October 13, 2016


                              Skills I’ve labored long to master
                              Sometimes save me from disaster;
                              Knowing how to write a verse
                              May indeed dispel a curse.



Tuesday, October 11, 2016


                    How will we be, Homo the sapient,
                    When we at last have grown wholly wise—
                    When what’s implicit’s clearly evident,
                    With nothing latent still to realize?

                   That is a time the world is yearning for,
                   So long the victim of our ravages,
                   When it no longer must decry, deplore
                   A species of such reckless savages.

                  If Homo sapiens sapiens can add one more
                  Degree of sapience, that Paradise
                  Whose loss our scriptures taught us to deplore
                  May reappear, when we’ve at last grown wise.

                      The second coming of perfection waits
                      Until our savage recklessness abates.