Poetry

from "Nocturnes"

When pain comes

"a universe of broken people"

- Joyce Carol Oates

When pain comes like waves breaking on the shore of your heart,

your life is circumscribed by the roar of the breakers.

So much more living would be possible if only you could step apart

from the pain.

You search for someone with whom to share -

there are no takers.

It binds your thought with straps of steel that defy your heart's logic.

Frozen in time the memory of pleasant places is hidden by shadows,

Which, like shards of memory, shower your being with moments of magic.

You try to escape from this world -

hiding inside and staring out the windows.

Seeing all the other broken people.

- James Henderson, May 1993

From "Nocturnes", a collection of night thoughts in the poetic mode.

Poetry


from "Nocturnes"





"the life of a stranger"
- Aristotle, Politics, 1324a16



There is a why for a stranger
That becomes his star.
There is a source for his being
That beams from afar.

What is this life, if not one of thought?
Who is the thinker?
What is the ought
That each can apply to his own inner world?

Strangeness becomes familiar through nous -
Living in Logos we strive for a view
Of the world that becomes one we use
For our own life - Being becoming new.

Many are the wonders we encounter
This way. Each as a thinker
In his own way - on a journey, an outer
Life built from within. The source of our World -
Beginning becoming our Being anew.



- James Henderson, April 1993

From "Nocturnes", a collection of night thoughts in the poetic mode.

Poetry

from "Nocturnes"

Lost Innocence

Sing to me, and when I here your voice
I will respond with music of my own.
Meaning will come forth to clothe my melody
With soft and hushed hues of somewhat
Pensive words, not prose but verse.

The pendulum swings from the sullen sky,
Yet few notice and the world does not care.
We move on a dull track and pass by without
Notice or concern for the real - what is there.
They laugh and lovely days pass them by.

Pull me upward with natural rhythms while
The insistence of gravity gives my world
Order. All the while each of us sings hymns
To chaos. Shouts we hurl forth to claim
We do not know - there is no standard.

The scent of cedar brings us forward from our past
Life of youth and innocence. A time of order
That we've lost with the passing years and days.
Serenity, found in order, is the legacy of our
Lost innocence.

James Henderson - February, 1993 (rev. 2010)
From "Nocturnes", a collection of night thoughts in the poetic mode.