Never found

Lone climber,
Moving along an unsteady ridge,
He will die alone,
Never found.

Thinking of his young daughter,
Her smiling face when he comes home,
Her eyes of wonder,
Tears fill his own.
He struggles on.

Imagining the sorrow of his wife,
Will she take long to move on,
And will he care for my child?
Fighting on.

The cold is too much.
He feels his body heat bleeding into the snow.
Fear takes hold,
Images of his frozen body on the mountain.
Never found.

So many that had been forgotten.
Lost chances,
Broken hearts,
Bitter memories.
The mind goes to unimagined places.
Remembering the boy he made cry,
When they were nine.
A tear runs down his face.
No time to make things right.

Fighting to get up.
Mind yearns to go on.
Body ready for the end.

He starts to feel warm now.
Sitting to rest.
Never found.


Gerald Lee Jordan
Diamond Harbour NZ
03 March 2013


The fool who refers to a poet as “negative”,
“depressing” or “dark”,
doesn’t understand the creative process,
for there is no act more optimistic,
more life-affirming,
more hopeful,
than the act of creation.

Picking up a pen,
or sitting at a keyboard,
it is a wish –
a wish for something better,
a desire to bring something else into the world,
something which somehow,
in some small way,
makes existence better,
for at least one of us.

When I hear such comments,
I pity the locutor,
Their lack of insight,
Their lack of understanding,
Their lack of intimacy with poetry.
Feeling empathy with only those lines and lives,
which echo their own existence,
Unable to see the optimism,
the joy,
the hope,
in the words of another,
whose vantage point does not mirror their own.

Speak out,
you brave poets!
Bring another viewpoint,
other possibilities,
to a species begging for insight and passion.
Scream out,
my kindred spirits!

Gerald Lee Jordan
Diamond Harbour NZ
28 February 2013

Relationship advice

[Dedicated to the wankers who give relationship advice.]

I used to change partners,
Or else change accommodation,
Every five years or so,
Until I realised it was just as good to change toilet seats.
I bought and installed a new one today –
Very excited about our impending intimacy.

The last one was a bitch –
She teased me with potentiality,
Which was never realised.
Her brass fittings were impractical,
One good coating of piss and they began to corrode.
Her wood veneer was cold to the touch,
She was heavy,
Which doesn’t help when dropped in the night.
She teased me in the shop,
Promising things she could never deliver.
I put her on the rubbish heap today,
With a chuckle.

So many shapes and materials from which to choose,
So many possibilities,
Limited to but one partner,
Until society accepts the idea,
Of polygamous toilet seat love.

I still shudder at that trip to Mexico,
Where late at night,
Checking into a room in Acapulco,
There was no seat,
But only a rim on which to sit.
The suffering of these people became clear,
As I straddled the bowl.

I will wake in the night,
Seeing it anew,
Sharing those first moments –
How will we fit?
Will it be as good as imagined?

Thinking of a new partner?
They are all the same after a few weeks.
Try a new toilet seat instead,
It will be the change you longed for –
and more.

Gerald Lee Jordan
Diamond Harbour NZ
27 February 2013

The slide

That first trip down a slide,
The fear,
Heart racing,
Will they catch me?
Hands gripping the rail.
So afraid to let go.
It seems so far to the bottom,
and the river –
although far enough away –
looks so close to young eyes.

Listening to them prodding on,
Promising to catch at the bottom.
What if what is me ends here?

White knuckles begin to loosen,
Focusing on the act,
Seeing them at the bottom,
Believing that they will catch me.

This moment repeated again through life,
Many times.

Gerald Lee Jordan
Diamond Harbour NZ
27 February 2013

The Religionist

Walks past a half constructed puzzle and is still not convinced,
that this might actually be a puzzle.
More bones are needed he claims,
But won’t be convinced,
Even if he sees the completed puzzle before his eyes.

Sees jagged peaks and old, worn down mountains,
Claims both are the same age.
When queried about this,
Tries to come up up with an excuse,
“Perhaps the gods made one look older to fool you.”
At the time his creation myth begins,
His deities were trying to create with the intent to confuse.
Those he creates and tries to look up to,
Have his same confused and dishonest views.

Shown dinosaurs and other bones,
Claims that they are of recent origin.
Others laugh, when they try to imagine his dinosaurs recently interacting with man.

Shown layers of earth in a canyon,
Signs of soil and ash being deposited over millions of years,
Imagines this another recent creation.

Humanity will not progress with such primitive superstition common.
When these people have gone their way,
This race can begin the task of our mental evolution.
Some have already begun to evolve and look at this sub-species,
as our ancestors looked on the Homo neanderthalensis.
Were they sad to watch the Neanderthal disappear?
Perhaps they watched with satisfaction,
As we watch the religionists diminish in numbers.

Gerald Lee Jordan
Diamond Harbour NZ
26 February 2013

Just enough

We will give them just enough education,
So they can do the job.

We will give them just enough salary,
To keep them needing more.

We will give them just enough of a mortgage,
That they can painfully service.

We will give them just enough health care,
Immunisations and basis necessities,
To keep them on the job.

We will give them just enough mental health,
To keep them able to perform their duties.
Symptom relief with only a few sessions.
We have to see a return on investment.

We will give them all the Jesus they want,
As he is free and will keep them from focusing on what little we share.

We will give them just enough,
To be the labourers who keep us rich.
Just enough is just enough.

Gerald Lee Jordan
Diamond Harbour NZ
24 February 2013

Big Jack

His father beat him,
With anything around,
Preferring doubled over and rusty barbed wire.
Jack would grit his teeth and take it,
He wasn’t giving in.

At twenty-one,
While working on a power pole,
He received a shock which would kill any man,
Which killed him –
Until being dropped while carried down the pole,
Started his heart again.
He wasn’t giving in.

At hospital they removed a charred arm and leg.
Photos show him lying in bed,
With a smile that went from ear to ear.
He wasn’t giving in.

Working through the week and helping others on weekends,
He never complained and never asked for help.
Early mornings he could be seen,
Beads of sweat on his brow,
As he tied his shoelace,
A challenge with one hand.
He wasn’t giving in.

He raised children,
Then raised grandchildren too.
Worried that he might not make it until those who needed him were grown.
He wasn’t giving in.

One he treated like a second son,
Would think of no other name for his own child,
Than the only man who inspired him,
The one who wouldn’t give in.

Swelling in the spine,
Confined to a chair,
He still works from sun up.
Worried that time off for surgery,
Will mean that his granddaughter who lives with him will do without.

Big Jack –
He isn’t giving in.

Gerald Lee Jordan
Diamond Harbour NZ
24 February 2013


Old people will tell you,
the most comfort comes not from love,
comes not from companionship,
but emanates from the cold,
methodical drone of routine.

Keep your excitement,
your thrills,
your desire for the unknown.
These do not compare to a hot coffee,
followed by toast,
each and every uneventful day.

Knowing where your feet fall from the bed,
into your old slippers there,
where you carefully left them the night before.

Going to the same diner,
where the same cook,
who knows your name,
gets your meal  –
right or wrong –
just the same,
every time.

Consistency can be depended upon,
unlike people.

In a world of chaos,
routine provides some semblance of order,
of structure,
of meaning,
of purpose.

You will understand,
given enough time –
and chaos.

Gerald Lee Jordan
Diamond Harbour NZ
22 February 2013