I wrote those poems for myself, as a way of being a soldier here in this country. I didn't know the poems would travel. I didn't go to Lebanon until two years ago, but people told me that many Arabs had memorized these poems and translated them into Arabic.

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Poems About.

There are poems that you will never see
Marked in a folder titled 'privacy'
Poems of hate and anger and personal pain
Poems about greed and hunger and personal gain
Poems about people I would love to see dead
Poems about women I met
Poems about relationships that have gone bad
Poems about issues with mom and dad
Poems about me, the person no one knows
Poems about places where only my soul goes
Poems I wish I could place in the clouds for all to read
Poems about lust, selfishness and greed
Poems I know will hurt those I hate
Poems I write by complete mistake
Poems I have hidden in my heart and my head
Poems about things that are better left unsaid
Poems I want to share and poems I want to retract
Poems of shame and how others might act
They stay in my psyche, they are a part of me
These poems I write, but you will never see.

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A Poet

He — or was it she?
was a child who said little
but walked, endlessly, just looking

or stood still for minutes, hours,
and became what they looked at

was from a large family
but still people said, you’re an only child aren’t you

was it seems very happy in themself
but no-one asked, so never said

kept themself to themself, which annoyed
other children, who bullied them

and then were even more annoyed
when they didn’t play the victim

failed examinations and yet
was always wrapt up in a book

occasionally did things like cutting themselves
and was told off but never questioned usefully

wrote poems secretly but was unconcerned
whether people read them or not

was good to be with as long as you
didn’t expect anything of them

was secretly loved by some
who never liked to say so

because what they loved somehow
didn’t have a name

years later, some of them read the poems
and knew what they had loved

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Oh The Poems And More Poems

OH THE POEMS AND THE MORE POEMS

Oh the poems and the more poems
The wonderful poems I am writing all the time
God has given me this gift
And when I wait in the right way
And when I listen to myself properly
The poems come in ways I could never have thought of or imagined before
They come as mysteries as gifts as surprises
As wonderful to me as perhaps to you their possible readers
Oh the poems and the more poems
The wonderful poems God has given me
And the light of this day and so many other days, also.

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A Poem Memorized Many Years Ago

A POEM MEMORIZED MANY YEARS AGO


A poem memorized many years ago
Lives in my mind
As if it were me.

So many poems
So much Life and Beauty
So much Goodness and Happiness.

Poems in me
Written by others.
Now my Soul.

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Not Every Poem Knows How To Say Its Own Name Properly

NOT EVERY POEM KNOWS HOW TO SAY ITS OWN NAME PROPERLY

Not every poem knows how to say its own name properly-
There are poems that have no name
And poems that are named by others who have not written them-
There are poems whose names make them what they are
And poems whose names contradict and belie them-
Many poems have their first lines as their names
And these poems often are as memorable as one line only-
Great poems and good poems can be nameless
Or can have unforgettable names.

Not every poem knows how to say its own name properly -
Poems are poems are poems
And names are names are names
And sometimes they meet and are one
And live happily ever after-
But there are times when perhaps
They never should have met each other at all.

Poems have their names
And names have their poems
But sometimes they love each other
And truly are one.

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We Need Poems To Make Us Love Life More

WE NEED POEMS TO MAKE US LOVE LIFE MORE

We need poems to make us love life more
Poems that will make us happier
Poems that will make us kinder, better people.
We need poems that will inspire us
That will add to our sense of the world’s Beauty
We need Poems that will make us love others as we love ourselves as we love God.
We need holy poems
And joyful poems
And blessed poems
And kind poems
We need poems which will make us love life more
Which will help us love others and ourselves more
God more
We need poems.

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Poems About Poems About Poems

Poems about poems about poems-
More poems and more poems and more poems-
Poems poems poems poems poems-
How many poems?
How much poetry
Until there is no poetry at all?

But only 'words' and 'words' and 'words'
Until one goes far away
Where there was never a poem before-
And suddenly hears
“Let there be Light”.

And Poetry perhaps
Is born again.

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Which Poems Are True and Which Poems Only A Story?

WHICH POEMS ARE TRUE AND WHICH POEMS ONLY A STORY?

Which poems are true
and which poems only a story?

There are poems I have to write
They are the heart of who I am-
And other poems that tell a story my mind makes
And takes me where I do not know I'll ever really be-

There are real poems and there are imaginary poems-
And there are poems-in- between like this one.

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For my poems, written so early

For my poems, written so early
That I didn't even know I was a poet,
Hurled like drops from a fountain,
Like sparks from rockets,

That burst like tiny devils,
Into the sanctuary of sleep and incense,
For my poems about youth and death
-- For my unread poems!

Scattered in dusty bookstores,
Where no one ever buys them!
For my poems, like precious wines,
A time will come.

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Always The Poems In Me

Always the poems in me-
Saying themselves over and over
Returning to lines learned long ago
Or lines learned with more difficulty in old age-

Always the poems in me-
While my own poems written
And forgotten
As if only
Poems of a single occasion
The time of their writing-

Always the poems in me-
The poems which others will have in them after me
Poems not my own.

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We Need New Poems

WE NEED NEW POEMS

We need new Poems-

So many great Poems
Have already been written.
Perhaps the Greatest poems
Have already been written.

But we need new poems.

We need our Poems
We need the poems only we can write
We need the poems we must write.

We need new poems
My poems
Your poems
Our poems.

We need new poems.
Let us write them.

poem by Shalom FreedmanReport problemRelated quotes
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I Don't Want The Poems To End

I don’t want the poems to end
I don’t want to stop hearing my soul say
What it most deeply means-
I don’t want the poems to end
I want to go on and on with the poems
Day by day
As life at its best may go on
Just being and loving
And letting the poems come-
I don’t want the poems to end
And I don’t want to end now either.

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The History Poems Have Not Been Written

The history poems have not been written
The poems after Milosz
The Wallace Stevens poems will never be written
I can’t come close
I have tried the Blake poems
But of course I am not near them either
I would like to the ironic intellectual poems
I might be able to do them
I could do a kind of surrealistic association mind poem a prose poem
But I don’t like that very much
The poems of Jerusalem have not been good enough
Poems of propaganda are awkward and unacceptable
The small poems that tell of my life
They are for me the chance at real poetry
And I will continue as best I can with them
The American poems I have not yet found the idiom for
I can be epigrammatic in Emerson Thoreau fashion
But not with the hard New England observing eye
Borges poems I love
And the stories of mind and literature
Making the drama of a life of a storyteller
Interest me
But I doubt I could truly do them well
Imitation can only take one so far
And through it one may lose one’s way entirely
I can really do only what I am
Not the Dickinson poems nor the Hopkins poems nor the Wordsworth poems nor the Keats poems nor the Amichai poems nor the poems of many others whose poetry I love
The Biblical poems have been tried
The poems of cosmic and scientific reflection
I could try to improve them
There are too many different kinds of poems to write
And I cannot write almost all of them
This is another poem about poems and poetry
I have written many for a long time now
Perhaps I need to go elsewhere and write in a new way
A way I have not dreamed or even remotely understood possible before.
The poems of the unknown poetry await me
I will go on but I am not sure now I know in which wa

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My Poems Are Poems Of The Light Of The Day

MY POEMS ARE POEMS OF THE LIGHT OF THE DAY

My poems are poems of the light of the day
The poems of the night are for others-
When the night comes
I hide and wait in silence
Until the day comes-
My poems are poems of the light of the day
And I dare not bring the poems of the night within them.

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I Wanted My Poem To Be A Real Poem

I WANTED MY POEM TO BE A REAL POEM

I wanted my poem to be a real poem-
I have read and studied and memorized
So many real poems-
I wanted my poem to be one of them
Which others would read and feel and memorize
And make their own –

We want and we want and we want
And who are we with all our wanting?
Who am I with all my wanting?
One more dreamer
One more ambitious person
One more lover of poems
One more writer of poems
One more wanter of real poems
Who writes this poem
For others
who dream like me
of writing real poems.

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Days Without Poems

DAYS WITHOUT POEMS

Days without poems-
Nights without poems-
A time of life without poems-
No poems anywhere.

Empty inside
Running outside
Tired.

No inner energy
No great urgency in feeling
Nothing.

In the emptiness inside of no- poems
I pass this time without song.

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My birthday was different this year

As I was rummaging through
the file boxes my wife had left for me
in the garage
I found a yellow legal pad
scribbled with hand written poems
I had written one night
in a almost crowded coffeehouse
waiting for a poet friend from Chicago
to come up north to read

The poems talked about
how I waited and waited
before too long
several anxious poets
ran up to the microphone
not afraid to trip over themselves
share their delicate poems
about romance and almost romance
detailing having a job they don't like
and it seemed to me
they were also not liking much else about their lives
besides their job they didn't like

My Chicago artist friend as usual
was more then an hour late
which isn't bad considering Chicago
is almost three hours away
so most other places
damn, she would have been early

When I read the poem
I wrote about being at a reading
I didn't want to be at

I realized I was spending my birthday
by myself in a coffeehouse
writing poems
not making much eye contact
with people I didn't even like
although one of the poets
I think Francine is her name
came up to me during a break and said 'hi'
but she didn't remember my name
or knew it was my birthday
and a couple of days after my anniversary
or that I was getting a divorce

that poem I read
was a good sign of things to come

because this year
on my birthday
I woke up with a new friend in my bed
multiple orgasms for her to share
before having a nice breakfast together
of eggs, sausage, hash browns and italian toast
cooked on the George Foreman grill
and things didn't look or feel
the same again

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Didn't Care

You didn't care,
when I was alone,
fighting with,
me in your absence.
You didn't share,
your laughter, grief,
your sojourn...
I knitted a sweater,
for you,
with white and
sky blue.
You didn't come in winter.
Still now, it's with me.
You know, I have in my hair,
a flash of silver white!
Soon, I'll need spec,
to read your poems.
Oh! I forgot to tell,
you one thing, hmm.silly
though, no won't tell,
you will laugh then.
Everyday, I write a poem
thinking of you!
You told once, my poems
are rubbish!
But, believe me, I write,
squeezing my blood,
from my love for you!
If you won't talk,
well, I'll be speaking
aloud, rather, under,
the gulmohar tree,
under its bunch of
red flowers, or,
under any leafless tree,
one which you will prefer...
But, we must meet..
someday,
any day,
as it has been
fixed by God!

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There Are The Poems That Are Not The Real Poems

There are the poems that are not the real poems,
And the poems that are-
And the poems that are seem to come out of their own saying
With a rhythm and a meaning which makes a music so deep,
Even the most lonely soul feels them as a singing inside.

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Let's Leave The 'Poems' Without Metaphors

LET’S LEAVE THE ‘POEMS’ WITHOUT METAPHORS

Let’s leave the ‘poems’ without metaphors
Bare and stark and original
Quiet and sleeping and still
The soothing poems the calming poems
The poems that even in the middle of the night
Let us sleep.
Let’s leave the poems without metaphors
And go back to the simple words
And let them say all they can by themselves
Until they become metaphors too.

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