Written In The First Leaf Of A Child's Memorandum-Book
My neat and pretty book, when I thy small lines see
They seem for any use to be unfit for me.
My writing, all misshaped, uneven as my mind,
Within this narrow space can hardly be confined.
Yet I will strive to make my hand less awkward look;
I would not willingly disgrace thee, my neat book.
The finest pens I'll use, and wondrous pains I'll take,
And I these perfect lines my monitors will make.
And every day I will set down in order due
How that day wasted is; and should there be a few
At the year's end that show more goodly to the sight,
If haply here I find some days not wasted quite,
If a small portion of them I have passed aright,
Then shall I think the year not wholly was misspent,
And that my Diary has been by some good angel sent.
poem by Charles Lamb
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My Heart Is Small
MY HEART IS SMALL
My heart is small
My mind also-
I cannot feel much
Or think much now-
I try by writing
To revive myself,
But I am small and cold
As the harsh winter rain outside.
I cannot somehow warm my soul within
Little words
Little lines
A poem of small feeling
In the deep dark of winter
On the coldest darkest night of the year.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Day Is Wasted
THE DAY IS WASTED
The day is wasted
I did nothing in it-
Does it really matter?
There have been thousands of days in my life
Almost all of them I cannot recall
Many perhaps most were wasted
So one more is wasted-
What can they to me for it?
What is the punishment for it?
The day is wasted
Some day soon there will be no more days to waste
I will not regret this then-
But now
When I still have my work to do and my name to make
Oy va voy a day is wasted
I'd better do something now.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Anthologies of their laments 9. Little angel
Your dynamite comes in
The powder keg of small
packages
I call you my little angel
Because you're big there
No better fitting descriptions
Of the fire in the annals
Of the epic book of
Poetry to describe you
Saw the picture of you
In the photo picture of
The photography album again
Would swear to you
Am I mad to fall in love
With a picture my love?
Well little angel
I am stuck to see the blues
Standing there in their
Neat rows to confirm little
Angel that I will sing
Your praises till Doomsday
But I can never little angel
Meet you to show you
The tears I cry for lack
of the visibility
To tell you I love
Little angel of my heart
poem by Ngaka Motaung
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There Have Been Many Opening Lines Tonight
THERE HAVE BEEN MANY OPENING LINES TONIGHT
There have been many opening lines tonight
But none has been followed by a convincing poem -
Why is this evening one of trying and failing?
Why can't I at least write one small poem
That seems to me worthwhile?
I am doing better now-
There is a stanza,
And perhaps these lines will be a stanza too.
I have two small awkward stanzas
When I finish this one
I will try to feel I have a poem.
Nothing I do tonight is good enough
Is it better to have a poor poem
Or none at all?
I answer by posting these lines.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Am A Poet Of Short Lines
I am a poet of short lines-
Of lines that are phrases,
Of lines that are small and broken-
I am a poet of short lines-
Of impatience and small breath,
Of hurrying and not taking time-
I am a poet of short lines-
Of condensation and conciseness,
Of maximum meaning in minimum space-
I am a poet of short lines
Short ones.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The book, you understand, was not written for publication. It was the portrayal of my emotions, the analysis of my own soul life during three months of my nineteenth year. I wrote then all the time, just as I do now, but, though the book is in diary form, it is not a diary.
quote by Mary MacLane
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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September Quandary
Thirty days does have September,
But there's one thing I don't remember.
What happened to those eight other months?
I know I must appear a dunce, but…
All this time couldn't pass me by I don't believe,
While I celebrated last year's New Year's Eve.
Then before I could make it to New Year's Day,
Exactly 243 days of this year have passed away.
Never again will this calendar inhibit my sight.
People and experiences will be focused delight.
poem by Gregory Huyette
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An Ode Of The Birth Of Our Saviour
In numbers, and but these few,
I sing thy birth, oh JESU!
Thou pretty Baby, born here,
With sup'rabundant scorn here;
Who for thy princely port here,
Hadst for thy place
Of birth, a base
Out-stable for thy court here.
Instead of neat enclosures
Of interwoven osiers;
Instead of fragrant posies
Of daffadils and roses,
Thy cradle, kingly stranger,
As gospel tells,
Was nothing else,
But, here, a homely manger.
But we with silks, not cruels,
With sundry precious jewels,
And lily-work will dress thee;
And as we dispossess thee
Of clo}ts, we'll make a chamber,
Sweet babe, for thee,
Of ivory,
And plaster'd round with amber.
The Jews, they did disdain thee;
But we will entertain thee
With glories to await here,
Upon thy princely state here,
And more for love than pity:
From year to year
We'll make thee, here,
A free-born of our city.
poem by Robert Herrick
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There Is A Time When Tired And Weak
THERE IS A TIME WHEN TIRED AND WEAK
There is a time when tired and weak
An old man can barely think
But writes nonetheless
A few small lines
To remind himself
That he still has a mind-
There is a time when tired and weak
An old man can barely speak
But writes nonetheless
A few small lines
To prove to himself
That he still is alive-
There is a time when tired and weak
And old man can barely dream
But writes nonetheless
A few small lines
To make himself believe
He still has time
There will be a time when tired and weak
An old man will be unable to read-
He will not write a few small lines
He will sit and wait
For the end of his life.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The way out of hell
You may feel you're lost
You may believe there's no hope
but there's a way
just follow what I want to say
When you're alone
when you feel like you want to scream
and the anxiety kills your well-being
don't follow their way
don't let them bring you down
(stay small, as small as you can be)
believe in me, I've been there
in the reality where the demons feast
where the paranoia and delusions make you mad
(it's the sorcery, the sorcery of the beast)
don't believe, (in It)
do not let fear control your actions
try, and you will see
the way out of hell is a narrow and long way
(you will make it, just don't give in)
don't believe, your mind is playing tricks on you
don't fear, (stay small, as small as you can be)
cry, but never burst out in anger
never let them get to you
(it's the sorcery, the sorcery of the beast)
(stay small, as small as you can be)
you'll find your way, just believe
there's a way, you will see
(don't believe in It, it's the sorcery of the beast)
(they will win if you fail)
the road to heaven is a narrow and long way
you'll make it, you will see
(don't believe them, don't let them get to you)
it's all in your head, just believe
there's a way out of your agony
there's a way (a way, a way, a way, the right way)
poem by Uriah Sheep
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Interior
Her mind lives in a quiet room,
A narrow room, and tall,
With pretty lamps to quench the gloom
And mottoes on the wall.
There all the things are waxen neat
And set in decorous lines;
And there are posies, round and sweet,
And little, straightened vines.
Her mind lives tidily, apart
From cold and noise and pain,
And bolts the door against her heart,
Out wailing in the rain.
poem by Dorothy Parker
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A good writer cannot avoid having social consciousness. I don't mean this about small pieces of writing, but about a big book. If it's a big book, there has to be more than one undertow.
quote by Marguerite Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Happy 90th - Abram!
It's a day we shall sing and be merry.
take a seat on the afternoon ferry.
Now Victoria bound
through a maritime sound.
There he is, with a small glass of Sherry.
Happy Birthday I say to the chief,
number 90 is just one more leaf
in the book that you wrote;
well you DO have my vote,
that I SHALL keep this limerick brief.
Let me guess, you are NOT eating cake?
In a pinch though you'd take a small flake.
With your nose in a book
and that far-away look,
all the gray cells are wholly awake.
So, from all of us, Happy Returns.
You can watch as the Mafia crowd learns
what you knew to be true....
and I'm sending to you
a bouquet of wildflowers and ferns.
Do I have, at this point, your attention?
If I do let me make special mention
of your open and kind
and most erudite mind,
(which is still not quite set for the pension) .
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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The Lost Lines And The Lost Pages
THE LOST LINES AND THE LOST PAGES LEAVE NO TRACE
The lost lines and the lost pages leave no trace
There is no way to recovery
It is a one – way journey after all
Those who had hoped to live forever by recording all that they have ever done
Have been painfully surprised by the disappearance of the universe
That Asteroid that landed in the heart of all we are
Or perhaps that chain of violence in which our own Ugliness did us in
Or perhaps some other manufactured artificial virus
Or who knows what and why
There is simply too much future Time
Not to die at some point in it
The lost lines and lost pages are small and insignificant
We are in all we are also
Small and insignificant
Why God made us and what God really does
We will never truly understand
Small is all and we are smaller even than the smallest part of any thing
Nothing is and nothing was and nothing will be
Only now in the silence
As I anguished write this
Not believing wholly a word I have said
I wonder again why God made me
And if and how and what and why and where
We are all just not anything real or good or true or beautiful or love.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A January Fear
A sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
My class is all here
Down to each little sneer
A sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
Those cute little creatures
Have nothing to fear
A sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
Still knowing that teacher's
not entirely all here
A sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
Each little tear
Makes it perfectly clear
A sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
A day off is coming
And hopefully near
a sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
It's harder and harder
Maintaining my leer
A sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
Perhaps my behavior's
becoming quite queer
A sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
Perhaps in the morning
I'll call in and cheer
A SICK DAY A SICK DAY
I GOT A PAIN IN MY EAR
Alas...I can hear my principle sneer
With a resigning smirk easy to hear
NO SICK DAY NO SICK DAY
SORRY MY DEAR
NO SICK DAYS NO SICK DAYS
REMAINING THIS YEAR
poem by Robert John Meehan
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Happy New Year
We all have something we didn't do right
So here another year to start over and fixed it
We all have resolution to make
For me its to just be happy and enjoy my life
To forget the past and you
Make everyday count
Every minute is precious
If you make mistakes, keep trying and don't give up
I believe in you and so does people who love you
Even though they don't show it but deep inside they do
It clean slate to make the way you want to go
Is everyone time to shine in their own way
Not everyone going keep their resolution,
Stay same and others will
It's out with old and in with new
We all have something we want to achive this year
This your chance to do what you never show everyone
Be different, crazy, loud, or fun
Happy New Year
Finally it's 2012 and whole new year
Let's make this year great and fun
Wohhhhooooooooo
Come on lets good time
Have party or be with family
I wish you all a
Happy New Year
It's whole new year to enjoy try something new,
Take risk and explore other things out there if you want to
Finally its here and its went by so fast
Happy New Year
poem by Christina Phan
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athem for the year 2000
We are the youth
We'll take your fascism away
We are the youth
Apologise for another day
We are the youth
And politicians are so sure
We are the youth
And we are knocking on death's door
Never knew we were living in a world
With a mind that could be so sure
Never knew we were living in a world
With a mind that could be so small
Never knew we were living in a world
And the world is an open court
Maybe we don't want to live in a world
Where innocence is so short
We'll make it up to you
in the year 2000 with...
Never knew we were living in a world
With a mind that could be so sure
Never knew we were living in a world
With a mind that could be so small
Never knew we were living in a world
And the world is an open court
Maybe we don't want to live in a world
Where innocence is so short
We'll make it up to you
In the year 2000
Build it up for you
In the year 2000
Make it up to you
In the year 2000
Build it up for you
In the year 2000 with you
Never knew we were living in a world
With a world that could be so sure
Never knew we were living in a world
With a mind that could be so small
Never knew we were living in a world
And the world is an open court
Maybe we don't want to live in a world
World who cares at all
We'll make it up to you
In the year 2000
Build it up for you
In the year 2000
Make it hard for you
In the year 2000
Build it up for you
In the year 2000
Make it hard for you
In the year 2000
Build it up for you
In the year 2000 with you
song performed by by Silverchair from neon ballroom
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Turning into Porcelion
Sitting all alone
Thinking of him
Jealous of her
She is everything
That I long to be
Running through my
Mind how to make
Myself perfect
How to be his
Weight stops to drop
Small lines of control
Start to form on my ankles
Emotions run far past the
Point of a numb escape
But soon enough
I will be good enough for him
Ill be skinny and happy
Perfection
Completion
But he never leaves her
I’m running out of time
And into destruction
Ill never be perfect
Ill never be his
poem by Victoria Roy
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Ezra Pound's Canto and The Girls's Behind.
It was the year
Elvis died
and you were working
in a warehouse
packing cakes
into pallets
reading Ezra Pound's
Cantos in lunch breaks
or studying
that book
on Spinoza
while the other guys
talked of ballgames
or sex
or who did what
to whom
in the daily news
and a young girl
from the upstairs office
came down
to the canteen
to use the drinks
vending machine
and as she turned to face
the machine
to make her choice
she wiggled her neat behind
and turned
and smiled at you
and Don said to you
I think she fancies you
I'm old enough
to be her father
you said
maybe she's looking
for a father figure
Kevin said
the girl pressed a button
and a disposable cup
fell into the slot
and hot coffee shot down
in a straight line
I'm happily married
you said keeping
a finger on your place
in Ezra's 20th Canto
she doesn't want
to marry you
Don said
she wants something
more basic
Kevin laughed
and the girl pushed
another button
and another cup fell
and cappuccino shot
into the cup
and you carried
an image
of the girl's neat butt
into your mind
where it mixed
with the Canto
and words
and images
Ezra was trying
to convey
and Don said to the girl
how far
do your legs go up?
and girl said
that's for me to know
and for you to guess
and she blushed
and walked off
with her wiggling behind
carrying the two coffees
in her small hands
and the guys followed her
with their lustful eyes
and you moved your finger
along the page
feeling like an old guy
weighed down with age.
poem by Terry Collett
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I Fear My Own Silence
I FEAR MY OWN SILENCE
I fear my own silence
I fear the end in life in writing
Before my life has ended-
I force myself to go on
I feel my own inadequacy
I feel I am writing poor lines.
I sense it would make more sense to stop
I should stop
I can’t stop
I need to write
Even if my writing is only the scribbling of an amateur fool who has wasted his life in words and more words
I write this now in the darkness before the morning has begun
Will I walk to Shul this morning justified?
Or do I know these lines now too
More of the same self- indulgent nonsense
No one needs but myself?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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