A Tribute To My Friends
As memories of my past revive in my mind
I find a perception of a sign
That holds all the friendship of life
In words only my mind can contrive
This little poem I hope not offends
For it is written as a tribute to my friends
(date written unknown)
poem by David Harris
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A Reader’s Daydream
In books written by scholars
With an element enforced on words
You read with your subconscious
And digest all you’ve heard
Your mind suggest a vision of what immortal life could be
As you wish is silent whisper that your life this way could lead
Then back to reality you frown
As you stumble over words the author has written down.
(date written unknown)
poem by David Harris
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This Is My Poem
This is my poem of ______. (date)
This is my poem, written by myself.
This is my first poem never written.
This is my last poem now to be written.
This is the poem I would have written
if I had lived yesterday what I lived today.
This is my poem changing white light
into gold-leaf
and blue into violet.
This is my poem like a heaven twisting
and turning inside of me
all night long.
This is my poem of opening a window
to show what was always inside.
This is my poem encompassing everything
hope can bestow or chance agree with.
This is my poem of open-ended freedom.
This is my poem breathing life into motion.
This is my poem written as I wrote it
a living being.
And this is my poem ending;
but only for today..
poem by Patti Masterman
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Early Works - Bob And June
If this world should ever end
in the next we’d still be friends
for though we are from different walks of life
with different worries and strife
we combined together in strength of force
with friendship as a straight and narrow course.
Bob is the youngest of us all
isn’t very tall, but his friendship
is something you cannot explain
it’s true and sound, something profound.
June, Bob’s wife I’ve not known that long
has given me friendship and hope that’s strong
that’s why when together in a room
all sadness by happy faces and laughter is consumed.
Though our world is changing rapidly
our friendship will remain constantly
for our friendship will never break
of this make no mistake
for ours is a true friendship rarely found
in this world that revolves around.
That’s why this poem of friendship does conclude
my tribute to Bob and June.
Date unknown. (Probably early 1970s)
Authors note:
The sad note to this poem only recently found is that June died a few years ago of cancer. Bob afterward withdrew from friends and family until his whereabouts at present is unknown. I believe that we will meet again whether it is in this world or the next.
poem by David Harris
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The Poem That Perhaps Never Should Have Been Written
THE POEM THAT PERHAPS NEVER SHOULD HAVE BEEN WRITTEN
Not the poem of yesterday
Nor the poem of tomorrow
But the poem of today-
What gives life meaning now.
Not the poem as it is read
But the poem as it is written.
Not the certain poem
But the poem that does not know
If it truly is a poem.
The poem that gives hope only when it is written-
The lesser poem-
The poem that perhaps never should have been written.
The poem I am writing now,
Perhaps for myself alone
The lesser poem
The poem that perhaps should never have been at all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Open Book's Monologue Part 4 Bookkeeping
Regular written books or a regular written novel
Could sell
But each copy would essentially be the same
And the words stagnant, unable to change, in a sense lame
Because they cannot move or rearrange
They just never change
But I guess even though I'm an open book that's where we differ
My words do change, and my past is rewritten
When my memories become hazy or hidden
Suddenly I've changed my past, said something different to her
Or him, or supposedly done an action that never did occur.
When witnesses balk and there is no vindication
Nor affirmation
It's hard to keep my memories truthfully
Call me a liar for changing them, but that's me
Bookkeeping is near impossible
Because rewriting my beginnings is possible
It's hard to remember what's fact or fiction
When this novel is just a fantastical rendition
Of what I think my life is or thought my life was
Not what it really is or really was
I think it's because
Those unhappy memories of the past ought
Just to be forgot
So I choose (o so subconsciously) to rewrite them
Only to find they've made my destiny
They've made me- me
It's funny that I write of bookkeeping
And changing the beginning of the book
When I feel so strongly
That such things are impossible for me
So in a sense this poem is a contradiction
But then maybe my changes are just my perception
Of my story because I cannot look back
So I guess I'm wrong... future and past are stained in black
Because as a book I could change what I think
Maybe even float not sink
But that's just my perception, because my story
Is actually
The Immutable tragedy
The tragedy of me
And past... present... future
They won't endure
One day pages will crumble to dust
But I think... I'll go first... Actually I think.... I think...
I must.
poem by David Knox
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I Have Written Too Many Poems Of Despair
I HAVE WRITTEN TOO MANY POEMS OF DESPAIR
I have written too many poems of despair-
Too much complaint-
Too much sorrow grief sadness difficulty pain-
I should have written more of hope of youth of love-
I should have sung of happiness
I should have been been a poet
Who helps others love life more
I can try now-
But can words of ‘will’ really be poetry?
It is when the lines come to the mind and heart
On their own
Naturally
That the poem begins to live.
Does this sound like a ‘happy poem’?
Or yet another lament for what I am
And have not been?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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What Am I?
I would very much like to see
somebody, anybody that might be like me.
But then I am one of a kind, why shouldn't I?
Must I not find what I am seeking! ;
someone in whom I may see myself and vice versa.
Nobody seems to know me and
I do not seem to know myself.
Therefore, I must, must I? , explore the world of the unknown.
But I am one of the unknown!
Would anyone like to analyse me?
I bet, they would find something of themselves.
It seems to me now that I am two of a kind
I sincerely hope that both are not blind
and unite together to be of one mind.
Looking for somone else might be easier to find.
Time gone has left a scar in my life
but each day that passes seems to suggest
that my life is as a star in humanity.
How do I know that I am directing my life
by some pious nature embedded in my subconscious?
I might be an experiment that life itself is undertaking
to understand more about itself. Is there anything else?
I must resolve myself in my mind with utmost consideration
try and find the solution and by contemplation
recognise once for all time my true and sole existence
and saying 'there, I am here always! ', thus rejoicing
I should endeavour to affirm and proclaim in this world.
-------------------
Note:
This is a very early poem written about 40 years ago.
poem by George Krokos
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Early Works - Jill
She has the gracefulness of a swimming swan
and gentleness of a young fawn
and like the sweetness in the song of a swallow,
her voice serenades my ears when she speaks to me
with all the radiant of diamond gleams
her eyes sparkle when seen.
Just knowing her is a treasure to befall
but loving her is the greatest gift of all
having her as a close and dear friend
is an honour one is proud of until the end
I would be honoured to shout
from the highest hill
this my tribute to the only girl I love - Jill.
Date unknown. (This poem had to be written in 1965 or 1966)
Authors note:
Jill was a girl I was madly in love with before I met my wife. She inspired and influenced a great volume of my writing at the time and since songs, short stories and poems included. My best loved poem Just Beyond The Sunset was actually written with her in mind.
poem by David Harris
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The Poem Was Destroyed By Its Own Words
The poem was destroyed by its own words
And could not be written-
The words were not good enough
The words were not exact enough -
The poem nonetheless wanted to be
It waited in longing for other words-
Other words came
But they were not the poem either-
The poem it appeared
Was never to be -
The poem disappeared
Before it could be written
That poem forever is not
And in its place only these lines
Barely a poem at all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Can A Poem Be Written
CAN A POEM BE WRITTEN
Can a Poem be written
In Anger Frustration Fear Disappointment?
Can it be written
In Failure?
Can a Poem be written
When no light shines
And the middle of the night is longer
Than life itself?
Can a Poem be written now
When old afraid sad angry foolish failure me
Cannot even dream?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Poem Is Restless In Me
THE POEM IS RESTLESS IN ME
The poem is restless in me-
It waits to be heard-
Now that it comes
It does not feel especially happy about itself.
It knows it is not real-
It is not much-
Just because it is called a poem by me
Does not make it a poem -
The mind has its own place-
My mind also -
I am always thinking poems are with me,
And poems waiting to come-
But who am I and what do I know?
These lines are written in the still of the morning
When the light outside still brings hope
That a new day is possible.
But so many poems have been written in the early morning
And I am so old from hearing them said to me by myself-
And what does it all mean anyway in the end when God is the Only One?
And who am I to know what God is, or invoke the name of God
In such a small thing as my own poetry?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Back Roads Of My Mind
Your memories fill each waking hour
You face fills each and every thought
Of the times we had together
That surface from the back roads of my mind
I remember the fields of bluebells
Where we used to walk hand in hand
The trees we used to lean upon
While we rested for a while
All these things and more linger for eternity
And you will find them
Written with a special love
On the back road of my mind
They were written with love’s pen
And if you look close into my eyes
You will see them there all the time
Written on the backs roads of my mind
Your memories are anchored there
Never straying away
Resting with love forever
On the back roads of my mind
31 March 2007
poem by David Harris
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This Poem Should Have Been Written Long Ago By Someone Else
This poem should have been written long ago by someone else
They should have said what needs to be said
Clearly and yet beautifully
They should have known what to do with their words and their intimations -
But instead I old I tired old I I with the I I I always I’ing
Have to write it again-
This poem should have been written by someone else
The way I was when I was young
But even then probably it should have been written by someone else
Younger happier stronger wiser more courageous able to give and inspire others to love life more and make it more good and more beautiful
A real poet a great poet should have written this poem
And then it would be one
Even I would try not to forget.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Can A Poem Be Written Of Total Despair?
CAN A POEM BE WRITTEN OF TOTAL DESPAIR?
Can a poem be written of total despair?
Of life which has lost its meaning completely?
Can a poem be written of such sadness
That it pains night and day?
Can a poem be so deep in darkness
it will never yield light?
Or is the poem itself the sign
That the darkness is not dark forever
And the pain can go away
And despair too will have its own death
And life will once again begin to believe in itself
Even if only shakily?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Poem about Poetry - Poetic Enlightenment
a poem being written,
head, legs and hands awry
struggle to be placed in
their proper places so
that a smart and recognisable
child can be brought to the world
my master like a woman in labour
tries his utmost to carve a masterpiece
so that each word tells its reason
in his field to cross over the mind of readers
spawn echoes in depth of meanings
and holds on to their heart
i am a poem still being written
words jostle in and out of the space
of a verse, to get things to fall
into a poetic scheme, so that
readers can give their mind
a sublimal lift in their quest
for poetic enlightenment
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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The Poem About The Poem About The Poem
THE POEM ABOUT THE POEM ABOUT THE POEM
The poem about the poem about the poem
Written in dream
And forgotten in sleep
Comes back to me slowly now
As if it had been away on a long long journey
And is reluctant to come home-
I write it
But it really writes me
And when I try to make sense of what it means
It tells me its ambiguities
Are more important and interesting
Than my clarity-
The poem about the poem about the poem
Written now
May not be a poem about a poem about a poem at all
But may merely be my own playing with words
Which take the place in my life
Of really living-
A poem about a poem about a poem?
Surely this is a mysterious thing
If it exists at all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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There Is A Poem Somewhere
THERE IS A POEM SOMEWHERE
There is a poem somewhere
No one knows
It is written in a language
No one understands
Yet it soothes the soul
And gives hope in life
And tells us that we will live in love forever
There is a poem somewhere
No one knows
Waiting for you and me
Written by a stranger
A poem that will save us.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Went Out This Morning/ To Find A Poem
I WENT OUT THIS MORNING/TO FIND A POEM
I went out this morning
To find a poem-
But the heat was too great
The sun too strong
I had to find the shade instead
And finding it
I sat down on a green metal bench
And waited for
The line which
Might mean a poem
Has been written.
Instead a cool breeze
And a sense of rest and happiness
Came to me.
Life as it is now is a poem for me-
I don't know how long it will last
But here now
How happy I am
As this small poem is being written now.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A poem for you...
I write a poem for you today,
to get a place in your heart for ever
A poem that could tell you my love for you
I write my poem with emotion and affection
for you to understand my deep thoughts for you
A poem to love and a poem to understand its soul
A poem to enjoy and a poem to understand its happiness
A poem to think and a poem to understand its way of life
A poem to learn and a poem to understand its content
A poem to sing and a poem to understand its melody
A poem to cry and a poem to understand its sorrow
There are poems I have written but this is specially for you
The poem could tell you how important you are for me
There are words comes out freely from my mind to write poem
but there are no words to find my love for you
Those words can not missed as I miss your love today
Let me have all those words put in to my heart and
say I love to write a love poem for you
Ravi Sathasivam / Sri Lanka
Copyright ©2004 Ravi Sathasivam
poem by Ravi Sathasivam
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The Poet Is Looking For Love Deep İn The Night
sometimes you may find
sincerity to a poem as to
the date when it is written,
the hour particularly tells you
that a poem is written when
everyone in the house is
fast asleep, and
that someone
cannot sleep, because he
has to write some words for
someone, who
too, cannot
sleep,
not really because they
are insomniacs, much less
vampires looking for blood,
but perhaps someone
who is
looking for love, even in the
dark, even in the wee hours
even when love
is no longer
there, even when the night
is dead, even when there is
no one alive in this world
to tell him that he is alive
and must by all means and
at all cost, deserve to
be happy.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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