zPt #5 A Single Flower (repost)
If I could choose a single gift
to give to all mankind
I’d walk calmly to the backyard garden
where against the fence I’d find
a single flower, that grew
and bloomed in the spring
to wave in gentle breezes
and through it’s silence sing
the praises of the pure virtue, Love
and assure all men that there is good.
Mary Havran
(Written when poet was twelve years old)
A note to the reader: I have recently spent some time revisiting my earliest poetic efforts and upon reflection have decided to post some on this site. Poems whose titles are prefixed with the designation “zPt” are poems written during my preteen years. I hope you find them interesting.
poem by Mary Havran
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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zPt #5 A Single Flower
If I could choose a single gift
to give to all mankind
I’d walk calmly to the backyard garden
where against the fence I’d find
a single flower, that grew
and bloomed in the spring
to wave in gentle breezes
and through it’s silence sing
the praises of the pure virtue, Love
and assure all men that there is good.
Mary Havran
(Written when poet was twelve years old)
A note to the reader: I have recently spent some time revisiting my earliest poetic efforts and upon reflection have decided to post some on this site. Poems whose titles are prefixed with the designation “zPt” are poems written during my preteen years. I hope you find them interesting.
poem by Mary Havran
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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zPt #3 There is More
To exist is to breathe
and to walk when you must
To stand when there is no call to move
To see what lies before you
To hear the sounds of now
And to touch that which surrounds you
To live is to know that somewhere
...THERE IS MORE
Mary Havran
(Written when poet was eleven years old)
A note to the reader: I have recently spent some time revisiting my earliest poetic efforts and upon
Reflection have decided to post some on this sit. Poems whose titles are prefixed with the designation “zPt” are poems written during my preteen years. I hope you find them interesting
poem by Mary Havran
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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zPt #4 More Than Summer
When the sun is too bright I remember
I want to be more than a shadow
When the air gets too cool I am certain
I want to last more than a summer
Mary Havran
(Written when poet was eleven years old)
A note to the reader: I have recently spent some time revisiting my earliest poetic efforts and upon reflection have decided to post some on this site. Poems whose titles are prefixed with the esignation “zPt” are poems written during my preteen years. I hope you find them interesting
poem by Mary Havran
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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zPt #2 Hope
Hope
Not wind ~ but breeze
Not boat ~ but raft
Not fact ~ but presumption
Yet evident
and constant
... if I but consent
to keep on trying
Mary Havran
(Written when poet was eleven years old)
A note to the reader: I have recently spent some time revisiting my earliest poetic efforts and upon
Reflection have decided to post some on this sit. Poems whose titles are prefixed with the designation “zPt” are poems written during my preteen years. I hope you find them interesting.
poem by Mary Havran
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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zPt #1 Birth of a New Day
All is still and silent now
The world is at peace with man
The terrors of day are quiet now
Peace reigns throughout the land
Thin shades of night come creeping
slowly over the earth
Now in awesome stillness Earth lies
Like a woman awaiting the moment of birth
Remembering now, in fleeting moments last
too soon forgotten lessons
of a day almost past
If it were possible she’d sigh
‘Perhaps ‘tis best this way’
Dark battles for one last moment
... then the birth of a new day!
Mary Havran
(Written when poet was ten years old)
A note to the reader: I have recently spent some time revisiting my earliest poetic efforts and upon
Reflection have decided to post some on this sit. Poems whose titles are prefixed with the designation “zPt” are poems written during my preteen years. I hope you find them interesting.
poem by Mary Havran
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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LXXXV
Who are you, reader, reading my poems an hundred years hence?
I cannot send you one single flower from this wealth of the
spring, one single streak of gold from yonder clouds.
Open your doors and look abroad.
From your blossoming garden gather fragrant memories of the
vanished flowers of an hundred years before.
In the joy of your heart may you feel the living joy that sang
one spring morning, sending its glad voice across an hundred
years.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore from The Gardener (1913)
Submitted by Silvia Velea
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I Have Written Many Poor Poems
I have written many poor poems
That may not be poems at all -
They are single in dimension
Prose
In short lines of seemingly poetic form-
They do not call for their rereading
They are not difficult in ambiguities-
They seem to me only one simple clearly understood thing-
Like this poem
They can be understood at once
And forgotten soon after.
I have written many poor poems
That may not be poems at all
And this is another one.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Sometimes I Find Poems
Sometimes I find poems
Like they were jewels in the sand
So excellently written
A blessing to read and understand.
Sometimes I find poems
Composed like it was a work of art
The writer weaving word tapestry
As he writes diligently from his heart.
Sometimes I find poems
Laced with just verbal grime
With random musings or lost words
That to read them is a total waste of time.
So to the writers who value the pen
With all respect, I give you my salute
With the hope you keep writing again and again
And to this site your work you contribute!
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Past Written Poems I Confess I Dislike
I have past written poems
which I confess I dislike
occasionally intensely dislike
when publishing most poets
will not include bad poems
but contrast can be interesting
juxtaposition of poems
arranged in selection volume
major poems great poems
will vary from reader to reader
who likes simple who craves deep
artistry from all forms may creep
poem by Terence George Craddock
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I Have Written Too Many Imperfect Poems
I HAVE WRITTEN TOO MANY IMPERFECT POEMS
I have written too many imperfect poems
This is another one.
Years have gone by,
Where are the perfect poems?
A handful of true poems
And the poet does not die.
Where are mine?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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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
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Perhaps My Poems Have Already Been Written
PERHAPS MY POEMS HAVE ALREADY BEEN WRITTEN
Perhaps my poems have already been written
Perhaps it is all now senseless repetition
Perhaps I should just stop
And go on if I can to some other form of writing
God gives us what we have
We strive to go beyond ourselves
We can to a certain point
But then we have done what we have done
We can live a million years more
And write a million more poems
But what we have to write
Is done
Perhaps my poems have already been written
And small and poor and awkward as they are
Less than the truest poetry
They are what I have and am
Good-bye myself
I cannot go home.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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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.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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There Are Poems Too Painful To Be Written
THERE ARE POEMS TOO PAINFUL TO BE WRITTEN
There are poems too painful to be written
Poems also too shameful-
And poems that cannot be said,
Because of the pain they would give others.
No one can tell all their truth
Without hurting too much.
Silence may be sacred
Hiding – True Love.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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All I Can Do Now Is Write Another Poem
All I can do now is write another poem-
The poems are small,
And do not require the long hours and long years
Of the books-
Like the world as a whole
I seem to have a shorter attention span
And less patience-
A poem can be written and given a name
In minutes not years-
Though some would say a great poem
Takes the travail of years of waiting
And years of work-
But I did not say
‘All I can do now is write another great poem'
Perhaps I have in all the years of the nights never written one-
I can write the poems I write
My kinds of poems
In a fairly short time-
All I can do now
Is write another of my kind of poems-
Whether they be worth anything,
Or not.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Moments Of Writing Poetry
Draft poems sometimes like
loose ripped off pieces of paper
to be drafted out roughly upon.
Draft poems hang around
in the strangest places waiting
to be written out one day.
Draft poems wait for a poet
to wake at the beginning of day
to be written out, in any
seized moments, sacrificed.
This is now time, shower time, eating time,
reflective time, conversation time, work time;
t.v. time, driving time, riding motorcycle time,
going to sleep time, cooking time, or any time.
Draft poems can only be written
in spared moments of seized time.
Draft poems can only be written today,
they will not wait for fair weather like hay,
which lays around waiting to be harvested.
Draft poems will not wait for a clear sunny day to dawn,
and then mature slowly, over a perfect golden summer.
Draft poems are ever now or never
if they are ever to be swiftly written.
A draft may possibly be perfected
upon any future day of favoured writing;
but a draft never written is a poem
never written, never completed, never known.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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An Apology To The Reader Who Has Written Me A Message I Have Not Answered
AN APOLOGY TO THE READER WHO HAS WRITTEN A MESSAGE TO ME I HAVE NOT ANSWERED
The real apology is not this poem
It is one by one
Reader by reader
Answering each one
Who has ever written me.
It is reading all the poems of others
I do not want to say
A ‘real no’ or a ‘false yes’ to.
It is opening myself
To perhaps a true friend
To perhaps one whose writing
I see better than my own.
The real apology
Is in opening up to the poems of the many unknown others.
Will I do this
Will I give it the time
When I already am guilty
Of not using my limited time
To correct my past work?
Dear Reader,
I apologize, I do not know.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Poems Written About Poetry
The poems written about Poetry
Seemed to be self- indulgent and self- serving,
The Poet worshipping what he does
And making himself Holy-
But in some other way
They were simply Explorations
Efforts at understanding the Art
And improving the Music-
They were in their own quiet way small adventures
And gifts to other would- be- poets
And lovers of intense lines-
The poems written about the poetry
Were small additions to a long history
Poems about poems-
One kind of poem
In a world
Where there is no end to more and many.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Read Today A Hundred Poems
I read today a hundred poems
And cannot find
A single one that moved me -
Perhaps it is not the poems
But my poetic soul
that has no life -
I remember a poem
I read yesterday by Neruda
How beautiful how deep
How filled with passion and longing-
How rich in surprise-
I marvel at the greatness
Of his Poetry of Love-
There is Poetry
One only has to read a true poet
To find it.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Life Of Their Own....
if you give a poem to the world,
there need be no explanation.
for each one that opens it,
will find something different.
and you yourself,
if you come back three days,
or three years later,
you will see something different
in what you've written.
poems are not identity,
they are a gift....
they have a life of their own!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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