0377 Should be, but

I should be writing a poem
about those small wisps of white cloud
moving unusually fast across a blue blue sky
on their way to somewhere else
as if they're late for an appointment.

I should be writing a poem
about the way the breeze is so gentle
that it seems to have a secret plan with the sun
and the new green leaves
to do something quite extraordinary.

I should be writing a poem
about the way that the trailing geranium leaves
are giving out a scent more white than green
more heavenly than any thought.

I should be writing a poem
about the way that the purple and blue and yellow and white flowers
seem to say nothing but beauty.

I should be writing a poem
but all I can do is gaze in amazement
at what I've seen before
and never seen before.

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I'm Not Writing A Poem Today

I'm not writing a poem today, don't feel like writing,
Instead I'll watch soaps today, while nail-biting.
I'm not writing a poem today, I'm just going to sleep soon,
Instead I'll later wake up and look at the white moon,
I'm not writing a poem today, I'm just going to be sad,
Instead I'm going to search for something else that makes me glad.
So peace be unto anyone that reads the letter here,
For I am not writing a poem today, just going to get a beer.

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Not The Poem Then

NOT THE POEM THEN

Not the poem then
Although it can be the poem
Writing
Simply writing
This is the duty and the meaning
And the release from meaninglessness
And the ‘enabling me to go on’
The poem is only one form of it
It is the writing which matters
My life has been this
This writing
Even if it is a poor poem now
As I write these words
I live.

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The Poem I Am Writing Now

The poem I am writing now
does not know if it will be finished
it does not even know if it will be a poem -
it is slowly appearing line by line
and making its own meaning on the page-

Is it worth anything?
will anyone care?
I don't know -

The poem I am writing now
is just these lines
and these lines like all lines
are only small words
in a vast universe
that has long lived
and will probably longer live
without them.

Why then write these words now?

The poem I am writing now is saying,
'I am here now'.

But why should this mean anything to anyone else?

The poem I have written here
is not the poem I would have posted here
It is only the poem I am finishing now
a poem without great love or belief in itself.

The poem I am writing now
is written.

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The Only Poem Is The Poem/ At The Moment Of Its Writing

THE ONLY POEM IS THE POEM

The only poem is the poem
At the moment of its writing
The poem being lived now
The poem I am trying to make
The poem of these lines.

The only poem now is this one-
And this poem is so small and so self- reflexive
That it is not much of a poem at all.

The only poem is not much of a poem at all
This one
And me now? .

But what about everything else I have not done?

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I have wisdom

I have wisdom
I am writing poem.

I am not a child of market
I am not calling you to gossip
I am not writing a poem
To divert your attention
From main point of discussion.

I am writing poem for you
And you are reading my poem
With full seriousness.

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They Say It Is My Brain That Is Writing This Poem

THEY SAY IT IS MY BRAIN THAT IS WRITING THIS POEM

They say it is my brain that it is writing this poem-
They can see areas of it shutting down
And others lighting up more intensely,
As the words come down-

But I know it is me who is writing this poem
And my brain is only ‘part' of who I am
Whatever that means.

I am writing this poem
And you are reading it
And we are human beings
Aren't we?

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How to write a Poem?

Must I know what I write down
Meaningless or meaning found
Making poem, don’t know how
Must I know what I write down

Does a poem need to breathe
To plan a knit into a weave
Or can it start not to conceive
A poemed haze is free to breathe

Writing breath from writing down
The poem tilts as I think now
Bias nature changing how
The poem writes, still writing down

No thought, no poem, here with me
Should I stop or let it be
Bleeding brain, becoming free
Rereading, learning, me for me

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My Blue Poem

Writing my blue poem
With my pink pen...
Mellow blue,
Sweet Aster sugar blue,
Sad sighing blue,
Mid-night sky blue
Blues singing, crying blue...
'Lady Day' blue
Soon smiling blue,
Because I am thinking of you,
Writing my blue poem
With a pink pen
Thinking of you


(11: 36-11: 37 p.m.
Oct.15,1998)

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Poem After Poem After Poem

POEM AFTER POEM AFTER POEM
POEM AFTER POEM AFTER POEM

Poem after poem after poem
But a poem is not the way out.
Money is depleting
Soon I’ll be without.

How will I manage to live then
What will become of us all?
To write a poem is to do nothing
When the writing is on the wall.

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I Am An Old Man Writing A Poem

I AM AN OLD MAN WRITING A POEM

I am an old man writing a poem
I have been writing a poem all my life
The lines seem somewhat blurred now
But what I have written
Will say I hope
Something of what we are
And what we have been
And what we will be.

I am an old man still writing a poem
And I love with all my heart all those
Who have lived their lives-
in one way or another – with me
I do not know how to thank you-
I write these lines to thank you
And pray for the goodness and blessing
Of your lives and the lives of those you love-
And will love-
Now here
And in all your time to come.

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The Poem I Am Writing/ Goes With Me Everywhere

THE POEM I AM WRITING/ GOES WITH ME EVERYWHERE

The poem I am writing
Goes with me everywhere
It is my life-
I cannot be without it-
I walk
And I feel
The poem comes to me
As the world does-
Outside and in-
Wherever I am
The poem is with me
And I am alive with it.

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With All The Reading and Writing I Do

With all the reading and writing I do
With all the work of the mind and heart
There comes a time
It can be any time
There comes a time
When the Poem must enter-

The Poem?
The deeper feeling-
The Music of the soul-
What I most need to say inside
The Writing which somehow surpasses all the other
In its inner intensity in its deepest feeling –

I write a poem now
All my heart mind soul
Go into every word and phrase.

The Poem? The Poem?
For which I write to live
And which through writing
I most live in Writing-
The Poem that this is.

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The Poem I Did Not Write Today

THE POEM I DID NOT WRITE TODAY

The poem I did not write today
Will never be written.
No one knows what it is
Or where it is
'How it can be? ' is another question
No one can answer.

The poem I did not write today
Never went away
It is always here with me and with you
It is the same simple poem
Written over and over again
In our everyday minds.

It is the poem of love of life
The poem of happiness
The poem of belief in God
And in the goodness in the world to come
It is the poem which believes too that poetry will help save the world.

It is the good poem
The happy poem
The poem I did not write today
Is the poem my life is writing now and always
And with you it says
‘What a miracle it is that we are here
reading and writing
and loving life as we do’.

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There Is No Poem To Begin The Week With

THERE IS NO POEM TO BEGIN THE WEEK WITH

There is no poem to begin the week with
Emptiness is the beginning
I try to think
I try to listen to some internal rhythm
I write words down
My thoughts are simple and self- referential
The green- yellow light is there outside my window
The world is moving
Am I writing a poem or simply writing whatever sentences come into my mind?
I sometimes think poetry never stops being written within me
At other times I believe I am just ambitious and pretentious
Today this is the beginning
These lines these words
A poem to begin the week with?

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The Poem About The Poem

The poem about the poem
And what is a poem?
And what is a poet?
And will the poem
Save me?
Help you?

And is writing the poem
The best I can do?
Or is it only words and more words?
Is the poem about the poem
For the poet only?
Or for each one reading and speaking and hearing it?

The poem about the poem
On this sunny spring Jerusalem morning
Peace and happiness in me -
The poem about the poem
For now.

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I Need A Poem More Than A Poem Needs Me

I NEED A POEM MORE THAN A POEM NEEDS ME

I need a poem more than a poem needs me.
I need a poem because I have no poem within me
I am lost
Dead inside
Needing a poem
Needing anything
These lines trying to be a poem
Tell me I can restore myself to being human
By writing a poem.

I do not know if it is much of a poem
But I am somewhat better now.

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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.

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The Writing Of The Poem/ Seems

THE WRITING OF THE POEM /SEEMS

The writing of the poem
Seems to be more to me
Than its reading.

I do not savor as I should
Each poem.
I do not wait with it long enough
And work on it long enough
And memorize it
Into precious possession.

Too many poems
Kill the singular poem
And as I write one more
I regret
How soon
I will forget it.

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A Poem Is Just A Poem

a poem is just a poem and if it is just a poem
it must be just a poem just like another poem

a poem is nothing but just a poem otherwise
it cannot be my poem; it may speak about

anything, or something, or about everything,
but my poem is just a poem just like anybody's

poem, which is just but a poem, like any other
poem, for a poem to be a poem it must just be

a poem: it has nothing to do with my love, and death
my life, or bliss, but as i have told you, once, twice

thrice, eat some rice, and be that wise, a poem is
just a poem, just like your poem. Why do you insist

on asking, what is happening to me? I am not a
poem, for i am but just the composer of the poem,

need i tell you again, that a poem is just a poem?
just like any other poem, which is just a poem

it is just a voice in my head that i have heard
someone comes and speaks and i listen so

this poem is not actually my poem but the poem
of someone else's: theirs not mine, from a mind.

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Your Dog Dies

it gets run over by a van.
you find it at the side of the road
and bury it.
you feel bad about it.
you feel bad personally,
but you feel bad for your daughter
because it was her pet,
and she loved it so.
she used to croon to it
and let it sleep in her bed.
you write a poem about it.
you call it a poem for your daughter,
about the dog getting run over by a van
and how you looked after it,
took it out into the woods
and buried it deep, deep,
and that poem turns out so good
you're almost glad the little dog
was run over, or else you'd never
have written that good poem.
then you sit down to write
a poem about writing a poem
about the death of that dog,
but while you're writing you
hear a woman scream
your name, your first name,
both syllables,
and your heart stops.
after a minute, you continue writing.
she screams again.
you wonder how long this can go on.

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