What A Small Poem It Will Be!
I have written a lot yet it seems
Nothing has been penned,
I have to sketch yet
The countenance of my dream,
And grip its realization in close palm,
Because the heart still palpitates,
And pain resides in there,
Dust of the past moments jab the eyes,
Someone’s memories make the lashes sodden,
And shehnai still weeps.
I have to write yet on water,
And all around will be the tale of separation,
What a small poem it will be…
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The Best Poem
when you plant a seed
in the ground, and
water it, work it, weed it
till it grows... you've written
the best poem you'll ever write.
when you make a baby,
waiting and planning for birth;
and you raise this child to adulthood
with respect... you've written
the best poem you'll ever write.
when you live your life
working honestly, giving
all that you are and can be,
never holding back... you've written
the best poem you'll ever write.
when you go to death openly
with no regrets, not clinging
to dreams that were not real,
owning no one... you've written
the best poem you'll ever write.
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poem I Would Write Now-Can Be Written In Seconds
THE POEM I WOULD WRITE NOW/ CAN BE WRITTEN IN SECONDS
The poem I would write now
Can be written in seconds -
A small poem
Easy to remember
A poem which will give hope and happiness
To others-
Who also write poetry
And dream of their own poems
As I do of mine.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Why I Write?
When indelible memories of the past,
Torment my heart and mind; I write.
When mist floats in front of the eyes,
The light comes from behind; I write.
When the men of the callous world,
Compel me to be confined; I write.
When my heart weeps wailing upon
The wise being led by the blind; I write.
When in self schemed distribution I see
The deserving limping behind; I write.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Fleeting Moments
Blending bitter and sweet memories,
The fleeting moments pass quickly,
Fall into the measureless depth of past.
Inspire or despond when are recalled,
Flow too rapid like hissing water,
Of the silent brimming river,
That mixes opaque into clear blue,
To be poured into the gapped ocean,
With spacious belly never to be filled.
The moments in hands are precious,
And if coated with good deeds,
Make the past sweet, worth recalling,
But heinous deeds make them sooty sable,
Imprinting dark indelible stamps,
Only the bright eyes can read well,
The impressions on the countenance,
And ascetic or diabolical signs,
When one is old and close to death.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bring Me Back My Eyes
Bring me back my eyes,
For I shall behold
All colours of the universe.
I shall captivate
The galaxies in my eyes,
And steal all colours of roses
To adorn my countenance.
I shall behold
How the pang of separation
Inscribes lines on the forehead,
How love makes
Hermits the kings,
And union fills
The eyes with stars.
I shall behold
How tears dropp
From the lashes when one weeps,
And if one laughs impulsively
How pink roses
Bloom instantly on the lips.
I shall behold
Why the snakes complain
Against the lady of night,
How the petals uncatch themselves
From the flowerer-flies,
Why the butterflies become
Gloomy seeing the flowers,
Who wrote all the mysteries
On the chest of mother Earth.
I yearn to pick
All seasons with the lashes.
O! My love,
You keep the reality with yourself,
But only once show me a dream
Though glimmering
Like a tiny glow-worm.
By Fakhira Batool Translated By Muhammad Shanazar
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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The Poem -Written On The Small Pad
THE POEM / WRITTEN ON THE SMALL PAD
The poem/
Written on the small pad
In the almond tree park
Intersection Disraeli- Alkalai
The poem of the past days
The poem of the light – rain beginning,
Another Jerusalem poem-
Four- thousand years of Jerusalem poems
I from Troy, New York
Thirty- five years in Israel
Nearly sixty- eight years of age
Write.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There Are Days No Poem Can Be Written
THERE ARE DAYS NO POEM CAN BE WRITTEN
There are days no poem can be written
Grief and worry frighten the poem away
Yet the poem lives hidden
For our darkest moments our loneliest fears
Too need their poetry.
Poetry is a way of saying all we need to say
It is our deepest feeling most deeply expressed
It is all we are
The whole of our being
In words.
When a poet dies
Words die
When I will die
All I am will no longer be able to write
One more poem.
How afraid I am in the night
And how dark in the early morning before I rise
But now that I am here
Writing this
A bit of hope begins in me
And I can dream that
When I walk out the door
a few minutes from now
A new day will begin.
How many days I have left
How many poems to write
I do not know.
It is not light yet
And the darkness is still here
But I will feel the morning again
This morning
Thank G-d
You have given me so many poems.
A few small words
help me believe
I truly am alive.
.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Write To Write To Write
I WANT TO WRITE TO WRITE TO WRITE
I write to write to write-
A poem must be more than a straining against Emptiness-
A poem must be more than making a name.
A poem should be food for the heart and soul and mind
It should make us feel the world with new love
It should make us want to live more and more
A poem should make us love life
It should be written for its readers
And not for its poet alone
A poem should make us want to be in this world
In greater beauty and greater love.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Is This The Best Poem I Can Write?
IS THIS THE BEST POEM I CAN WRITE?
Is this the best poem I can write?
A poem without Hope,
Without Love,
Without Beauty.
Then why write any Poem at all?
For my own ambitious little name?
For some remembrance of me I dream
Others may have?
For some Love I need so deeply
And live without?
For the child I have always been
And continue wrongly to be?
For just me?
Me Me Me.
There are better people elsewhere
Let God shine His Countenance on them –
Also.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poem Of All The Places I Have Never Been
THE POEM OF ALL THE PLACES I HAVE NEVER BEEN
The poem of all the places I have never been
The poem of all the dreams I have not seen
The poem of others poems written in lines I have never imagined
The poem of the infinite – what-is- not and ‘what- will- never- be
The poem of seas and suns and sounds and Shakespeare’s sonnets,
The poem of words and only words whose sounds do not mean what we feel
The poem of all I would not and cannot write
The poem that is not and never will be in me
The poem I do not write
The poem I am not
The poem lost
The poem which itself is not a poem
The poem of the last contradiction and the first
The poem beyond the poem hidden within the poem
The poem which will never be a poem
The poem which is not
The poem I cannot dream.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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While My Guitar Gently Weeps...
It's hard to tell how many regrets my heart keeps,
After the scars of my heart I see.
Eyes fall short of tears to cry,
While my guitar gently weeps...
When my present turns back and into the past it peeps,
Delightful memories flood in with a sweet pain.
All the anguish comes out through the strings,
While my guitar gently weeps...
As the nostalgia
on my broken heart creeps,
I curse myself for my blunders.
Nobody can ever hear my heart sob,
While my guitar gently weeps...
It is so unfair that the whole world peacefully sleeps,
And has faithful people to care.
But I have nobody to console me,
While my guitar gently weeps...
-SUJAY.S.P
poem by Sujay Patekar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Poem To Change The World
I wish I could write a poem that would change the world
A world with barbwire fences
Try to cross and you get stuck
You get pinned and you can’t come back
Ya
If I could just write a poem that would take those barbwire fences down
I wish I could write a poem that would change the world
With spotlights that blind rather than show the way
You have to look away
With spots in your eyes you cannot see
Ya
If I could just write a poem that would turn those spot lights away
I wish I could write a poem that would change the world
Airplanes that get you there if you can pay the fair
If you’re poor, you will work hard but go no where
Those who fly, are they thankful to the sky
Ya
If I could just write a poem that would make this world fair
I wish I could write a poem that would change the world
What is worse is war
And it is over there, where we send our children
There is nothing here but fear
Ya
I wish I could write a poem that make that no more
How much longer will the birds and trees
have to put up with our dirty breeze
All the water in this world
someday none of it will be safe to drink
If I could just write a poem that would clean up this mess
poem by Roger Harkness
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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One By One
Bobby lakind/michael mcdonald
Where and why Im destined to go
Right here and now thats all I know
On either side future or past
Neither is real both fade so fast
So one by one were given these moments to live just as one by one theyre taken away
So one by one Im taking each day in my stride
And one by one the memories stay
Good times are still there to find
When times are their worst
Keep your eyes open wide
cause through it all are moments that shine
And moments that glow
Im gonna be there for mine
So one by one were given these moments to live just as one by one theyre taken away
So one by one Im taking each day in my stride
And one by one the memories stay
Even when youre close to a dream
It can still let you down
Youll always have a chance to give up
So why do it now
So one by one were given these moments to live just as one by one theyre taken away
So one by one Im taking each day in my stride
And one by one the memories stay
song performed by by Doobie Brothers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There Is No Poem I Can Write
THERE IS NO POEM I CAN WRITE
There is no poem I can write
That can solve the problems of my life-
A poem may save for a moment
Or give hope for a brief time
I may make me believe in myself again
For an instant-
It cannot make money
Or improve the situation
Of those I care about-
It cannot even now
Shake me from my despair
My sense of myself going down
A poem can be only very small help now
Very very small
It cannot even make me wholly believe
In the so- called poem I am writing now.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Yesterday's Dream
I don’t want to sleep so soon
Yesterday’s dream is still raw
Triggering a dust-storm in the eyes
Raising red dust, comes sleep
Tuptup, flap the doors of lashes
And just close by themselves
Dream, like a flood, comes
Carrying the broken logs of memories
As if they were rafts
I become homeless
In yeasterday’s sleep
I trembled in fear
In yesterday’s flood
No, not so soon
Yesterday’s dream is still raw
Dream, an invisible wound—
Inflicted upon by a reluctant sleep
That comes and goes at its will
Dream, the secret of
Death of imagination and fear
It appears in thousand postures
Like a friend, dead
Aslo sparkles for once
Amidst endless thoughts
Yesterday’s dream—
Still raw…
15 Oct 2010
00.09hrs
*Original in Telugu by Vinnakota Ravishankar
poem by Indira Babbellapati
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Picture this
On then off relationship does it make sense? My heart
doesn’t understand this nonsense. My heart thinks on its own.
It holds defense when love is doing wrong. Holds offense
to keep its love at a steady beat and in control. My heart
even plays music cause it knows your favorite old R&B songs.
My heart keeps memories of special moments so when I think
of the bad I see the good and wont be mad or sad. My heart
knows it can't win a fight against love. My heart can stay up late
night and argue with love. My heart can't hide love in the dark
because my heart likes to show off love in during day light.
But we can make love at the stroke of midnight. My heart can’t lie
about love. My heart will write about love telling love how much big
love I got over the love I already got for love. My heart can't run from
love don't want to leave it behind. My heart rather walking close to love
to catch everything my heart needs from love. My heart can’t be in two
different places cause it only remember one face. My heart will do
anything to prove its love. My heart can’t close its eyes on love but
my heart could dream about love when I sleep. My heart is not about
to beg for love either you want me or you don't. And they say a person
heart doesn't have a brain.
Does everything happens for a reason or because
how the seasons changes maybe we just don't see
the blessing we have in front of us.
poem by Randy Bullocks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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No One Can Write A Poem For All The Pain Of The World
NO ONE CAN WRITE A POEM FOR ALL THE PAIN OF THE WORLD
No one can write a poem for all the pain of the world-
No one can write a poem that can truly heal another’s suffering-
A poem may help in a small way sometimes,
It may bring a bit of light,
But it rarely can cure-
So many I know have sufferings,
And so many need help.
A poem is a prayer to God
For help for those suffering-
May more kindness come to the world
And your and our pain
Be less.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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This Poem Is Not A Dream
THIS POEM IS NOT A DREAM
This poem is not a dream
It comes from where so many true poems come
From the other side of the mind
When it does not know peace -
From the waking desire
The hunger that is not satisfied
The lonely life and the lonely mind-
It comes from the search for love
And the love itself – the joy of love-
And from the memory of what we most deeply know when we are ourselves in love of another-
This poem is not a dream-
It comes from the waking world and the waking words-
The hard truths the bitter small things
The disappointments and rejections
The endless small humiliations which Time and Chance make of us all-
This poem comes from where we are most human
With the pain of those closest to us-
And our longing to save them and be loved forever by them-
The dream is not the poem
Life in its all its endless difficulties is the poem
And this poem too
Does not say half of all the hurt I have suffered in this one small day alone.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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