En.Citatepedia^®.ro

I Have Written This Poem

i have written this poem
at early dawn
when the heavy rains
of the evening
stopped falling
when the birds
on the trees
start to fly again

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

A Poem Can Be Written Too Early

A POEM CAN BE WRITTEN SO EARLY

A poem can be written so early
That even the morning light
Won’t see it.

A poem can be written too soon.

A poem can be written before it exists
And so never be
Despite the fact that it is.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Smoke Spreading Under The Trees

the smoke spread under the trees
from a certain burning firewood
on the house not far from where we talk

it spreads far
and this evening as i get too bored
we look at the hazy subject matter
as it moves farther to a certain visible distance

and despite the pollution
i imagine something more artful than this damage to my lungs

under the trees
the smog is beginning to shape itself
into a chine painting
of the dawn and its mist
like a poem written
by one of the poets that i love to read

Tu Fu, Li Po,
or was it Kulafu?

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

I Wanted To Start The Day With A Poem

I wanted to start the day with a poem
I heard instead a blessing for washing my hands
I wanted to start the day with a poem
“My eyes are lifted to the hills
From whence cometh my help”
I wanted to start the day with a poem
“Never did sun more beautifully steep in its first splendor
Valley rock or hill”
I wanted to start the day with a poem-
So I stopped and listened again
And waited to hear myself from inside
While my eyes were enraptured by the everyday light of things
I wanted to start the day with a poem
And the day started without me
And the poem said itself quietly
And waited while I happily wrote it down.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Poem Of The Evening

THE POEM OF THE EVENING

The poem of the evening
Is a small poem
It waits for its own words
And hears itself come slowly and surely
It knows by the time the darkness is here
It will already be real.

The poem of the evening
Is an easy and small poem
It may not mean much
But it comes so smoothly
It seems to laugh at the heat of the day
And love itself for being here.

The poem of the evening
After the long day
Is a happy poem

And it looks forward to praying the evening prayer forever.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Julias Song

The means to an end
The sinful distress
Writing down meaningless words
Vaguely off hand
So the rest of the band
Can learn from the bees and the birds
Concentrate business man you,
You havent got long
Planets are ruling your hearts
Stilletos and thighs may be burning your eyes
But it keeps you from falling apart
Heavy but generalised
Sordid and wet
Someone advised me to die
Blowing your mind
cause you know what youll find
When youre looking for things in the sky
Under the influence
Rotting our nerves
Cutting us off at the mains
Nearing the end with your grandmothers friend
Its something to do when it rains
Its something to do when it rains
Its something to do when it rains

song performed by by Omd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Nature's Outburst

night
and heavy rains
inside a boat
the sounds of big waves
shall this boat
break into a half?
shall there be
another wailing
and then with a snap
everything shall be gone?
the torrential rains
the currents and the
crew on watch
until the light is seen
from the tower
and the port
and the arrival
all sighs gone
what is it? there is none
there is nothing.

and then the rains stopped
the sun comes
it is morning.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

There Is A Poem Of The Evening

THERE IS A POEM OF THE EVENING

There is a poem of the evening
never written before.

The tiredness of time
And the tiredness of mind
take flight.
when in the cool corner
of the silent light
Lines are put down
Slowly
One by one,
As if in forgiveness
For all the sins of omission
Of a life
that never came to be
what it dreamed

In the evening here
After the long day
And who knows how much time he has left
as these lines are written.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Early Morning Walk

the night is gone
the rains stop

to start with
i take a walk

to greet the early
morning with the silence

of my heart to listen
to the songs of birds

high on those trees
as i tread the grass that

covers the path where some
friends used to walk

someone so active has
succumbed to cancer of

the colon the other with
a white beard gave in

to a coronary defect
the old couple still take

their walk here and when
we meet we smile perhaps

thanking the Lord that we
are still here talking

our usual walk on an
early morning waiting for

the sun to shine upon our
weary minds.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

A Poem Should Not Be Written-When One Is Waiting For A Bus

A POEM SHOULD NOT BE WRITTEN-WHEN ONE IS WAITING FOR A BUS

A poem should not be written
When one is waiting for a bus
And simply trying to pass the time.

It should be written in solitude
After deep reflection
Ripeness as all
The falling fruit-

But this poem
Knows no ‘should’-
Knows only the long desperation
Of the happy holiday day-

Writing the words down quietly-
As if anything and everything I have to say
Is really
The poem I have religiously long waited for.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Poem Of The Evening Is A Quiet Poem

THE POEM OF THE EVENING IS A QUIET POEM

The poem of the evening is a quiet poem
It comes in gentleness with tired eyes
It does not know how long it will last
It believes a fresh breeze
And a simple song
Are all its needs
To feel happiness.

The poem of the evening this evening
Believes in life
Believes in Goodness of God
Believes it will somehow be alright.

The poem of the evening this evening
May be a foolish one
But it is a quietly happy one.

We need such poems sometimes
For life is hard in the long working days
And in the times of difficult idleness
When no dreams come.

Quiet and quiet
Soft as sleep
The poem of the evening this evening
Is a gentle one.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

In the dusk of the evening the bird of some early dawn comes to the nest of my silence.

aphorism by Rabindranath Tagore from Stray Birds (1916), translated by Rabindranath Tagore
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!

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
Vote! | Copy!

This Is Just An Exercise

this poem
is a morning poem

i write it when
the sun begins to peep
between the two hills
where my house
stands

i write it when the dews
are still alive
glistening with life
on the green leaves
on the white petals
of the flowers

i write it when the birds
start to chirp
and in flocks start
to leave the trees
where they
sleep for the
whole dark night

oh, this poem is nothing
it is just an idea
just an exercise of the mind
this morning

just to assure myself
that i am still a rational being
in touch with art
honed to the skills
of humanity

oh, this is just nothing
but a prelude
to my day

a day
when we wish
we are not thinking at all

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Nothing..

This poem is not about love..
This poem is not about pain..
This poem is not about the things i have learned...

This poem is not for the broken hearted..
This poem is not for the ones seeking help..
This poem is not for the depressed...
This poem is for no one,
Because no one can contain nothing...

This poem is not filled with wisdom..
This poem was not written with love...
This poem was not written for a lover nor a brother...

This poem was nothing special...
Not quite remarkable....
But it is nothing because that what it was...
Nothing and it will never be anything...

poem by Jenna Marie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

I Wanted A Poem In The Early Morning-Even Before The Darkness Had Gone

I WANTED A POEM IN THE EARLY MORNING

I wanted a poem in the early morning
Even before the darkness had gone-
I wanted to hear words
That meant music
That said I was alive and could write-
I wanted a poem in the early morning
So that I could be justified
For the rest of the day-
Time and again I have written that poem
I write it now -
How wonderful when it flows as if it is real
I may never know that it is
But in writing it, thank God, I feel alive and blessed

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

One summer when the wind was strong

This is the place, now we are here again

I remember that summer when the wind was strong
And everything around us was dry,

The acacia trees towered and showered us with
Round leaves falling and falling and falling

Some birds were there and they flew away
Some cars were there and they speeded away

It was getting dark and it was a dry summer
We stayed there for a while when the leaves fell

Then we went under the trees not seeking shelter
But to catch those leaves falling and falling and falling

We are trying to feel again what falling was
We are here on this summer, we see the leaves

Falling and falling again to the dry wind,
We try to recall about us, but there is simply

Nothing about us anymore, but just the same
The leaves fall and fall and fall, we see them reenacting

There is that meaning; there it is in the falling
But we have outgrown it, we look for more, we hope

We can find some more, something beyond us.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

They’re Digging Their Own Graves

Flowers stopped blooming
Birds stopped nesting
Few leaves left
The tree was shocked
Failed to understand
The reason behind
Wore a dejected look
On the face
Prayed to god
Give me back
My flowers and birds
God replied
The human greed
Does not end
They leave no means
To achieve their ends
Take lives, cut trees
Do not realize
They are digging
Their own graves
Without animals and trees
No man would survive
If humans understand
You shall get
Flowers and birds back
I only provide
How to preserve?
They have to decide

poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!