It Is Not In The Rhyme Or The Meter Or The Message
it is simply
in the finding
of the spot
where you
are badly
hit and now
looking for
a cure that
makes a
poem real
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Poem Waits In Me
A POEM WAITS IN ME
A poem waits in me
I feel it
I slowly let it come
It does not say what it will be yet
It is a kind of small mystery
A question soon answered
A poem is being written through me
I let it come
It makes believe it knows it is real
And I am simply its passive dictation- taking vehicle.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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To All Those Whose Poems I Have Not Read
TO ALL THOSE WHOSE POEMS I HAVE NOT READ
To all those whose poems I have not read
Who have said a kind word about mine-
I apologize
I simply am too selfish
And do not want to give the time-
I too do not want to lie
What if I do not like your poem?
And also I do not want to recognize
So many ‘equals' when I am after all to myself ‘the poet'-
An apology is of course not a real answer
Perhaps I will try to do better in the future-
But I do feel badly about this-
Please go on without me
There is a big world out there
And many listeners who hopefully
Will give time and attention to your poem
As I have regrettably not.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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What Make A Poem A Poem?
What makes a poem a poem
Is it the story it tells
The feeling it sells.
what makes a poem a poem
is it the history it shows
or the letters of word flow
do the lines mater it they rhyme
or not, can it be free verse of
abcabc line schem,
What makes a poem a poem
is it the words i repeat
Or the emotion they cove.
What makes a poem a poem
this POEM assures YOU that....
this POEM is not
a product of a philosophical quibbling
not a part of guidance
and counseling like what sometimes
nagging mothers do
not a scolding like what fathers do
to their sons who are feeling lost
and unwanted
this poem shall not ask you to confess
your sins
like what religions do
calling for this and that
for absolution and deliverance
or purification
neither will this poem be a doctor
giving you the cure
for whatever sickness you have
this poem when you read it
till the last simply assures you
that you are not alone
when you read even if you do not try to understand
there is this comfort
that in our loneliness we are never alone
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Love Is Not Like A Poem
the years of experience
of being real, concrete as
cemented pavements, real as
these hands that are warm
and callous, love has not become
like a poem
where metaphors are written
for more understanding
pulsating hearts
and other nuances of
sly literature, words, and more words,
and more connotations and denotations
of this image and that image
this scent of roses and colors of sunsets
too beautiful to behold in our mortal
eyes and bleeding hearts
my love is real, it feeds on love and thrives
on your love, my love is real like stones
i hurl and disturbs the calm waves
of the sea,
my love is not like a poem
need i say, it is more than any poem
beyond metaphors
and images, the face that i touch
the lips that i kiss, and the night
cold enough for us to think
that we badly need this hug.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I'd Love To Write A Love Poem For You
I'd love to write a poem for you
Want to make it good
I want it to be romantic
As you might think it should
You're a vision in my head
And I can't believe you're real
You attend the U of Sexuality
And got straight A's in sex appeal
You're as metaphorical as a simile.
And poetic like a rhyme.
I'd like to write a poem for you
Got some better ways to spend my time.
Like to hug you or to kiss you
or to give you a ride
To take you out to dinner
or to please you from inside.
Id like to write a poem for you
but I'd rather not instead
I love to drive you all around
While you are giving head.
I love to please you with my fingers
I love to make you scream
I love to write you poetry
Love to see you when I dream.
I'd like to write a poem for you
a love poem, there's no doubt
I like when there is no one home
And you're free to moan and shout
I like it when you call me names
And even when you're sad
Its me you trust to make you smile
And that just makes me glad
I think you're great I think you're hot
I think you think the same
I think its not a lie to say
We'd win, if love's a game.
I'd love to be near you all the time
but that simply ain't the case,
Can't believe it's been 3 weeks
Since I saw that pretty face
I'd love to have you by my side
As I lay on this bed
I shall have to settle for,
Your image in my head
I can't wait to hold you or
to kiss you with my mouth
My life is tops when with you
And without you headed south.
I'd love to write you a love poem
but I'm afraid it seems like jokes
I know you don't like cholesterol
So for your eggs I'll cut out the yokes
When you and I embrace again
I'll hold you oh so tight,
I'll kiss your every skin cell
I'm gonna love you right
I love it when you use your mouth
Especially when I'm baked
I love to look at your body
Especially when its nake'd
I want you so so badly
I miss you so so much
I want you as my lifeline
I need you as my crutch
I'd love to write you a poem
but I'm scared I'd never stop
So I'll just keep on writing
Until my eyelids drop
And then when I arise
I'll probably write some more
And I'll just keep on writing
Until your at my door.
I'm not sure you'll get to this line,
As this poem is f***in' long
So you don't have to read it,
but I'm picturing you in a thong
It looks so very sexy
As on you all things do,
I really want you here with me
I really love you, too.
poem by Les Wordsmore
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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.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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All About You
(v. peterson)
Vicki
You were so amused when I made myself available
You had to ask if it was all intentional
Well somethings going on, on and on
Somethings going on, going on and on
Im finding out all about you
The sun is hiding and the car is running badly
I know only one way a friend should kiss a friend goodbye
But somethings going on, on and on
Somethings going on, going on and on
Im finding out all about you
Youre taking it all to hard, Ive nothing left to fight you with
All your pretty things are merely to create the myth
That somethings going on, on and on
Somethings going on, going on and on
Im finding out all about you
Yeah somethings going on, on and on
Somethings going on, going on and on and
Im finding out all about you, yeah
Im finding out all about you
song performed by by Bangles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Wanted My Poem To Be A Real Poem
I WANTED MY POEM TO BE A REAL POEM
I wanted my poem to be a real poem-
I have read and studied and memorized
So many real poems-
I wanted my poem to be one of them
Which others would read and feel and memorize
And make their own –
We want and we want and we want
And who are we with all our wanting?
Who am I with all my wanting?
One more dreamer
One more ambitious person
One more lover of poems
One more writer of poems
One more wanter of real poems
Who writes this poem
For others
who dream like me
of writing real poems.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poem's Truth Is That It Says More Than It Knows
THE POEM’S TRUTH IS THAT IT SAYS MORE THAN IT KNOWS
The poem’s truth is that it says more than it knows
That it goes beyond its own intention
That it means in more than only one way
The poem’s truth is its hidden music
And the melody it plays through and beyond our listening
A poem’s truth answers itself in endless questions and ambiguities
No wonder no one simply reads these simple words
As if they were simply written.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Thought To Begin The Day With A Poem
I THOUGHT TO BEGIN THE DAY WITH A POEM
I thought to begin the day with a poem
But inside myself I hear only my own slow emptiness
Word by word I try to hear
And there is some small motion now
But still
A real poem
A poem of beauty
A poem of light
A poem of love
A poem that makes the dreamer long to dream-
And the lover long to love-
A poem that moves-
Well it is very very dark outside
And the world straining to give
Small rain to a dry land
Seems to say,
‘There may be a poem today
But it is not the poem you dream
Not the poem others will love
As you have loved
True poetry.’
poem by Shalom Freedman
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This Poem
THIS POEM
This poem
This first poem
This last poem
This poem that invented Poetry
This one and only one poem
This fictional poem
This ideal poem
This perfect poem
This would – be holy poem
This unreal poem
This poem which is not a poem
This poem which is the essence of all poetry
This poem
And that poem
And my poem
And your poem
And all poems
Poem poem poem poem poem
This poem
Mine and yours
This one small poem of so so many
And not such a good poem at all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Poem Which Makes No Reference To Poetry
A POEM WHICH MAKES NO REFERENCE TO POETRY
A poem which makes no reference to poetry
And does not wonder who and what the poet is-
A poem that makes meanings of life outside the world of its own self- reflection-
A poem that is what life is
In some far and different way-
That poem
Waiting elsewhere
Written by someone else
So great in its beauty
And so powerful in its light
That poem written by someone else
About something I know nothing about
In a way I never dreamed or imagined
That poem is not written by me
And never will be.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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mozart's piano concerto 26 in D
what you do not know is that when i write a poem
i have mozart's piano music behind my mind
for instance take this one,
what is the plan? what is the theme of this one?
i am focused on the notes of beethoven
running wildly on the screen
of this computer
which of course, you may conclude, like an ordinary mortal,
that these notes somehow cannot be seen
running and running as they seem to be
for they are just in the imagination of my mind
like this poem
what do you think is this all about?
is this going to be about something
as you
and all of you would like to have,
a poem in utility like your car that finds significance only
for as long as it starts to run
like your tissue that you take without so much fuss
when you sneeze and you need it badly to cover your mouth?
this poem is not about it
it is simply a musical piece that plays itself
stays in the middle of your thoughts
fertilizes your imagination
and yet fruitlessly, it merely passes in your mind
and then stops
and then you say, it is not like my car, not like my tissue
just this one: nothing at all for use, but for time to let it pass itself,
to survive the stagnancy of your hours
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Oh Poem -Where Are You?
OH POEM-WHERE ARE YOU?
Oh poem- Where are you?
Come, release me from the burden of this day
The guilt of not doing anything
Help me pretend
That by writing you
I am truly doing something.
O poem here you are
This is you
Yet another self- justification
In a world which has so many more real pains.
Oh poem
Be kind a bit
Help someone
Anyone
Even just one reader
Feel that this dawn now
Can be the start
Of a real day.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Oh Poem-Where Are You?
OH POEM-WHERE ARE YOU?
Oh poem- Where are you?
Come, release me from the burden of this day
The guilt of not doing anything
Help me pretend
That by writing you
I am truly doing something.
O poem here you are
This is you
Yet another self- justification
In a world which has so many more real pains.
Oh poem
Be kind a bit
Help someone
Anyone
Even just one reader
Feel that this dawn now
Can be the start
Of a real day.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Poem.
I do not like the silly poem,
I do not like the angsty poem,
I do not like the ridiculous poem,
I do not like the damned poem,
I do not like the cheesy poem,
I do not like the random poem,
Or the epic poem,
Or the dandy poem,
Or the long poem,
Or the short poem,
Or the stupid poem,
Or the rude poem,
Or the useless poem,
Or the wordless poem,
Or the poem poem,
Or the poem poem's daughter,
Or the word, Poem,
I like the story.
poem by Aisha Patterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poem.
I do not like the silly poem,
I do not like the angsty poem,
I do not like the ridiculous poem,
I do not like the damned poem,
I do not like the cheesy poem,
I do not like the random poem,
Or the epic poem,
Or the dandy poem,
Or the long poem,
Or the short poem,
Or the stupid poem,
Or the rude poem,
Or the useless poem,
Or the wordless poem,
Or the poem poem,
Or the poem poem's daughter,
Or the word, Poem,
I like the story.
poem by David Carter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Am Not Alone In My Poem- Am I?
I AM NOT ALONE IN MY POEM- AM I?
I am not alone in my poem- am I?
You You are with me in my Poem
You are my Poem.
And I? I am simply the mouth the voice the vehicle
Though which the sounds are written and saved.
You You are the Poem
And the All- Praise
And I am the one going away forever.
While You You Stay For Everyone Everywhere
You You the Reader and The Writer of All
And I I the simple sharer disappear.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Painful Irony Of Ironic Pain
I'm sad today
Sad today
Oh, so very sad today
And yes
I'll tell you why
You see
I had one spot
One small area
One last portion of my body
That didn't HURT!
Well
It started hurting today
It simply started as a twinge
An inconveniance really
Then it just began to ache
And then to throb
Now it's unbearable
On a scale of one to ten, with ten being the worst pain I've ever felt, it is now a ten
The last painfree spot on my body is now a painful ten!
So I'm sad
I was saving that spot.
It was my favorite area.
Not any more
Now, my whole body hurts
And what really makes matters worse it that,
Today
Is my
Birthday!
poem by Bob Eichen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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