The Poem Not The Poet
she makes a mistake
having loved my poem
than myself,
she arrives at this
that i am more real there
than what i am
she loves making love
with the words
rather than my body
my torso she sets aside
my poems
the arms and legs
my metaphor the best
tongue ever
that licked the bare
shoulders of her soul
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Poem Is A Metaphor
THE POEM IS A METAPHOR
The Poem is a Metaphor
It means ‘the world’
It means ‘all that there is’
It means ‘the soul’
It means ‘our deepest feeling’.
The Poem is a Metaphor
It is more than what it just appears to be
It takes on a life of its own
It says more than it can define itself as
The Poem is a Metaphor
And it itself does not understand
Where it began and how it will end
And whether or not
It should always be rewritten.
The Poem is a Metaphor
And we too are metaphors
That will vanish one day
When all the real Poems
Pretend to still be here.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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All The Poems Are A Metaphor
ALL THE POEMS ARE A METAPHOR
All the poems are a metaphor
For another poem
I cannot write
And this poem too
However incomparable
Does not say
What the real Poem is.
God knows
Only God knows.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Wrote A Poem I Loved
I WROTE A POEM I LOVED
I wrote a poem I loved
But I could not rest content with it.
I had to write another poem,
And another poem.
And in the writing of other poems,
Some of which I also loved.
I lost the poem I loved.
Essentially I am a writer of poems
And not their possessor.
I possess many poems of others,
But somehow mine, I cannot.
However I love them
Perhaps I really believe
None of them good enough
To be worthy of such love.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Like So Many Poems I Read
LIKE SO MANY POEMS I READ
Like so many poems I read
These poems I am reading now
Are not poems to me.
They are too detached
Too abstract
Too up in the air.
I want to hear the words
Make a music of feeling
In my soul.
A poem must move me
If it is to be real.
Why then do I write these words
as if a poem?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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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
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Woman And Poetry
writing poems together
with that woman is so much fun
i write mine, (i am much better than that woman)
i ask her to read my poems she obliges with her spectacles
as she opens her mouth to syllabicate
i gulp some saliva to my mouth
this woman is terrible
she makes me giggle
i have her word for word i have her metaphor per metaphor
there is no time to discuss
i like her to undress this time
i'll take the magic of her word
this time i will open my mouth
this time i will read all of her
i will not discuss i will not understand
i will just feel these metaphors
this mouth this tongue this body
this most important poetry
this love this lust this moment
after we have written
our poems together.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Am Tired Of The Word 'Poem
I AM TIRED OF THE WORD ‘POEM’
I am tired of the word ‘poem’
‘Poem’ ‘poem’ ‘poem’ ‘poem and ‘poem’ again
Weren’t there stars before there were poems?
And won’t there be light somewhere else
when no one has words to say?
And in all the great Silence before and ever after
won’t there be the being of something real however unsaid and unknown?
And won’t ‘Poem’ and ‘poems’ too like all of us
Cease one day to be and never again know that they are?
All the immortals are mortal and their poems too
Silence before and Silence after
And no words forevermore.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Lily Licked the Toilet
Lily licked the toilet,
And then she licked the floor.
You can bet I'll never
Kiss Lily anymore!
Lily licked the toilet,
And then she licked the sink.
She's full of germs and worms,
At least that's what I think.
Lily licked the toilet,
And then she licked the tub.
It's safe to say her tongue
Could use a real good scrub!
She was the cutest pooch! (To Smooch)
Why'd she have to spoil it?
Nothing's been the same since…
Lily licked the toilet!
poem by ToddMichael St. Pierre
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How Many Non- Beautiful Poems Must Be Written
How many non-beautiful poems must be written
Before one beautiful poem can emerge?
How many longings for love must a person know
Before their one true love comes?
How many times must one love one’s true love
Before one can never bear to be again without that Ecstasy?
How many times must one sense that Ecstasy gone
Before one knows that she is forever lost?
How many pleading meaningless words must be spoken to return her
Before one knows that she has forever gone?
How many words must be written
Before there is one true poem?
And how many poems must be said to one’s love
Before she listens and denies and goes far away to her own poem
Only she and not the one who has loved her with all his soul
Will ever know and be at home with?
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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A poem for you...
I write a poem for you today,
to get a place in your heart for ever
A poem that could tell you my love for you
I write my poem with emotion and affection
for you to understand my deep thoughts for you
A poem to love and a poem to understand its soul
A poem to enjoy and a poem to understand its happiness
A poem to think and a poem to understand its way of life
A poem to learn and a poem to understand its content
A poem to sing and a poem to understand its melody
A poem to cry and a poem to understand its sorrow
There are poems I have written but this is specially for you
The poem could tell you how important you are for me
There are words comes out freely from my mind to write poem
but there are no words to find my love for you
Those words can not missed as I miss your love today
Let me have all those words put in to my heart and
say I love to write a love poem for you
Ravi Sathasivam / Sri Lanka
Copyright ©2004 Ravi Sathasivam
poem by Ravi Sathasivam
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My Poem Is A Forgettable Poem
MY POEM IS A FORGETTABLE POEM
My poem is a forgettable poem-
Trite rhymes-
Awkward syntax-
Common common thoughts-
Little words everyone knows-
Without real Metaphor-
Boring.
My poem is a forgettable poem-
And I write it with all my heart-
Hoping
You will love it.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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18 Definitions Of A Short Poem
1) A short poem
Saves time,
2) A short poem
Saves time
For its reader, also.
3) A short poem is over
Before its read.
4) A short poem
Can be swiftly reread.
5) A short poem
Is a lightning flash.
6) A short poem
Is one metaphor only.
7) A short poem
Is less than nine words.
8) A short poem
Opens ones eyes
In the morning.
9) A short poem
May be a short prayer.
10) A short poem
May be a poem of a single word.
11) Poem.
12) A short poem
A small play on words.
13) A short poem
May be a single sentence.
14) A short poem is shorter
Than the definition of it.
15) It breaks up the icy sea within.
16) A chill down the spine.
17) There is no end
To making definitions of the short poem.
18) A short poem in Hebrew
Is shorter than than the same poem in English.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Poem-eyes
You’re a walking poem
and it’s like I have night vision
except instead of goggles they are
poem-eyes:
only I can see you,
your arms and legs strings of sentences
bare with candid sincerity,
your hair tangled weaknesses
curled with a simile
and eyes of endearing desire
marked with a metaphor,
poetic sentiment hanging off you
like unwashed clothes.
Your mouth breathes out symbolism,
when you walk, the line breaks jingle
and when you hug me I can feel myself
being wrapped in a charming mystery
that sounds so pretty when read aloud.
When you stop, I stop
and gather all the fallen words
in a basket I keep around my waste
marked Beauty.
Lover in the dream
I meet my lover in the dream
He comes in the night and makes beautiful dream
I know he is my soul mate when I look at him
I could act like all girl who fall in love
He’ll never hurt me, I’m safe in his arms
I meet my lover in the dream
He comes in several nights till I thought it’s real
I know he is my soul mate and I love him
He makes me feel happiness just be with him
He loves me through his heart like nobody else
When will I meet my love in real life?
He comes to my life and never leaves again
He will be my soul mate the more I know him
He treats me like precious girl
He’ll never hurt me, I would be safe in his arms
Someday I meet my lover like in the dream
He comes to my life assure me it’s real
He is my soul mate and I love him
He loves me through his heart and nobody else
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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There Was A Poem Long Ago
THERE WAS A POEM LONG AGO
There was a poem long ago
A poem of youth and hope
Now there are other poems
Poems of age and sorrow.
There was a poem once
Of love – and happiness in love
Now there is a poem of lovelessness
And sadness.
There was a poem once
Of the long and distant open road
Now there is a poem of the dead end.
There was a poem once
That believed in Poetry
Now there is a poem that knows
Even the most beautiful worlds of words
End in dust
There was a poem once – long ago.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Have The Mind And Mood Of Poetry
I HAVE THE MIND AND MOOD OF POETRY
I have the mind and mood of poetry,
But I have no poem-
And all I can do is wait
And hear the words come
And wonder whether their strength
Is in my own inner quiet
Which loves the words
And loves the poem
And loves the light from my window
And the flowers on the balcony
And all I see and feel and breathe now-
Because Love makes the universe resound
Even when there is only a small poor poem to add to it.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Day Went By Without A Poem
The day went by without a poem-
The night was poem-less also
And then a month and then a year
My soul suddenly homeless.
The poems were gone
And I alone
Empty in my soul
I could not write
I could not feel
The universe was cold.
And now I wait
And dream and think
And hope a poem one day
Will come again
As dreams
I know to play..
But perhaps despite these faltering words
The poems
Forever gone
And I must live alone-
A poem-less man
Without a word
Silent as a stone.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Poet And The Lonely Lady
one summer a poet writes about
true love
and happiness
and this lonely lady
chances upon the lines of this poet
and she has tasted the sweetness
of happiness that love can bring
she loves every word in the poem
feels the ecstasy of every line
and every night
she says she cannot sleep
thinking, feeling,
wanting to be lost and be held in
his arms
she decides to love
the poet
ultimately
she travels to the place stated in his address
hoping to see him
so she will finally know
his love that touches her
in the bottom
of her heart
only to find out
it is sad
that the address does not exist
and the poet does not live there
and does not even
exist
perhaps only in the imagination
of those who want to love
and be loved
she is so sad she jumps into
a conclusion that love is a
lie
that the poet is a
liar
since then, she stops reading the poems
of that poet
(or any other poet)
who never dies
because he for once never ever lived
in the first place
except the poem
perhaps
which to date still convinces lonely ladies to live and believe
to love and be loved
that which defines
what love is
where love is found
and find it somehow in the arms of one
who is real, like it is alive, like it is true
to the one beside her
who touches her
with his
warm hands
who melts
her in his eyes
because
even unwritten by any poet
this love is still so beautiful....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Saddest Poem
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance."
The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.
She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.
To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.
What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.
That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.
As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.
The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.
I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.
Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.
I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.
Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.
Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.
poem by Pablo Neruda
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