The Poems Everyday In Your Life

it takes a lot of
frustrations,
a little inspiration
but more
of melancholic
clamor
for someone like
you to write
a poem
sometimes only
once a year
or nothing at all
not a poem
even
when they read it
or when
you read it
yourself

it is a matter
of just
surviving
less the poems
which you
could have
written

everyday in your
life.

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God is the creator

God is the creator
poem is a creation
Poet is not God.

I am a lover of poem
Poet is my hero
God is hero's hero.

I just read poem
I just enjoy reading poem
I shall continue to read poem
As long as I enjoy poem.

At times
Poems are being written by me.
The credit goes to God
God direct me to write poem
And I write.

God only can explain the meaning
I am just an instrument
And nothing.

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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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I Read A Poem I Could Not Write

I READ A POEM I COULD NOT WRITE

I read a Poem I could not write
And then I wrote it down.
I left it long alone
Forgot where it was found.

Somehow it came back to me
In another time,
I had never written it
The Truest poems, not mine.

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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.

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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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Why Should I Have A Poem?

WHY SHOULD I HAVE A POEM?

Why should I have a poem?
Who am I to have a poem?
Who is anyone to have a poem?

But then again
Aren’t we all poems?
Many poems
And each one of us many voices
And who knows how deep feelings
We ourselves cannot understand
And lingerings of beauty
We can ourselves barely decipher?

Who knows what a poem is
And what life means
And why we write and read
And what words move us
In the middle of the night
Or at the end of the day
When even our dreams are asleep?

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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.

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A Poem Can Be Written In Five Minutes

A POEM CAN BE WRITTEN IN FIVE MINUTES

A poem can be written in five minutes-
But what kind of a poem?
A true poem takes forever to read-
And who knows how long to write?

I

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The Poem Tired Of Being Written Of Itself

THE POEM TIRED OF BEING WRITTEN OF ITSELF


The poem tired of being written of itself
It wanted other worlds and more distant beauty
It wanted the inspiration that ordinary life gives
It wanted too a language beyond what simple words could mean
But the poem could not be more than it was
It fell back upon itself
It was lost in its own lonely being
The poem stayed forever a poem about itself
And when no one read it
The poem had only itself to blame.

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Read poem write poem and poem

Read poem write poem and poem
I know poem is the best
Poem has emotion poem has life
Through poem we can reach
Where we want to reach.

I express myself through poem
Truth is in the poem
And truth is my expression.

Know truth live with truth
Truth is in the poem.
Read poem write poem and poem.

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A Poem To Be Heard

A poem to be held

a poem to be fed, with words stronger than the ancient

spirits.

Ti's a poem to be read by all.

A poem that beats the heat of temptation away.

It's power in every single word attracts the moonlight.

A poem, a light in the dark wilderness.

A poem that is just needed and leaves the audience

speechless.

A poem that comforts a sad soul.

Read to me a poem

when I'm cold.

Read it to me till I'm old.

When I'm heart broken, a poem, a love, I'd want.

A poem, a victory through lives endless battle.

A poem an epistle to mine heart, and every written word

in it is heard.

A poem, about royalty, about Kings and Queens

and how they live in luxury.

A poem, a song about sweet heavens.

Read me a poem and slow my heart beat down.

A poem with a tasty flavor, I'd want to hear.

Read me a poem that explains how Nelson Mandela

conquered his fears.

A poem that can describe how Martin Luther Kings

felt when he fought for freedom.

I long to hear it,

Therefor read me a poem,

to be heard.

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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?

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The Poem I Wrote Yesterday/ The Poem I Write Today

THE POEM I WROTE YESTERDAY/THE POEM I WRITE TODAY

The poem I wrote yesterday
The poem I write today
The poem I will write tomorrow
What do they all mean?

Life goes on
Even my life will go on for a time
Without them.

True they give me hope now
But hope is another kind of delusion-

Creature of hopes and dreams delusions and poems
I go on now writing another poem hoping that you somewhere
Will want to know and read and remember it.

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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.

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One Hundred

To all those who have read my poems,
this poem is just for you.
This is my hundredth poem this year
and I feel like celebrating too.
You see for years and years,
I did not want to write anymore,
until I came along here and met all of you.
For some reason I cannot explain,
you took me under your poetic wing.
You made me want to write again,
with your comments by the score.
You brought life back to me,
took my hand,
and guided me from the wilderness,
from which I ran.
You gave me injection,
and my confidence once more flowed.
My pen was put to paper again,
and out the poems came,
one after the other,
but never one the same.
I took a little time out to write a novel too.
All this and more is all thanks to you.
Without that hand of friendship,
which you’ve all shown to me,
I’d still be wandering like a lost soul,
in that wilderness out there.
Therefore, I am taking this opportunity
with this my hundredth poem this year,
to send you a special thanks,
from the bottom of my heart,
to each and every one of you out there.

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You Complimented My Poem And I Did Not Have The Consideration To Read Yours

YOU COMPLIMENTED MY POEM AND I DID NOT HAVE THE CONSIDERATION TO READS YOURS

You complimented my poem and I did not have the consideration to read yours
Now I apologize to you without mentioning your name
Or reading your poem-

A weak apology
Meant to get me off the hook-

Still I know how lonely it is to write and write
And not hear the words you want to hear in reply

Forgive me
Perhaps I will read your poem or poems one day-
But I cannot promise.

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A Poem Can Be Written Anywhere, Anytime

A poem can be written anywhere, anytime-
A poem can be written too early in the morning
While waiting in Talpiot for ‘Rami Levi Supermarket’ to open-
It can be written in one’s head in a frozen Army barracks in Beit El
Or in a small room on Rav Berlin St on an old Smith- Corona
In the first happy years of one’s marriage-
It can be written for years from Haganah St. in French Hill
In the family years and the lonely ones
It can be written walking by the sea in Tel Aviv
With small children in hand-
It can be written on the same shore years later when one’s life has been broken
By Love’s desertion-
It can be written in old age on Rehov Shahal in Givat Mordechai
As one takes joy from the birth of one’s first grandchild-

A poem can be written anywhere anytime-

I have been writing my poems in Israel
For more than half a lifetime-

May those too
Who come after me
Read and Write Poetry here.

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Every Poem That Is Not Written

EVERY POEM THAT IS NOT WRITTEN

Every poem that is not written
Sings another poem
That is not read.
And every poem that is not read
Waits in its own silence
Until
The Universe itself
Becomes Poetry
And God sings to us
As if we too
The poet and the poem
Were the singer and the song
Unknown.

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I Wanted To Write The Most Beautiful Poem

I wanted to write the most beautiful poem
The one beyond any music I had known-
The one which would reveal the changes
in yellows and greens
spring sunlight whispered to the trees

I wanted to write the most beautiful poem
The one which would tell the stories of all those I have loved and cared for-
I wanted to write the most beautiful poem
As a poem of Kindness-

I wanted to write the most beautiful poem
Of sublime and overpowering distance
Of stars when stars were dreams -

I wanted to write the most beautiful poem-

But I knew many other poems already written
Would always be far more beautiful than mine-

So I tried to write the most beautiful poem I could-

But the light outside
The world and its colors
The beauties we see and hear everyday
Said to me again and again,

'Walk more humbly with your God and do Justice and love Mercy also'.

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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.

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