A Poem Has A Memory Of Its Own
A POEM HAS A MEMORY OF ITS OWN
A poem has a memory of is own
It has a music and a melody
If it sounds as it should
It will demand to be reheard.
If it is simply words
Then it will go on and on
Without beauty
Without longing
Without mystery.
A poem has a music of its own
And even when it cannot resound strongly
It needs to be heard
Again and again
If it is to be remembered
And loved.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Beauty Is The Poem
BEAUTY IS THE POEM
(At listening to Air on a G String)
Beauty is the poem
The music is the poem
The beauty of the music
Slow and slower
Deep and deeper
Long and longer
Beauty is the poem.
The melody that plays its slow length along
Beauty in the music
Beauty as the poem
Life as beauty
Life as music
Beauty is the poem
And life is the music now.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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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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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
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A Poem Without Music Of Its Own Is Not A Poem
A POEM WITHOUT MUSIC OF ITS OWN IS NOT A POEM
A poem without music of its own is not a poem-
I have lost the rhythm of my soul
I try-
I write these words
But where is the music?
Slowly slowly I strive
To listen to my own voice-
It sounds as if it comes from deep within me
Deeper than my own dreaming.
Is this a poem I hear?
Or only my own ambition and scheming?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Poem Has A Music Of Its Own
THE POEM HAS A MUSIC OF ITS OWN
The poem has a music of its own
Without the music
It is no poetry.
My music
Faltering breaking slow
Wonders where it is going
And if it really sounds
As music should sound.
Once it was more easy to feel
The melody in me real.
Now I just do not know
So many sounds
So many words
So many claims of poetry.
Music music music
Where are you?
The sound from myself
Is only 'me' now.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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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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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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Will I Have A Poem Tonight?
WILL I HAVE A POEM TONIGHT?
Will I have a poem tonight?
Or will tiredness take me to bed
Without an answer?
Will I be able to find within myself
Some sounds of meaning
Some hint of beauty?
Something deeper than the darkness outside
As real as the longing within?
The poem which is written about the poem which is not
Is the poem which is written about the poem which is
And the poem which is
Is tonight the poem of the night
And the poem of the night tonight
Is the poem this poem is.
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 David Carter
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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
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The Poem Comes/ Of A Longing
THE POEM COMES /OF A LONGING
The Poem comes
Of a longing
Deeper than we are
Out of what
We can never know
As sound alone.
The Music whose Essence
Is beyond dreaming
And which returns always
To the depth
Of what Memory
Might be
Even should we have been born
more than once.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Music Is Gone
THE MUSIC IS GONE
The music is gone-
What is a poem without its own music?
There is no melody in me.
I hear these flat words form on the flat page.
There are no dimensions to me
I hear no singing as I write.
This poem is words with little feeling
A flat poor poem written by an old man
Who this morning
has not yet truly woken up.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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This is a poem....
This isn't a poem of one direction,
This is a poem about perfection.
This isn't a poem about who won the election,
This is a poem about correction.
This isn't a poem of getting it right,
This is a poem of standing up to fight.
This isn't a poem of being lost like a kite,
This is a poem about trying to find the light.
This isn't a poem of running tears,
This is a poem about chasing your fears.
This isn't a poem of love and hate,
This is a poem of destiny and fate.
This isn't a poem of the end,
This is a poem of a heart unable to mend.
This isn't a poem of cruilty and pain,
This is a poem of a thng i need to gain.
This isn't a poem of shame,
This is a poem of fame.
Thsi isn't a poem of the life i let loose,
THIS IS A POEM OF THE TRUTH.
poem by Tammie LilAimo
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The Poem Was Destroyed By Its Own Words
The poem was destroyed by its own words
And could not be written-
The words were not good enough
The words were not exact enough -
The poem nonetheless wanted to be
It waited in longing for other words-
Other words came
But they were not the poem either-
The poem it appeared
Was never to be -
The poem disappeared
Before it could be written
That poem forever is not
And in its place only these lines
Barely a poem at all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Poem Of The Sea Is For Me in Tel Aviv Today
THE POEM OF THE SEA IS FOR ME IN TEL AVIV TODAY
BET CHOL HAMOED PESACH 5762
The poem of the sea is for me today
The poem of longing and beauty
It is the poem of light
Of distance
It is the poem of waves unceasing
And colors dreaming their changes faster than they can be named-
The poem of the sea is for me
On this day
A poem of return and happiness
A poem of being with my family-
It is too a poem of memories
How thirty- five years ago just beginning
I came to the same sea alone
And wondered how
If I would ever have a family of my own
Then young in love
And later losing love
And then returning alone
And now again here
With a daughter her husband and my granddaughter
The poem of the sea is for me
On this day
A poem of Love and Gratitude to God
Of longing and beauty of light of distance
And happiness.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Poem About The Poem
The poem about the poem
And what is a poem?
And what is a poet?
And will the poem
Save me?
Help you?
And is writing the poem
The best I can do?
Or is it only words and more words?
Is the poem about the poem
For the poet only?
Or for each one reading and speaking and hearing it?
The poem about the poem
On this sunny spring Jerusalem morning
Peace and happiness in me -
The poem about the poem
For now.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Is There Time For A Poem?
Is there time for a poem
In a world of other sounds?
Is there time for a poem
When songs cannot be heard?
Is there time for a poem
In a time when fear is everywhere?
Is there time for a poem
When no one knows the way to help?
Is there time for a poem
In the darkest time, in the time of no way out?
Is there time for a poem
Any time a person alone
Cannot dare to breathe their own Name
Against the silence of the night?
2.
Is there time for a poem now
When all is so light and bright
There is nothing not even evil to fear
And all the world is singing and saying words of beauty?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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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
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The Past Is An Old Man's Poem
The Past is an old man’s poem
And all he was
And all he can never be again
And all the people he loved
No longer here-
And all the times he can barely remember
And never forget
And all the love lost
And all the waste
And all the sadness
And all the joy and the still strong happiness-
The Past is an old man’s poem
Written in his memory
And waiting to be said again and again
While he lives through another day and another night and another memory lost
The past is an old man ‘s poem
And that poem too will be gone before long.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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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
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