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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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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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.

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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 The Poem And The Poem Again

THE POEM‘ THE POEM AND THE POEM AGAIN’

‘The poem the poem and the poem again’
Isn’t there any life without poetry?
Why is it always ‘The poem the poem the poem’?

Let it be some other dream
Or some other small facet of our endless realities
Why always ‘The poem the poem the poem? ’

The poet who lives and dies for the poem
Is only one kind of poet
And perhaps not even a good one.

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The Poem Is Restless In Me

THE POEM IS RESTLESS IN ME

The poem is restless in me-
It waits to be heard-
Now that it comes
It does not feel especially happy about itself.
It knows it is not real-
It is not much-
Just because it is called a poem by me
Does not make it a poem -
The mind has its own place-
My mind also -
I am always thinking poems are with me,
And poems waiting to come-
But who am I and what do I know?
These lines are written in the still of the morning
When the light outside still brings hope
That a new day is possible.
But so many poems have been written in the early morning
And I am so old from hearing them said to me by myself-
And what does it all mean anyway in the end when God is the Only One?
And who am I to know what God is, or invoke the name of God
In such a small thing as my own poetry?

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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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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.

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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.

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The Poem That Is Everything

THE POEM THAT IS EVERYTHING

The poem that is everything
Colors the sky
Waits for the night
Hears of Love as it once was,
And feels it,
Leads itself backward in time
Into the trees the sea
The distances of what the Great have done.

The poem that is everything
Prays to G-d
And hears G-d
And waits for G-d
And loves G-d
But is not G-d.
The poem that is everything is everything
That is
And is not.

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The Only Poem Is The Poem/ At The Moment Of Its Writing

THE ONLY POEM IS THE POEM

The only poem is the poem
At the moment of its writing
The poem being lived now
The poem I am trying to make
The poem of these lines.

The only poem now is this one-
And this poem is so small and so self- reflexive
That it is not much of a poem at all.

The only poem is not much of a poem at all
This one
And me now? .

But what about everything else I have not done?

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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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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.

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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...

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The Poem I Am Writing Now

The poem I am writing now
does not know if it will be finished
it does not even know if it will be a poem -
it is slowly appearing line by line
and making its own meaning on the page-

Is it worth anything?
will anyone care?
I don't know -

The poem I am writing now
is just these lines
and these lines like all lines
are only small words
in a vast universe
that has long lived
and will probably longer live
without them.

Why then write these words now?

The poem I am writing now is saying,
'I am here now'.

But why should this mean anything to anyone else?

The poem I have written here
is not the poem I would have posted here
It is only the poem I am finishing now
a poem without great love or belief in itself.

The poem I am writing now
is written.

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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.

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The Poem Is Always With Me

THE POEM IS ALWAYS WITH ME

The poem is always with me
It waits inside.
And when it wants to be heard
It asks me to write it down.

Sometimes I say it,
Sometimes I hear it within myself silently,
Sometimes it goes away
When I go elsewhere for a while.

The poem is always in me
But sometimes it goes away
And is lost forever.

How many poems have I lost?
And how many poems have I never written down
That I should have?

And how many times have I written down
What is not a poem for anyone,
Except for the one who seems to need
A poem inside
All the time
So much?

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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..

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