A Poem Written While A Grandchild Sleeps
A POEM WRITTEN WHILE A GRANDCHILD SLEEPS
A poem written while a grandchild sleeps
Knows it does not have that much time
Knows it is interrupted
Checking whether or not the eyes are still closed
And the baby still at rest-
Knows it cannot capture the angelic innocence
Of the child's peaceful face-
Knows it will never have words of beauty
Comparable to the calm and happiness
Transmitted to an old man
Who all day in pain
Recovers in these moments
His love of life.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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...
poem by Jenna Marie
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Your child your pride, Your grandchild your guide
True
Our children are our pride
They give you
Immense pleasure
With their glowing innocence
And
Such newly discovered expressions
Which you have not experienced earlier
Their growth
Is always showering on you
A sense of satisfaction
Their intelligence
Is always rated by you
To be much higher than
What you possesed in your childhood
Their observations are
Special to you
And you waste not time
In executing corrective or preventive actions
To satisfy their needs
And you do that all with great pleasure
There comes a gap
As they mature
And you are relieved to see
A new childhood again
When your grandchild comes in your life
You see a still higher degree
Of innocence
And intelligence in this generation
You feel your grandchild
Has much greater potential
To achieve than
Your own child, leave alone
The very your own self
As you have gained
Some more maturity
Than what you had when you reared your child
And have crossed
Hurdles with deeper troubles
Your association with the new arrival
Gives you more pleasure
Than what you had with your child
Not only that
With a renewed syllabus
In the study of life
Your grandchild looks a professor to you
Had you seen a teacher in your child
Your grandchild guides you
Through a research project
On this subject
And confers on you a doctorate
Or rejects
Based on your self searching skills
And learning abilities
Your child your pride
Your grandchild your guide
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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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..
poem by Patti Masterman
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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 That Is About To Be Written
THE POEM THAT IS ABOUT TO BE WRITTEN
The poem that is about to be written
Will form itself slowly,
Line by line,
Will make of itself a meaning
It does not know.
Will be beyond
All that it could have thought to be – beforehand.
The poem that is being written
Has no name,
No face,
No beauty,
No light,
It is just the poem that is coming to be in the silence,
Where I am alone with my own Seeming.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Best Poem
when you plant a seed
in the ground, and
water it, work it, weed it
till it grows... you've written
the best poem you'll ever write.
when you make a baby,
waiting and planning for birth;
and you raise this child to adulthood
with respect... you've written
the best poem you'll ever write.
when you live your life
working honestly, giving
all that you are and can be,
never holding back... you've written
the best poem you'll ever write.
when you go to death openly
with no regrets, not clinging
to dreams that were not real,
owning no one... you've written
the best poem you'll ever write.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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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’.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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.
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Went Out This Morning/ To Find A Poem
I WENT OUT THIS MORNING/TO FIND A POEM
I went out this morning
To find a poem-
But the heat was too great
The sun too strong
I had to find the shade instead
And finding it
I sat down on a green metal bench
And waited for
The line which
Might mean a poem
Has been written.
Instead a cool breeze
And a sense of rest and happiness
Came to me.
Life as it is now is a poem for me-
I don't know how long it will last
But here now
How happy I am
As this small poem is being written now.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Have Written Too Many Poems Of Despair
I HAVE WRITTEN TOO MANY POEMS OF DESPAIR
I have written too many poems of despair-
Too much complaint-
Too much sorrow grief sadness difficulty pain-
I should have written more of hope of youth of love-
I should have sung of happiness
I should have been been a poet
Who helps others love life more
I can try now-
But can words of ‘will’ really be poetry?
It is when the lines come to the mind and heart
On their own
Naturally
That the poem begins to live.
Does this sound like a ‘happy poem’?
Or yet another lament for what I am
And have not been?
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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Can A Poem Be Written
CAN A POEM BE WRITTEN
Can a Poem be written
In Anger Frustration Fear Disappointment?
Can it be written
In Failure?
Can a Poem be written
When no light shines
And the middle of the night is longer
Than life itself?
Can a Poem be written now
When old afraid sad angry foolish failure me
Cannot even dream?
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This Poem Should Have Been Written Long Ago By Someone Else
This poem should have been written long ago by someone else
They should have said what needs to be said
Clearly and yet beautifully
They should have known what to do with their words and their intimations -
But instead I old I tired old I I with the I I I always I’ing
Have to write it again-
This poem should have been written by someone else
The way I was when I was young
But even then probably it should have been written by someone else
Younger happier stronger wiser more courageous able to give and inspire others to love life more and make it more good and more beautiful
A real poet a great poet should have written this poem
And then it would be one
Even I would try not to forget.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If The Poem Is Written Against The Silence Of Where Nothing Happens
IF THE POEM IS WRITTEN AGAINST THE SILENCE OF WHERE NOTHING HAPPENS
If the poem is written against the silence of where nothing happens
And aims to find a way to make life sing of meaning
But instead finds itself turning only on its own author's pain
Then what is the use of it all?
Let Poetry too go lie in its own grave
And rest in silence
With all the billions of human voices
And endless words which have sought beauty and greatness and fame and honor and love
And now must lie silent forever as if they never were-
Poetry too can like all its authors die
And if the human light goes out
Rest in darkness forever as if it never were.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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