A Single Telling Line
A SINGLE TELLING LINE CAN MAKE
A single telling line can make
A collection of words
Into a poem.
But how to find that line
And how to know
When it has come?
A single line can make a poem.
But who knows
When the iron strikes
And if the fire has come?
And whether in the darkness of the soul
Words are the rescuing light
of a poem?
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Somewhere At The Edge Of A Poem
SOMEWHERE AT THE EDGE OF A POEM
Somewhere at the edge of a poem
Is another poem
And that poem too leads to another
And poem after poem
The whole of a life is written.
And when not one single line of that poem is read
It goes down into the ground as if it never were.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poem That Is Not Good Enough
THE POEM THAT IS NOT GOOD ENOUGH
The poem that is not good enough
Awkwardly fumbles from line to line
Does not hear its own music
Has none.
Its words are larger than its feelings
Its Ideas overwhelm its words
It proclaims a Beauty it cannot reveal.
The poem that is not good enough
Pretends to be a poem
It has birds and flowers and trees and winds
which are names alone.
The Poem which is not good enough
does not touch the Heart
has little Soul
puts everyone to sleep before they finish
beginning it.
A Poem that is not good enough
Just does not Live
And who am I?
And what are you?
And why are we?
Writers and readers of Poems
Looking for our own lost Eternity.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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Full fat voluptuous silence
Silence
Except for the poem
The poem is reading in my head
I can make it stop, for a while
Then it starts again
I can jump onto the words
And for a time I ride the line
Then dropping off I stand and watch
as the poem goes rolling by
The poem has broken colours
Bits of sound and not much shape
And suddenly I am in tears
I have to look away and wait
Finally there is silence
Full fat voluptuous silence
Except
Except for the poem
poem by Sean Joyce
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The poem is reading in my head
Silence, except for the poem
The poem is reading in my head
I can make it stop, for a while
Then it starts again
I can jump onto the words
And for a time I ride the line
Then dropping off I stand and watch
as the poem goes rolling by
The poem has broken colours
Bits of sound and not much shape
And suddenly I am in tears
I have to look away and wait
Finally there is silence
Full fat voluptuous silence
Except, except for the poem
poem by Sean Joyce
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The First Line Is Heard From Somewhere Else
The first line is heard from somewhere else
The second line builds on it
And the third and those after
Until another stanza begins
That says in an easier and more focused way
What the first stanza struggled for-
The poem ends when it ends
Not knowing always if it has ended-
For the poem must be rewritten line by line once again
And perhaps too within it it will fail in indecision
As the end often does.
The last line is heard from all the other lines
But sometimes I hear too much
And sometimes not enough
And often I do not know
If it is right
But there are times
When the last line brings all the other lines together
And the end is the one end there should be.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In Search Of Aphrodite
A Sideline Sonnet
(letters on the left side of the poem make the 15th line, which is also written out in parenthesis at the end of the poem) This poem, instead of being displayed with either 12 lines on the left margin, with the 13th and 14th lines indented in modern format, or with the first 8 lines on the left margin, a line skipped and then the next 4 lines on the left margin with the couplet indented in the style most commonly used in the days of Shakespeare, will be posted in 4 line stanzas to make it easier to read the side line, which will be three 4 letter words, and one 2 letter word.
May I behold a girl this fair:
A girl whose presence makes a light;
Kindles a flame that burns so bright
Eclipses it the moon. With hair
Lost stars that from the heavens fall –
On falling do submit their glow,
Vile stars, on one I cannot know.
Enraptured though, I make the call.
While all my starving total seeks,
In endless hunger, for the dear
Temptation that, though hov'ring near,
Hears not my voice: yet not she speaks.
May I but see her, then will I
Entreat her, listen to my cry…
(make love with me)
poem by James Walter Orr
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What Make A Poem A Poem?
What makes a poem a poem
Is it the story it tells
The feeling it sells.
what makes a poem a poem
is it the history it shows
or the letters of word flow
do the lines mater it they rhyme
or not, can it be free verse of
abcabc line schem,
What makes a poem a poem
is it the words i repeat
Or the emotion they cove.
What makes a poem a poem
A Little Thought
Don't you hate it when nothing comes to mind
Can't even write one single line.
So many thoughts all entertwine
Can't even write one single line
Look at this page so white and fine
Can't even write one single line
Just had to think and take my time
(11.30.12)
poem by Earl Spencer
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Poem Without A First Line
for no real poem has a first line
any more than a real book
has a first page
it comes out of a dark lost forest
or a bright unknowing cloud
or an unbearable pain
so unbearable that even
if you wrote the poem on a piece of paper
and threw the paper away
it would ease the pain
or a childhood so miserable
that only a complete change of life
could recognise one single beautiful thought
or an astonishing moment
when you knelt and prayed
for the first time in your life
to a god you did not know
with words you did not understand
for they were not even words
or the moment when all the horror of the world
faced all the love and beauty in the world
and both were so taken aback
that they could only embrace
and later, speak
or a nowhere and a nothing
so stark that only poetry
without a first line
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You ask me to leave (Pantoum poetry)
The “pantun” is a Malaysian poetic form that was introduced to the West by French novelist, essayist, and poet, Victor Hugo (1802-1885) , hence the French spelling, “pantoum.” Westerners have taken creative liberties with the Malaysian form, which tends to follow a standard rhyme form of ABAB, where multiple, rather than single subjects, are introduced. While pantoums can have unlimited stanzas, you might want to begin with a 3-stanza poem until you get the hang of it:
Stanza 1: Line 1/Line 2/Line 3/Line 4
Stanza 2: Line 5 (repeat of line 2 in stanza 1) /Line 6 (new line) /Line 7 (repeat of line 4 in stanza 1) /
Line 8 (new line)
Stanza 3/Last Stanza (This is the format for the last stanza regardless of how many preceding stanzas exist) : Line 9 (line 2 of the previous stanza) /Line 10 (line 3 of the first stanza) /Line 11 (line 4 of the previous stanza) /Line 12 (line 1 of the first stanza)
And you ask me to leave all behind
Now when our moment in time is done
Going nowhere with nothing in mind
'Cause you're my world and my special one
Now when our moment in time is done
I love you like there's no end in sight
'Cause you're my world and my special one
You're still on my mind all day and night.
I love you like there's no end in sight
You're inside me filling my soul's space
You're still on my mind all day and night.
I feel still cuddled in your embrace
You're inside me filling my soul's space
Going nowhere with nothing in mind
I feel still cuddled in your embrace
And you ask me to leave it all behind
poem by Marieta Maglas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I'm no longer blind (Quatern poetry)
(A Quatern is a sixteen line French form composed of four quatrains. It is
similar to the Kyrielle and the Retourne. It has a refrain that is in a
different place in each quatrain. The first line of stanza one is the second
line of stanza two, third line of stanza three, and fouth line of stanza four.
A quatern has eight syllables per line. It does not have to be iambic or follow
a set rhyme scheme. line 1 line 2 line 3 line 4 line 5 line 6 (line 1) line 7
line 8 line 9 line 10 line 11 (line 1) line 12 line 13 line 14 line 15 line 16
(line 1)
Dear Lord, please have mercy on me,
You're always near my painful soul,
You are my focus and my goal,
In the falling rain I'm your tree.
Help me for I am a sinner.
Dear Lord, please have mercy on me.
'Cause I'm Your humble devotee,
Asking Christ to come for dinner.
Guard Thou with light this pain of mine.
I'm no longer blind I can see.
Dear Lord, please have mercy on me.
Your words through me will always shine.
Save me by Your grace, set me free.
Keep my way, truth and life in Christ.
And so I'll know that Thou exist.
Dear Lord, please have mercy on me.
poem by Marieta Maglas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I am a poem
I am a poem,
A rhythm, a line,
Elaborated in time.
I am a poem
A work of art.
Fragmented heart.
I am a poem
A piece of a whole
Measure of a soul.
I am a poem.
A fraction of a story.
A meaning, with a glory.
I am a poem.
poem by Josh Alfred
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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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A New Flag is Declared
A new Flag is Declared
In the dusk of the night,
Under the watchful eyes of the guards and the guns.
Ill write a poem,
On your shirt.
A multihued shirt,
Coming from the torture chamber.
A shirt of cotton and blood.
A shirt of torment, torture and anguish.
Ill write a poem
On the midst of the night
In the milieu of red.
A poem,
A single word poem.
People will make it a flag,
Raised, full staff,
Written on it a poem,
A single word poem.
On the daybreak of Iran,
In the milieu of blue
The earth is given birth
To a new flag;
Written on it:
Freedom, a single word poem.
poem by Cyrus Mahan
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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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Consolation
Dear,
There is a poem for every audience
And an audience for every poem-
This may not be yours-audience, that is,
Or it may-
Poets are jealous creatures
And justifiably-
Self-absorption is not the same as selfishness
You can make a good case for it.
On line, as in life
People rarely get what they deserve.
Just as Truth is relative.
This I'm telling you, so you know.
Trust me, I'm a lawyer.
poem by Morgan Michaels
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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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