A Small Poem Sent Out To The Universe Alone
A SMALL POEM SENT OUT TO THE UNIVERSE ALONE
A small poem sent out to the universe alone
Is a speck of dust in a sea of galaxies
Who can see or hear or feel it?
When the Light is done
And the Darkness takes over all
It too will not be heard.
poem by Shalom Freedman

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For A Small Poem
FOR A SMALL POEM
For a small poem-
A true poem-
A real poem-
The Universe will open its doors
And begin to sing.
But where is a true poem today?
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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I Thought To Begin The Day With A Poem
I THOUGHT TO BEGIN THE DAY WITH A POEM
I thought to begin the day with a poem
But inside myself I hear only my own slow emptiness
Word by word I try to hear
And there is some small motion now
But still
A real poem
A poem of beauty
A poem of light
A poem of love
A poem that makes the dreamer long to dream-
And the lover long to love-
A poem that moves-
Well it is very very dark outside
And the world straining to give
Small rain to a dry land
Seems to say,
‘There may be a poem today
But it is not the poem you dream
Not the poem others will love
As you have loved
True poetry.’
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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I Am Only One Small Name In A Universe
I AM ONLY ONE SMALL NAME IN A UNIVERSE
I am only one small name in a universe,
Of billions of names-
I am only one small bodily being
Where there are billions of billions-
I am a beginning and an end,
As all living things-
A speck in vast spaces whose specks are uncountable-
No one or nothing need save me
No one or nothing need remember me
No one or nothing billions of years hence
Need smile because I was here.
I am so small I need never to have existed-
I am not even here now,
Whoever is writing this
Lost me a long time ago.
poem by Shalom Freedman

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I Have The Mind And Mood Of Poetry
I HAVE THE MIND AND MOOD OF POETRY
I have the mind and mood of poetry,
But I have no poem-
And all I can do is wait
And hear the words come
And wonder whether their strength
Is in my own inner quiet
Which loves the words
And loves the poem
And loves the light from my window
And the flowers on the balcony
And all I see and feel and breathe now-
Because Love makes the universe resound
Even when there is only a small poor poem to add to it.
poem by Shalom Freedman

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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.
poem by Shalom Freedman

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All I Want From This Walk Is A Poem
ALL I WANT FROM THIS WALK IS A POEM
All I want from this walk is a poem-
A small poem-
I can take home-
A poem that can somewhat diminish
My guilt, my sense of failure, my worthlessness-
A small poem
That can make me feel
I am a human being again-
As sitting in the sun
And rewriting this poem
Does to some degree now.
poem by Shalom Freedman

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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

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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?
poem by Shalom Freedman

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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.
poem by Shalom Freedman

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The Poem That Comes From Hearing The Poem Of Another
The poem that comes from hearing the poem of another
And tries to ride on its rhythm
Like the sea on its own waves-
A forced music finding nowhere in itself a music of its own
Because all the poems are melodies made light by more light
As all the poems are dreams made dreamlike by more dreaming-
And we in our poetic fervor hearing that lyric sound
Go round and round again and again
As if we were the music of the stars
When the universe empirically spherical –
But now in this more deeply instrumented time,
When what we see with our eyes is always less than what we measure
Time and Time again tells us that Space and Space again tell us
That all we are in this long distance darkness
Is one small point of light which in its own sad way will fade out before its music endures-
For the stars have only our imagined music
and not more than the light
of their own violent dying –
So here having heard the poem of another
And open to my own inner voice,
I cry and cry again for another sky and another music
That only God Who is Beyond these earthly hapless sounds
Can Dream and Feel and Know
In the Lyric Ending that justifies our home.
poem by Shalom Freedman

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An Evening Poem
AN EVENING POEM
An evening poem
Waits for deeper darkness
A night poem knows blackness
As home.
A morning poem is light
An afternoon poem is thick with heat.
All times have a poem
And all seasons poems also
All lives are poems
And all stories also.
We all are and all know poems
Poems pervade us
And the universe.
It is night now
But when the morning comes
Its poem will overshadow now.
What a brave new world it is
With so many poems in it
And what a life-
With such deep sadness
Waiting forever to be unexpressed.
poem by Shalom Freedman

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This Simple Small Poem
THIS SIMPLE POEM (Four variants)
This simple poem
filters
through its small lines
The small light I have now
All I can write.
2)
This simple small poem
Filters through its small lines
The small life I have now
My only light.
3)
This simple small poem
Condenses
In its small lines
My life and my light
My fading in time.
4)
This simple small poem
Reflects in its small lines
The light of my life
Fading in time.
poem by Shalom Freedman

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Where Are We In This Too Large Universe?
WHERE ARE WE IN THIS TOO LARGE UNIVERSE?
Where are we in this too large universe?
Once they told us we were the center
And in our little time all History turning -
Now even Time has gone far beyond us
And our little interval
Is so so so so small
We will be gone before even the closest galaxy to ours knows it –
Once we were the meaning of it all
And now we are a question
And a transition we ourselves may make to something senselessly strange-
I want to go home
To where we were the center of the universe
And God chose us
Because we
Were God’s poem.
poem by Shalom Freedman

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I Need A Poem
I NEED A POEM
I need a poem
To get back to myself
To feel alive again-
A small poem, not a great poem
But nonetheless a poem-
These lines- the evening breeze-
I am who I am – again.
poem by Shalom Freedman

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One Small Step
So many people
Need to go so many miles
How do we move them
To where the answer lies
Reach out to the ocean
Beyond the stars that shine
Weve got to take one small step in time
If we are the dreamers
Then the world must be the dream
Driven to question
All the things weve never seen
We search the horizon
Looking for a sign
Weve got to take one small step in time
One step beyond
All our hopes and our passion
There is the light of the universe flashin
All that it takes is one leap of faith
One small step, (one small step)
One small step in time
Deep in the darkness
(deep in the blackness)
Theres a wind that never dies
(theres a wind that never dies)
Out in the vastness
(out in the vastness)
Theres a road across the sky
(a road across the sky)
Out there is the reason
That we were meant to find
Weve got to take one small step in time
Weve got to take one small step in time
(one small step, one small step)
One small step in time
(one small step, one small step)
One small step in time
(one small step, one small step)
song performed by by Cher

Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Small Poem Is The Only Poem I Have
THE SMALL POEM IS THE ONLY POEM I HAVE
The small poem is the only poem I have
I cannot build great structures -
One ironic thought at a time
In imperfect off-rhyme
A question and an answer-
Ambiguous
The best I can’t do
Is what I can give.
poem by Shalom Freedman

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I Wrote A Poem With The Stars As My Light
I WROTE A POEM WITH THE STARS AS MY LIGHT
I wrote a poem with the stars as my light
And thought of all the distances between the lines-
If only we could reach one another
But with each message we grow farther apart-
The universe was closer once
And so were we-
But now how great and greater the distances-
One day soon you will pass out of my horizon
And we will be as if we never were-
Even the greatest Love cannot be remembered
If there is not some small light shining still
Between the stars.
poem by Shalom Freedman

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The Poem -Written On The Small Pad
THE POEM / WRITTEN ON THE SMALL PAD
The poem/
Written on the small pad
In the almond tree park
Intersection Disraeli- Alkalai
The poem of the past days
The poem of the light – rain beginning,
Another Jerusalem poem-
Four- thousand years of Jerusalem poems
I from Troy, New York
Thirty- five years in Israel
Nearly sixty- eight years of age
Write.
poem by Shalom Freedman

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