After Shul This Morning
AFTER SHUL THIS MORNING
After Shul this morning
I feel a poem I cannot write-
The Beauty of the world
Deep deep in me-
The colors the light all around-
I thank God for all the blessings given me in my old age-
I walk home happily.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Walking Home From Shul
WALKING HOME FROM SHUL
Walking home from Shul
After early morning davvening
I am calm as peace
Quiet as happiness-
I hear my soul say:
Blessed are you in old age
That can walk home from Shul
So surely and so happily.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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There Is A Poem For Me Somewhere This Morning
THERE IS A POEM FOR ME SOMEWHERE THIS MORNING
There is a poem for me somewhere this morning
I will find it somehow
Perhaps it is in the memory of my father
Whose Yahrtzeit is today
Twenty- two years.
Perhaps it is as it is often
In the morning light
When I first walk outside to Shul
Perhaps it is in the deep need for a poem
For my own justification
Perhaps it is in my daughter’s search
For poems of inspiration
Perhaps it is in many things mixed together
Most of which I have not yet
And may never bring to mind
There is a poem for me somewhere this morning
I am writing it now
It is not beautiful
And not the best
And maybe even not much of a poem
There is a poem for me somewhere this morning
And I am not alone.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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On The Way Home From Shul Again/ Cold As Ice
ON THE WAY HOME FROM SHUL AGAIN/COLD AS ICE
On the way home from Shul again,
Cold as ice
Even the Beauty of the white-light morning sun
Cannot completely warm,
I look up at the all - blue- light sky
And dream the world
A poem.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Don't Know Why This Sadness Is Me
I don’t know why this sadness is me,
And why depression has suddenly come -
It seems as if I am empty alone
And nowhere and nothing knows
Just what I was.
I am deeper into what I do not want to be
Then I know how to go out of-
Oh these games of despair
How often have I played them in the past-
Let me walk outside
Let me feel the light
Let me read an interesting page
Let the time for Shul come and let me get to my Siddur again-
Anything anything
But the down of this now
Which by my writing is already somewhat less,
And only disturbance
Deep disturbance
Anxiety -
Why?
I will get out of this soon I tell myself-
When I get up from this chair
And do something, anything else
The door, the light, the light the outside
A walk up the hill to Shul will save me.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Do Not Die In My Aloneness
I DO NOT DIE IN MY ALONENESS
I do not die in my aloneness-
I live in it
I find solace in its silence-
I cry out to the sky with it
I feel Beauty in its fear
I love where it takes me in the long walking distance-
Alone alone alone
I see the morning light
And all the world is with me
As I sing my own song happily
On my way home from shul again.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Lost The Poem I Wrote In My Mind
I LOST THE POEM I WROTE IN MIND
I lost the poem I wrote in my mind
When walking to Shul this morning-
I can only try to recall its thoughts;
‘Walk too fast and the mind cannot hear itself
Walk slowly and listen to the poem inside yourself.
The road ahead the trees the sky
Has a beauty too great for you to write
Thank God for your sight.”
The best lines are forever gone-
A poem to replace a poem
Is not as good as the original-
I wish I had the words for all the beauty God gives me in my life
How wonderful it is to be alive- sometimes
And to be able to write poems – even if somewhat poorly.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Two Poems On A Morning Walk Back From Shul
TWO POEMS ON ONE MORNING WALK BACK FROM SHUL
GOD I AM AFRAID OF MY LIFE NOW
God I am afraid of my life now
Afraid of what it will become
Afraid of what I have seen so many others suffer.
Holding on now.
Just holding on.
THE BEAUTY OF THE MORNING
The Beauty of the morning
Is the Light
The new day
The world beginning again.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Morning Moon Gives Its Last Light
THE MORNING MOON GIVES ITS LAST LIGHT
The morning moon gives its last light
The sky is harshly grey and white-
I walk home from shul
Brisk wind and dark leaves,
All Freshness around me
Exultantly free.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Walking To Shul
Walking to Shul
Walking to Shul-
'Who are we?
What are we?
Where do we come from?
Where are we going to? '
The morning light does not say-
No one knows the answers to the deepest questions-
We live in a journey of guess and wonder-
We live and die
And who we really are
Only God knows.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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How Green Is God's World
HOW GREEN IS GOD’S WORLD
How green is God’s world
How light
How wonderful it is to walk in the morning
To feel alive.
I will pray soon
In Shul also.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Poem I Wrote/ As I Walked To Shul At Night
THE POEM I WROTE/ AS I WALKED TO SHUL AT NIGHT
The Poem I wrote
As I walked to Shul at night
Was the prayer that God
would help us survive and thrive
in this dark and difficult region
where Death and Destruction
are Demanded Daily
by those who would rather kill us
than love their own lives.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Morning Poem Did Not Come
THE MORNING POEM DID NOT COME
The morning poem did not come-
So this is the effort of an afternoon poem,
Warm and sun- filled and relaxing and deep and waiting.
This is a poem between times more interesting than itself.
The light is so great now.
But this too is a poem of little or nothing to say
Of afternoon emptiness after morning emptiness
On a tired tired day.
Once I thought I would write poems which would make immortal
Those I love.
Now I write poems to keep myself going.
This afternoon I am extremely tired
But if this is poem
Or even if I only think it is
I can have a rest
Before I face the evening.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Why Do My Thoughts All Turn to Despairing Possiblities Only?
Why do my thoughts all turn to despairing possibilities only?
Why do I feel so lost? So empty? So devoid of dream?
Why do I feel it has all ended for me?
And my life is about to turn to greater and greater difficulty
And smaller and smaller satisfaction?
Why does Lovelessness hurt more now?
Why do I fear my children’s greater distance,
And my inability to truly help them any longer?
Why do I feel so hopeless and so useless so old and so weary?
What is wrong with me this morning?
And will this now be my mood forever
Or will it be broken as it usually is
When I open the door and go into the morning light
And walk up the hill to Shul as fast as I can
With prayer to God in my mind?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Fear My Own Silence
I FEAR MY OWN SILENCE
I fear my own silence
I fear the end in life in writing
Before my life has ended-
I force myself to go on
I feel my own inadequacy
I feel I am writing poor lines.
I sense it would make more sense to stop
I should stop
I can’t stop
I need to write
Even if my writing is only the scribbling of an amateur fool who has wasted his life in words and more words
I write this now in the darkness before the morning has begun
Will I walk to Shul this morning justified?
Or do I know these lines now too
More of the same self- indulgent nonsense
No one needs but myself?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Morning Writes Its Own Poem
THE MORNING WRITES ITS OWN POEM
The morning writes its own poem
The light is its poem
We need the light of the morning
After the long darkness of night
The morning is hope
The morning is beginning
The morning is a new day
A new world -
We need the morning
And we need to begin again
And we need to feel life has hope
And we need to love the world
And to believe that walking out into it
Begins another day.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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What Dream Does The Morning Sky Say To Me?
WHAT DREAM DOES THE MORNING SKY SAY TO ME?
What dream does the morning sky say to me?
A cold and white dream?
A fast moving white- clouded dream?
What dream does morning sky say to me?
An old man walking home from shul,
Happy and at peace
Looking forward to breakfast.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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There Is A Poem No Morning Can Right
There is a poem no morning can right
It is the poem of the night
It is a dark poem and a deep poem
A poem of unrest and unquiet
It does not know its own name
And redefines itself through indecipherable disturbing dreams-
The poem of the night
Is not the poem I want to write-
But some nights it writes me without my asking for it-
And when the morning comes
I invariably rush to something else
So it may be erased.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Not Every Morning Is A Poem
NOT EVERY MORNING HAS A POEM
Not every morning has a poem
Not every morning has the light one needs
Not every morning is a new beginning
Not every morning is what morning should be.
Still this morning I will try
As I most often try
To feel from the first step outside
That morning is a new day.
God, how long has it been
With all these days and all this effort
And all these needings to begin again?
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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A Poem Before I Go Out The Door?
A poem before I go out the door?
Unlikely, but who knows?
I see the sunlight through the window
Outside beckons.
The indoor world is wonderful
But only inside is too much lost
I want to walk
I want to feel the fresh wind of the early morning
I want to feel free in just being alive
The poem is the anticipation
Of something so simple and basic in life
Almost everyone can have it
Walk out the door with me
And take joy in the light of the morning.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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