An Hour Before Shabbat And Chag
AN HOUR BEFORE SHABBAT AND CHAG
An hour before Shabbat and Chag
All is quiet
Everything has been prepared-
There is a silent gratitude to God
Holiness before greater Holiness-
I thank God for all these years in Israel
And for these holy times which come again
Year after year-
May we bless each other
And may God bless us also this year with-
"Shabbat Shalom and Chag Sameach"
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Poem Of The Afternoon Quiet Before Shabbat
THE POEM OF THE AFTERNOON QUIET BEFORE SHABBAT
The poem of the afternoon quiet before Shabbat
Is a peaceful poem -
Waiting and already resting
I try to remember those days
When Shabbat was Shabbat
In greatest joy and happiness-
But I am older now than I want to know
Shabbat has a quiet and music of a different kind
God can be served in old age also-
Let the family gather and the guests come
Let prayer be our music -
Joy is rest and quiet and peaceful family love also.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Last Poem Before Shabbat Comes
THE LAST POEM BEFORE SHABBAT ENTERS
The last poem before Shabbat enters
Already partakes of Shabbat
It has the hush of quiet sanctity
'Neshama Yeterah' on the way
It knows that it need not pain or praise,
The work has already been done,
It's time to rest.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Moment Remembered Of Shabbat Ha-Gadol 5770
A MOMENT REMEMBERED OF SHABBAT HA- GADOL 5770
Darkness-
Black clouds- grey spaces-
Morning light nonetheless-
A sudden happiness recalling
So many times of Shabbat Happiness
Given by God-
And now this year- Health again
The hope of more years-
Dark skies and so much light still-
I walk and pray on.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Poem Before Shabbat
The poem before Shabbat
Wanted to be a happy one-
It wanted to be one in which all preparations made
And the mind able to rest and forget-
The poem before Shabbat
Wanted to leave the world of the everyday behind
And move to another realm
Of Sanctity and Peace-
The poem before Shabbat
Wanted to be on the verge
Of a new soul a new world
Of Joy and Peace-
Of Shabbat.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Sabbath Queen
The sun has already disappeared beyond the treetops,
Come let us go and welcome the Sabbath Queen,
She is already descending among us, holy and blessed,
And with her are angels, a host of peace and rest,
Come, O Queen,
Come, O Queen,
Peace be unto you, O Angels of Peace.'
We have welcomed the Shabbat with song and prayer,
Let us return home our hearts full of joy.
There, the table is set, the lights are lit,
Every corner of the house is shining with a divine spark.
A good and blessed Shabbat.
A good and blessed Shabbat.
Come in peace, O Angels of Peace.
Sit among us, O pure Shabbat Queen, and enlighten us with your splendor.
Tonight and tomorrow–then you may pass on.
And we for our part will honor you by wearing beautiful clothing,
By singing zemirot, by praying, and by eating three meals.
And with complete rest.
And with pleasant rest.
Bless me with peace, O Angels of Peace.
The sun has already disappeared beyond the treetops.
Come let us accompany the Sabbath Queen’s departure.
Go in peace, holy and blessed.
Know that for six day we will await your return.
Yes, till next Shabbat.
Yes, till next Shabbat.
Go in peace, O Angels of Peace.
poem by Hayyim Nahman Bialik
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Walking On
Walking On
Darkness -
Black clouds- grey spaces-
Morning light nonetheless-
A sudden happiness-recalling
So many times of Shabbat happiness
Given by God-
Through the years -
And now this year- Health again
The hope of more years-
Dark skies and so much light still-
Walking on.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Poem Of Shabbat Morning Is Gone
THE POEM OF SHABBAT MORNING IS GONE
The poem of Shabbat morning is gone-
Forgotten forever
As if it never was.
It came to me
And I could not write it down
And now it is gone.
The world is filled with poems which are lost
And never written down
Great works and great mysteries
Never to really be.
In all those billions of unrecorded lives
That went before us on this earth
There were many many poems lost.
I write this down now
as compensation-
How many poorer poems
have replaced
the true poems
that were once
and never are to be?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Shabbat Is A Different Kind of Silence
Shabbat is a different kind of Silence
The one I make willingly –
Its quiet comes as a sacred blessing
And the song of its prayer
The happiness of peace.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I will bring you out of the land of bondage
I will bring you out of the land of bondage
Arms subjugated she prays:
Chag Ha-Matzot
Chag Ha-Pesach
to which the third eye replies,
'I will bring you out of the land of bondage'
the tenth plague will not touch you
and when the angel of death descends
to slay the Egyptians’ first-born
thou shall be passed over.
Then thou shall sit at each Seder
and retell the Exodus saga
while partaking in a festive meal.
Then thou shall recite prayers of thanks,
welcome Elijah the prophet
and sing Passover songs.
Thy table shall be festive and decorated
with four cups of wine, four why questions, four sons.
The Wise Son, the generation of the chacham,
the Wicked Son, the generation of the rasha,
the Unknowing Son, the generation of the simple son,
the Unquestioning Son, the lost generation.
And I shall make you four promises:
'I will bring you out of the land of bondage.'
'I will save you.'
'I will free you from slavery.'
'I will take you to be a chosen people.'
~~~
Alex Nodopaka Oct©2006
AD Something
poem by Alex Nodopaka
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Happy New Year 2012
New Year comes,
Old Year gone,
Happy and Merry Year,
Merry and Cheerful Year.
Happy New You,
Happy and Happy New Year.
All poets, and
All friends;
God bless You All.
Give Your Best in,
Creating Best poems,
In years to come.
Happy New Year 2012,
Happy Dragon Year.
poem by Lawrence Hiung
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Bill 'Awkins
"'As anybody seen Bill 'Awkins?"
"Now 'ow in the devil would I know?"
"'E's taken my girl out walkin',
An' I've got to tell 'im so --
Gawd -- bless -- 'im!
I've got to tell 'im so."
"D'yer know what 'e's like, Bill 'Awkins?"
"Now what in the devil would I care?"
"'E's the livin', breathin' image of an organ-grinder's monkey,
With a pound of grease in 'is 'air --
Gawd -- bless -- 'im!
An' a pound o' grease in 'is 'air."
"An' s'pose you met Bill 'Awkins,
Now what in the devil 'ud ye do?"
"I'd open 'is cheek to 'is chin-strap buckle,
An' bung up 'is both eyes, too --
Gawd -- bless -- 'im!
An' bung up 'is both eyes, too!"
"Look 'ere, where 'e comes, Bill 'Awkins!
Now what in the devil will you say?"
"It isn't fit an' proper to be fightin' on a Sunday,
So I'll pass 'im the time o' day --
Gawd -- bless -- 'im!
I'll pass 'im the time o' day!"
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Blood Road
The Old Year groaned as he trudged away,
His guilty shadow black on the snow,
And the heart of the glad New Year turned grey
At the road Time bade him go.
"O Gaffer Time, is it blood-road still?
Is the noontide dark as the stormy morn?
Is man's will yet as a wild beast's will?
When shall the Christ be born?"
He laughed as he answered, grim Gaffer Time,
Whose laugh is sadder than all men's moan.
"That name rides high on our wrath and crime,
For the Light in darkness shone.
"And thou, fair youngling, wilt mend the tale?"
The New Year stared on the misty word,
Where at foot of a cross all lustrous pale
Men raged for their gods of gold.
"Come back, Old Year, with thy burden bent.
Come back and settle thine own dark debt."
"Nay, let me haste where the years repent,
For I've seen what I would forget."
"And I, the first of a stately train,
The tramp of a century heard behind,
Must I be fouled with thy murder-stain?
Is there no pure path to find?"
The Old Year sneered as he limped away
To the place of his penance dim and far.
The New Year stood in the gates of day,
Crowned with the morning star.
poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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New Year's Morning
Only a night from old to new!
Only a night, and so much wrought!
The Old Year's heart all weary grew,
But said: The New Year rest has brought."
The Old Year's hopes its heart laid down,
As in a grave; but trusting, said:
"The blossoms of the New Year's crown
Bloom from the ashes of the dead."
The Old Year's heart was full of greed;
With selfishness it longed and ached,
And cried: "I have not half I need.
My thirst is bitter and unslaked.
But to the New Year's generous hand
All gifts in plenty shall return;
True love it shall understand;
By all y failures it shall learn.
I have been reckless; it shall be
Quiet and calm and pure of life.
I was a slave; it shall go free,
And find sweet pace where I leave strife."
Only a night from old to new!
Never a night such changes brought.
The Old Year had its work to do;
No New Year miracles are wrought.
Always a night from old to new!
Night and the healing balm of sleep!
Each morn is New Year's morn come true,
Morn of a festival to keep.
All nights are sacred nights to make
Confession and resolve and prayer;
All days are sacred days to wake
New gladness in the sunny air.
Only a night from old to new;
Only a sleep from night to morn.
The new is but the old coem true;
Each sunrise sees a new year born.
poem by Helen Hunt Jackson
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This New Year
THIS NEW YEAR
This New Year
Unlike any year before,
I will at last do,
What I have never been able to do before.
This New Year
After so many years
In which I did not
I will at last
Become
What I have so long striven to be.
This New Year
Perhaps God
Will give this to me.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Last Poem Of The Year
THE LAST POEM OF THE YEAR
The last poem of the year
Has Happiness as its message
Has Sadness as its theme
Has Love as its Longing
And Repentance as its meaning-
The last poem of the year
Has gratitude to God
And prayer for those I love
And prayer for healing for
sick-friends and family-
The last poem of the year
Has quiet as its message
And silence as its theme
And kindness as its longing
And hope for the next year
As its blessing-
The last poem of the year-
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Faithful Witness
To the firstborn of Yahseph,
Of all that is created;
To the secondborn of Yahseph,
Do set set your mind on Mount Zion;
For His name is His glory and,
Of the economic well-being.
Of the year of the rat,
Of the year of the dog,
Of the year of the cow,
Of the year of the bull,
Of the year of the sheep,
Of the year of the dragon,
Of the year of the snake,
Of the year of the pig,
Of the year of the goat,
Of the year of the lizard,
Of the year of the crocodile,
Of the year of the elephant,
Of the year of the scorpion,
Of the year of the turtle,
Of the year of the fish,
Of the year of the earth,
Of the year of the wind,
Of the year of the fire,
Of the year of the water,
And of the year of the bush!
Like the firstborns of slaves.
The hips of romance,
The faithful witness will not lie;
The same day,
The same night,
Of the love shared at where no oxen are;
And the crib was very clean.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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An Unresolved New Year
At the hour of twelve on New Years Eve
When the old year turns into the new
Thoughts turn to what the future holds
And what goals we should pursue.
At the hour of nine on New Years Day
Or some time thereabouts
We wake with great reluctance and
Those resolutions start to doubt.
At the hour of ten on New Years Day
When we start to feel our age
By then we've written lists of things
That will benefit through change.
At the hour of twelve on New Years Day
When things start getting clear
We find we've hid that list away
To return to in one year.
poem by David Keig
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At Lulworth Cove a Century Back
Had I but lived a hundred years ago
I might have gone, as I have gone this year,
By Warmwell Cross on to a Cove I know,
And Time have placed his finger on me there:
"You see that man?" -- I might have looked, and said,
"O yes: I see him. One that boat has brought
Which dropped down Channel round Saint Alban's Head.
So commonplace a youth calls not my thought."
"You see that man?" -- "Why yes; I told you; yes:
Of an idling town-sort; thin; hair brown in hue;
And as the evening light scants less and less
He looks up at a star, as many do."
"You see that man?" -- "Nay, leave me!" then I plead,
"I have fifteen miles to vamp across the lea,
And it grows dark, and I am weary-kneed:
I have said the third time; yes, that man I see!"
"Good. That man goes to Rome -- to death, despair;
And no one notes him now but you and I:
A hundred years, and the world will follow him there,
And bend with reverence where his ashes lie."
poem by Thomas Hardy
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His Work Is His Poem
HIS WORK IS HIS POEM
His work is his poem
And if he does not write
He has not earned his rest.
Thus these meager lines
Written before Shabbat
So his soul may sing ‘Lecha Dodi’
freely.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Eugene Carman
Rhodes' slave! Selling shoes and gingham,
Flour and bacon, overalls, clothing, all day long
For fourteen hours a day for three hundred and thirteen days
For more than twenty years.
Saying "Yes'm" and "Yes, sir", and "Thank you"
A thousand times a day, and all for fifty dollars a month.
Living in this stinking room in the rattle-trap "Commercial."
And compelled to go to Sunday School, and to listen
To the Rev. Abner Peet one hundred and four times a year
For more than an hour at a time,
Because Thomas Rhodes ran the church
As well as the store and the bank.
So while I was tying my neck-tie that morning
I suddenly saw myself in the glass:
My hair all gray, my face like a sodden pie.
So I cursed and cursed: You damned old thing
You cowardly dog! You rotten pauper!
You Rhodes' slave! Till Roger Baughman
Thought I was having a fight with some one,
And looked through the transom just in time
To see me fall on the floor in a heap
From a broken vein in my head.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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