An Old Man Waits For a Poem To Come
AN OLD MAN WAITS FOR A POEM TO COME
An old man waits for a poem to come
How many poems will come
Before he’s done?
An old man writes and writes and writes
He will write
To the end of his life.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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One Waits For A Poem One Cannot Write
ONE WAITS FOR A POEM ONE CANNOT WRITE
One waits for a poem one cannot write-
And writes a poem one does not want to-
And dreams them both with longing for something else.
And writes and writes
Poem after poem
Until one does not know
Where the poem is,
And whether one is a poet at all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Must
She writes as if there’s not much time.
She writes to pain, to happiness,
She writes to every remote detailed thought.
She writes to the departed,
to the extant,
to poverty,
to wealth.
She writes to mourn, and grief.
She writes to the wind, the rain,
forest, the desert, and mountains.
She writes to her pouring tears,
to her grateful moments,
She writes because really what she has is time.
She has no little ones to feed, or bathe,
nor a husband to make happy. To write is
to escape- to her. Time is not a problem, time
is just a killing system, she needs to kill in many words.
She writes as if there’s not much time.
poem by Elenushka Toledo
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I want to write a poem.
I want to write a poem,
But don't know on what to write that poem.
Should it be like the one Kenn Nesbitt writes,
or should it be like the one that Emily Bronte writes.
Should it be a serious one with no fun,
Or should it be funny with amusement of tonne.
Should it be an Acrostic poem,
Or should it be a Haiku poem.
Should it be on a relationship,
Or should it be on Titanic ship.
Should it be Educating,
Or should it be just on something.
Should it rhyme and take alot of time,
Or should it simply unrhyme.
Should it be long like a Novel and never end,
Or should it be short and quickly end.
THIS THINGS WILL DRIVE ME CRAZY........
poem by Rabia Javed
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Poem about Poetry - I know how God writes his poem
i know how god writes his poem
it is in the delicate, artistic and
defining lines of every flower
petals, pistil, stamen, pollens,
fragrant and scents that fill the air
i know how god writes his poem
it is in the ray of the sun
that reveals their metaphors
and rhymes in the rain
an arc over the clear blue sky
i know how god writes his poem
it is in your eyes, two lakes of honey
that sail me into your warm saccharine world
dilating and constricting to let them
speak more volume to my my lovelorn heart
i know how god writes his poem
it is in the dazzling lines of the sea
that shows the sky how many ways
it can define and redefine itself
it is in the breeze that pulls off a dancer
twirling towards me in every direction
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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A Poet's Blues
A poet
Is having a hard time
To day
While he is writing his poem
He writes something
Om his computer
And after he finishes it he reads it
And it doesn't seem good enought for him
So he errases it
And he writes his poem again on his computer
When he is finished with his poem
He reads his poem
And he is not happy with it still
So he errases it again
And then he writes it again on his compute
Now his poem is finally making sense
And all he needs to do is to elaborate his poem
Now it it is getting late for the poet
Ans he needs a break from writing
So he goes to sleep right now
poem by Aldo Kraas
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So Many People Have No Poem
SO MANY PEOPLE HAVE NO POEM
So many people have no poem.
No one writes of them and for them,
And perhaps it is not important to most of them.
But for the few who need and want a poem
And cannot write a poem of their own
Shouldn’t there be someone to write for them?
I have tried to write for a few
But not that well either.
Who will write for them?
Who will listen for them?
God Maker of all Poems and Silences,
You Alone can save us,
The makers of poems
And those who are only listeners.
God You Alone-Write their names for them.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I don't Write a Poem
I don't write a poem
but sprinkle my heart
on white papers.
I don't write a poem
but kiss flaming words
on the lips of volcano.
I don't write a poem
but croon a lullaby
for drizzling lids.
I don't write a poem
the poem writes me
and sets me free
from the life engulfed
by mirages.
@@@
poem by Madhav Sarkunde
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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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Happy New Year To You 2011
Kee writes to you,
My dearest,
Happy new year for you to be blessed,
you writes the best
really blessed if writes from the heart....
You penned few lines on my our book
The harvest of god and prayer words on dreams
Somewhere, you keep my heart and its burns
a kiss of your words....
To see no further than ……
And now our psalm
And a smell of fiery word in this poem
your writes little is the best....
I love our greatness in its charm..
happy new year to you dearest
Sincerely wish you happy new year,
you loves our poems on god
Kee thampi
poem by Thampi KEE
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Happy Words To Love 2011
Kee writes to you,
My dearest,
Happy new year for you to be blessed,
you writes the best
really blessed if writes from the heart....
You penned few lines on my our book
The harvest of god and prayer words on dreams
Somewhere, you keep my heart and its burns
a kiss of your words....
To see no further than ……
And now our psalm
And a smell of fiery word in this poem
your writes little is the best....
I love our greatness in its charm..
happy new year to you dearest
Sincerely wish happy to all, loves the fiery words in our poems
Kee thampi
poem by Thampi KEE
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Reflections 101
he writes not because
he wants to be read and
be understood
got him wrong really
he writes because he likes
to live
life writes upon himself
and so he writes upon life too.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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An Old Man Sits and Writes Poems
An old man sits and writes poems
And each poem is a cry from his soul
An old man sits and writes poems
And who is he what does he know?
An old man writes poems
And they are his soul
Poems and poems and poems alone-
His soul.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Cat Poem - with discussion
I must not write a poem
because I want to write a poem.
I must try to write the poem
when the poem has to be written.
Yes but what if my cat dies?
Yes, what if my cat dies
and I know my cat lived a
good and honest life
I can write a poem?
I can can’t I
I can have a cat poem can’t I
Life of an honest cat and that
Yes I know, I said the cat was honest
but I didn’t say that I was, and
I lied about the cat
________________________________
Discussion:
The poem begins as a slightly
finger wagging exercise in telling
people not to write just because
they want to write a poem - it must
be DRIVEN by the poem's insistence
on being written. The poet is
unable to sustain this arrogance
hence the cat. Then, using the
cat as an excuse, writes the poem
but in the end has to admit that
the cat was just a device to break
the rule outlined in the 4 opening
lines. (Secretly of course the poet
believes or at least hopes that the
poem is good enough to excuse itself
and be allowed to break the rule.)
But of course it isn't
poem by by unknown author
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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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I Wanted My Poem To Be A Real Poem
I WANTED MY POEM TO BE A REAL POEM
I wanted my poem to be a real poem-
I have read and studied and memorized
So many real poems-
I wanted my poem to be one of them
Which others would read and feel and memorize
And make their own –
We want and we want and we want
And who are we with all our wanting?
Who am I with all my wanting?
One more dreamer
One more ambitious person
One more lover of poems
One more writer of poems
One more wanter of real poems
Who writes this poem
For others
who dream like me
of writing real poems.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Music Writes The Mood Of The Poem
THE MUSIC WRITES THE MOOD OF THE POEM
The music writes the mood of the poem
As the poem itself cannot -
Perhaps it is only music then
Music alone
And not poetry
Which moves us most in feeling-
And perhaps in our own inner being
Our most secret sounds
are wordless ones-
poem by Shalom Freedman
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He Walks Without A Poem
HE WALKS WITHOUT A POEM
He walks without a poem
There is no poem in his mind
No poem in his heart.
But the idea of a poem
The dream of a poem
The daily task of a poem
The justification given by a poem-
He stops and writes these words down.
All around him
the morning light sings songs
of the things
of this world.
A poem perhaps?
Perhaps not?
I
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Poem Writes Itself
A poem writes itself
I merely follow
As it leads me
through the shadows
A poem seeks itself
And the light
I'll surrender …I write
A poem finds a way to be heard-
I try to remember each word from my
mouth to my ears to my hands
Then, to the world's
A poem finds a voice
I become, pen and paper
A poem makes a choice
I, the ghostwriter
poem by Sonya Florentino
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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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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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