Disturbances Errands Difficulties Pains Of Life
DISTURBANCES ERRANDS DIFFICULTIES PAINS OF LIFE
Disturbances, errands, difficulties, pains of life
And no time no time no time -
Self- made anxiety
And self- made frustration-
For what can I really do anyway?
A few lines of my own
In the silence of my own inner listening?
A complaint made in such a way
As to have a certain music and beauty?
Just peace inside as my own words come
And not all this clamoring to do things from outside?
A moment now here now is all I have today
Before the endless errands begin.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Errands Of Life Forfeit The Soul
THE ERRANDS OF LIFE FORFEIT THE SOUL
The errands of life forfeit the soul
One needs time alone with oneself
To truly be what one is-
All day long I have been somewhere else doing things for others-
Now tired at the end of the day
I am at last where
I can write the few lines
Which mean what I am this day-
And though they be poor and bleak
Still writing them here
I know I am myself – at last.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Too Many Errands
TOO MANY ERRANDS
Too many errands
No time for a poem.
A Poem takes time.
Amichai wrote
Returned years later
To perfect.
Rilke waited in silence for years
Until the ripened fruit dropped.
Goethe finished only at the end of his long life
What he had begun at the beginning.
A poem takes time.
Perhaps for some of us
Even a lifetime will not be enough.
As I now desperate
At the end of a long distracted day
Hurry these lines down.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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You Only Show Me Interest
I would love to sit and spend more time with you.
Looking at life from your point of view.
But of late,
I am reminded doing this I have done.
With little of my own visions,
You have neither invited or have welcomed.
And if you did,
You've made many excuses...
To run to do errands,
With a wish that I would come.
Today my happiness for me has begun.
And it has taken me a while to understand,
My happiness is of no interest to you.
Unless,
Of course...
It is spent entirely catering to you,
And what it is you like to do.
No more am I in it just to give to you, boo!
You have no interest in me.
You only show me interest,
If it is a benefit to you in all that you do.
And people like you around me I don't need.
'That's not true! '
What is it that I like most to do?
'You never mentioned it.
So how would I know? '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Irritation Is Not The Best Feeling To Begin A Poem With
IRRITATION IS NOT THE BEST FEELING TO BEGIN A POEM WITH
Irritation is not the best Feeling to begin a poem with
But the great heat, the great humidity
The slowness of my mind on Motzei Shabbat
The many errands that must be done tomorrow
The inability to begin true work,
The news of another anti- Semitic utterance by the Nobel Prize winner Gunter Grass
Above all the worry over the health of a family member
All these irritate and disturb-
And I can at best write a few plain lines
Begin to work
To make myself feel better
But not really influence what is outside myself-
And too the irritation that my poem and my words
Will reach a few at best
While the mendacious former Waffen SS member's poem
Has already made its hateful way to headlines in the world-
Oh it is wonderful to be an obscure nothing in writing
When it is only my own name and reputation which are involved,
But when it means I cannot really help the people I care about
This irritation this frustration anger so-
Oh how I just pray that my loved one
Will be after the doctor's visit
Better tonight.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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An Old Man Wants Life To Be Pleasant
An old man wants life to be pleasant
He does not want to know too much
About the wars and conflicts of the world
He does not want to hear too much noise
He does not want to hear people argue
And know about other peoples quarrels
He wants life to be pleasant
He knows he will not save the world
The others will have to do that
He has done what he has done
And done it for a long time
It has made little difference
And what else he can do will make less-
He wants life to be pleasant-
Without disturbances and disorders
Without too many demands upon himself
Quiet
Able to do his own things
Not bothered
To sit at home when he wants
And walks when he wants
And talk with his wife when they both are at peace
Not to hear and know about all the problems even his own
To be pleasant
To be peaceful
Even if inside he knows its going wrong
Even if there is the pain
He wants it to be pleasant
For as long as it can be
Before its not.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Life's Beginning
When does life begin?
Some say at conception
Others say at birth
For me, life began
The moment I met you
Before we met, I existed
Alive but not living
Then you changed all that
Simply by saying hello
Some animals are born blind
As I was to the beauty all around me Then you and your love opened my eyes and made me see
As in any birth, there was some pain
We both shared our pains with each other
Pains that would soon be replaced
By the joy of a new love being born
And where there is love, there is life
poem by Harry J. Couchon Jr
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A bright tomorrow
I don’t know how to work for better tomorrow
What are the rules that I have to follow?
How the thing to be allowed and grow?
No disturbances in life still nicely to flow
Mind doesn’t work in that direction
I wish to take no hasty action
Life seems full of uncertainties
One has to remain contended with varieties
It is always fine to move with great speed
You must remain healthy with good food and feed
Honest approach without any greed
Certainly to grow a fine plant from quality seed
No one is sure of what is in store
There should be no let up in efforts to explore
Even in difficulties try to salvage and land at shore
Think of another stage and try to act before
Result may not be fruitful or sign of encouragement
Life should be made full of movements
Ready to strike at any given time or moment
To accept the fate smilingly without offering any comment
I may not yield to pressure and allow the things to worsen
The difficulties may come on the way unforeseen
I may wish to cry by hiding the face under pillow
I shall be prepared for worst situation and bitter pills to swallow
Sun was blazing all the way
Striking heat waves with direct rays
Forcing people to find shelter on the way
but not letting any opportunity to pass or giving away
Have you learned about people who work under the sun?
They work continuously but don’t ask for anything or run
it is difficult o stand under direct waves at afternoon
They think it may pass off very soon
I had learnt about one farm laborer,
He looked to me as torch bearer
Sun was on top but he was sweating and singing
He has all the joy while digging;
I dared not to ask him “Will you eat some food? ”
It is nicely prepared, fresh and good,
”No dear sir” I am very sorry,
I earn sufficient and food is no worry,
I am able to make it today and so no need to accept or borrow
Today you are there but who will offer me tomorrow?
The reply saddened me for the moment and sent shock wave
what an answer or gesture? I really felt shame and couldn’t believe
Who can be considered as an ideal philosopher?
The person who has no knowledge of others
Or who consider themselves as great personality?
We can think positively about the fine blend and quality
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Spring Time
Spring is the heart of nature
Flowers blooming with bright lighted colors,
that lifts the sorrow,
that uncovers the pains inside another.
Pains of love of nature
Pains of peace and quiet
This time of the year,
things blossom to the humid air
where little brisks of wind touches the air
Where plenty of cotton candy clouds appear,
every minute and everyday
The new is being born
The old is fading away
Until one day
Until one moment
Everything is PERFECT! ! !
poem by Rholand Nguyen
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Beauty Of Silence
The beauty of silence is,
When there are no mistakes
The beauty of silence is,
When there is no time to hate
The beauty of silence is,
When there is nothing to explain
The beauty of silence is,
When there is no time to diminish in pain
Lust for every love
Dreams of entire reverie
Beget the pins & pains
Of lies in the stygian of mind
The beauty of silence is, when there's no one to divulge.
The beauty of silence is, when we see in divergent views.
The beauty of silence is, when there's only you.
poem by Amir Amzah
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In The Spirit Of Rumi 49 - The Mind
O Mind, where are you this morning?
I really need your help…
God bestowed on you His most precious gift –
He gave you the ticket to roam
the length and breadth and height of all His lovely Creation
- as much as any mind can know what’s there
behind what’s there –
you use this ticket all the time,
but have you ever thanked Him?
When it’s time for you to come home
because you’re needed there
you send a message saying,
I’m busy here – I’ll be back later –
and then, what happens?
You dream up ideas of 'me' and 'mine',
and then like a dog, bury a juicy bone
because you don't trust your Master
to feed you every day...
My body was made by God, and
fed by Him every day, but
it’s always here at home; and
it would love you to be home…
My soul was made by God, and
fed by Him every day, but
it’s always here at home; and
it would love you to be home…
O Mind, you were made by God and
fed by Him every day, and
given this freedom pass by Him;
why can’t you be here at home when you’re needed?
You’re supposed to be my servant;
Did I not train you properly?
loved you perhaps too much?
I have urgent errands every day for you;
when you’ve done them, I’m happy
to let you off the leash, laughing, barking,
leaping, panting, your tail wagging like mad
at the fun of being you…
Please, Mind, be a good dog..
we’ll love each other all the more…
I promise…
poem by Michael Shepherd
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As Fresh As Dawn Awakens
Today,
My eyes and mind...
Are not on mistakes I've made.
Nor are they concentrated,
On aches and pains I've had.
Or the passing of judgements of others!
Today,
As fresh as dawn awakens my sensibilities...
I reach and desire something fresh to experience.
I want to witness and participate with nature.
I want to feel assessible to anyone that approaches.
I wish to remove every restriction,
Others may around them have!
Today,
My eyes and mind...
Are not on mistakes I've made.
Nor are they concentrated,
On aches and pains I've had.
Or the passing of judgements of others!
Today,
I am going to pray and be grateful.
Today,
And everyday thereafter I am blessed to breathe,
God is going to hear me express how blessed I am.
And not a complaint will I address.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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After All The Endless Longing To Be Who We Are
IN THE MANNER OF BORGES I WRITE POEMS IN MY OLD AGE
In the manner of Borges I write poems in my old age
And dream that they are not only imitations
Of poems written by others
When we all were young.
Instead I go on now in the darkness of the night
Because the fear of what will be
Is always so deep in me
It does not need Poetry or Happiness or any other Meaning
Outside itself.
We are small sands drifting on the edge of stars
Lesser beings of a time we will never know
All that we have done comes back to us over and over again
As if we never were
I don’t believe I will ever write Borges lines
He wrote them in his own imagined words
And I must in my own little life
Suffer to the end of time
All I have not been
And never will be.
God Who is Good
God of Love
You gave me so much
You did not have to give me Poetry also.
THE REAL POETS
The real poets are few in number and largely known by name
The rest of us are endless frustration in aspiration
Words upon words upon words
Dreams upon dreams upon dreams
Getting and going nowhere forever unheard
The real poets find their anthologized place
And we know them over and over and over again
The rest of us just appear this only once
If we appear at all
And our words and our hearts and our minds
Do not encompass and inspire the endless rereadings
Time and Time’s Wounds make again and again and again
We are once only always forever losts
Nothing will save us
These words too coming in the wake of a long night’s reading
Of the poems of others
Cannot sustain and redeem
Cannot be what they would be
Cannot help and cannot save
Me or you or anyone we love
Even as poetry.
God Who Knows All
And in the End Decides on Everything
Has made us smaller even than the Angels
And our place in the Divine Song
Is not as far as we know
Anywhere heard at all.
Goodbye world
We are going
We have done what we could
We have written and written and written
Oxymandias’ poet will remain
And we will not
The lone and desert sands will stretch away
When we are not even a single grain.
THE WORLD IS FILLED WITH THE ENDLESS SILENCE OF THINGS
The world is filled with the endless silence of things
Dreams in old age are not the dreams of youth – and will never be
Old pain in old bodies stirs the imagination to anger at itself
The history of the universe begins somewhere long before we were born
And when Time ends more Time will not begin elsewhere
Parallel universes pose mathematical riddles to an evidence- hungry horde of physicists who live by supposition alone
And yet underneath it all we are biological beings – brains of our own misperceptions
Clamoring clamoring while on the other side of the moon
The cold goes deeper in us than all the distances we will never reach
Mites and Bites and Little Strings Digital waves and wiry wise things
We are all more than a cave painting with buffalo music beating in the fire
Under the darkness once
When we hunted with small eyes the body’s animal prey
Our spirit said mocking melodies of great and good sounds
Let the Maker of All be One in Love
And less than us may there never be new
The world we love and the people we trust
And the endless game of the transitions
This is a hell of a way to be who we are
And yet some say we are dust more than stars
And under the end of the forever we feel
Only our Names will remain not quite real.
AFTER ALL THE ENDLESS LONGING TO BE WHO WE ARE
After all the endless longing to be who we are
We come in old age to know what we dared never dream
That we as we are are less than we will forever be
And all that we have made is nothing beside
What God alone may make us should God have decided
That we are worth more than the interval here of our own small being
Dust is not enough
And will never be
For what we dream
For those we most love
Bones interred and epitaphs made righteous in stone
Cannot replace the vital thing of each breathing being
So so long ago
I knew when my grandmother died that she Bessie Zeibert- Peshie really- had so much love and goodness she should never be gone
Lost in her very last moments seeking a stolen sweater no one had ever taken
A sixteen year old girl in steerage with her first child who would never marry and live only to help his nephews and niece
God of Love
What are we
So many have died
So many good people
And I here officially an old man yet young enough to begin and thrive again in words
Questioning as I did then and knowing more and no more
We are the end and the beginning of the universe humanbeings kind or unkind
Light too is another name for death when it is forever too strong
I see I feel I know
We are what we are
And You will take us home
In a way we cannot dream now
Something so good as many of us have been
Must never die
And You Alone know how
We will survive
In the endless Infinite Eternity which no one who has ever lived can describe
Or truly understand.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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All These Ironies And Inner Pains
ALL THESE IRONIES AND INNER PAINS
All these ironies and inner pains-
All these sad reflections-
The endless inner contradictions-
All this joy that suddenly comes
To save the morning light-
All this life which means so much
And means it seems nothing in the end-
All these longings and meanings
I bear with me each day-
And write in little lines
Which God I pray
Will never cast away
But rather reread to no end of Time
Oh Life Oh Light oh Poet’s dream Sublime.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Remembering The First Time
Remembering the first time we made love
Remembering the first time we made love
I was just recalling
Sitting here glad as I am
With your photograph,. I hold it in my hands
Aching for a vision of you, youre right in front of me
Looking at the photograph, and the way you were looking at me
I was remembering the first time we made love
I was just recalling
Remembering the first time we made love
Remembering the first time we made love
I was just recalling
Remembering the first time we made love
Sitting here looking at the table
Its just like a photograph
Theres you and me, fruit, drink, good food
Oh the things we did, the things we did
From the shower we took to the very first look
Remembering the first time we made love
I was just recalling
Remembering the first time we made love
Remembering the first time we made love
I was just recalling
Remembering the first time we made love
Youre rich, youre beautiful, youre in love
How wonderful life can be
Just the wya you wanted it to be
Yet I am the colour of the night
I am the colour of the night
If you could only make it right
If you could only make it right
Remembering the first time we made love
I was just recalling
Remembering the first time we made love
Remembering the first time we made love
I will never forget you girl
Remembering the first time we made love
Remembering the first time we made love
Love you, love you, love you girl
Remembering the first time we made love
song performed by by Simply Red
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Time Rages At The Quiet Of My Soul
TIME RAGES AT THE QUIET OF MY SOUL
Time rages at the quiet of my soul-
My children are so busy now
With the errands of life
I cannot help much-
All my worry for them is irrelevant
They are deep in the duties of life
And I am old with retirement
Wishing I could help more-
And praying for their well- being with all my inquiet and irrelevant soul-
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Women in particular need to keep an eye on their physical and mental health, because if we're scurrying to and from appointments and errands, we don't have a lot of time to take care of ourselves. We need to do a better job of putting ourselves higher on our own 'to do' list.
quote by Michelle Obama
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Beauty Of A Poem
The beauty of a poem
The beauty of music
The beauty of light
The beauty of life
The beauty which makes us want to live life more
The beauty which pains us inside
The beauty in longing.
The beauty we come upon by surprise
The beauty of the day and the beauty of the night
The beauty we all have inside us
The beauty we can see and feel and never explain
The beauty that lifts us up
The beauty that makes us want to live more
The beauty that makes us reach out to God
The beauty we want to thank God for
The beauty of lilacs
The beauty of autumn leaves
The beauty of the people we love
The beauty that pervades life
The beauty that turns away from us
And will not let us be a part of it
The beauty we hold on to fragilely
As a driven leaf
The beauty the beauty the beauty
Oh life oh God of goodness oh death
The beauty we can never see
And the Beauty within us all
Oh God
The Beauty in us and Beyond us all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Winters Over
I made it through.
Another winters over.
She was bitter.
At one point I didn't know if I could make it.
Yet I did.
I made it through.
Another winters over.
She was bitter.
At one point I didn't know if I could make it.
Yet I did.
Time for some repairs.
Make it even better for the next year.
I must be prepared.
For the harsh realities that bring so much despair.
I made it through.
Another winters over.
She was bitter.
At one point I didn't know if I could make it.
Yet I did.
I made it through.
Another winters over.
She was bitter.
At one point I didn't know if I could make it.
Yet I did.
Stipping off all these cloths.
I was so overloaded.
Like a snake I'm shedding my skin.
Replacing it with something better then.
Putting out my sign soon.
Home made and hand crafted.
So green all I used was my surroundings.
I made it through.
Another winters over.
She was bitter.
At one point I didn't know if I could make it.
Yet I did.
I made it through.
Another winters over.
She was bitter.
At one point I didn't know if I could make it.
Yet I did.
Still their is no single silver bullet when it comes to life.
No antidote to some difficulties.
Sometimes you must face things headon with a little sweat and hardwork maybe you'll come out on top.
Provide a helping hand to those who still have not.
Just because your better off doesn't mean so is everyone else.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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A Poem Wants Me
A POEM WANTS ME
A poem wants me-
I want to walk up the hill
In silence-
I have too many errands today
But it will not let me go-
It makes me sit in the shade
And write this down
As if my every little thought
Must be a part of it-
A poem wants me
Can it now let me go?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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It Has Been So Long / Since I Had A Poem Of The Morning
It has been so long
Since I had a poem of the morning,
So many small deeds and interruptions,
So much exhausting summer heat
So many distractions of errands
And vanities of wasted time
But now at last
Morning again
Light again
Cool Breezes again
Life again
Oh how I live for these beginnings of each day
which make the whole worthwhile.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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