Does The Night Have A Poem?
DOES THE NIGHT HAVE A POEM?
Does the Night have a poem?
Is there anything worth saying now?
To hear the Quiet is a kind of poem,
But I do not know-
The Night says the Wind now,
But is a small breeze enough
To make Heart and Mind
Come to Life again?
The Night is silent now
And Darkness is no answer either.
Night, Quiet, Sound, Light, Love,
The Beauty of simply being alive.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Poem Of The Night
The Poem of the Night
The poem of the night
is a quiet poem.
It listens only
to itself.
It calls no one;
It remains as it is
where it is,
waiting with the subtle light
which makes it mean
what Beauty does.
The Poem of the Night
is a quiet life
and a light of Love
Looking at God's world
and smiling at it-
poem by Shalom Freedman
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What Poem Can The Night Bring?
WHAT POEM CAN THE NIGHT BRING?
What poem can the night bring?
The poem of darkness?
The poem of silence?
The poem of infinite unrest?
What poem can the night bring?
When the night itself does not know its own meaning,
And all its quiet darkness says only:
A man alone cannot live as one.
A man alone can only write,
Until somewhere else
Somehow
He is heard.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Will I Have A Poem Tonight?
WILL I HAVE A POEM TONIGHT?
Will I have a poem tonight?
Or will tiredness take me to bed
Without an answer?
Will I be able to find within myself
Some sounds of meaning
Some hint of beauty?
Something deeper than the darkness outside
As real as the longing within?
The poem which is written about the poem which is not
Is the poem which is written about the poem which is
And the poem which is
Is tonight the poem of the night
And the poem of the night tonight
Is the poem this poem is.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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O Let Me Have A Late- Night Poem
O LET ME HAVE A LATE- NIGHT POEM
O let me have a late- night poem
A way of saying goodbye
To all the thousands of jumbled feelings of today
To all the music and the beauty of everyday life
To all the quiet haunting search for some great epiphany
To all the letdown and the loss and the fading
In the small errands of daily duty.
Let me have a late night poem
Which hints at the sense of loss
The question of why so much so beautiful
Must die
Why each of us is a passing fragment only.
Let me have a late night poem
For all my sorrow and prayer my pleading to God
A poem to say goodnight and goodbye
Because I too in yet another day ahead
Will understand why
We must all die.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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My Poem Came To Me In The Night
MY POEM CAME TO ME IN THE NIGHT
My poem came to me in the night
Long after I should have gone to sleep
It came with darkness inside and a fear of darkness deeper still-
It was a poem of the end of the earth
A dark poem
The last poem of the day and perhaps the last poem of forever-
It came to me in the night
And made me write it down gently
And said because there is no time left
It is impossible to add on to it
Or give it true character and feeling.-
The poem of the night and its darkness
Stilled me into vulnerable silence
And I slept and went to sleep
Far from the page I wrote.
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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He Who Is Too Tired For A Poem At Night
HE WHO IS TOO TIRED FOR A POEM AT NIGHT
He who is too tired for a poem at night
May find in the morning
A poem effortlessly, mysteriously comes.
The light alone may be the poem
The promise of a new day
The beginning.
The poem may be
That one is alive again
And that the world too
Seems to want to say with the day
Something different.
The poem may be inherent in who we are
And what the world is.
It may come to us
As the sun rises
And may be for all of us
A new day.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Wanted A Poem For The Morning
I wanted a poem for the morning
A poem to begin the day with-
A poem which would give my life hope -
I wanted a poem
Which would say I am alive
A good poem a kind poem
A poem which would make others a bit more happy-
And as so often
I wrote a poem
And left it as a question for the longer daylight and
the longer night which also is our life
beyond the morning-
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Night Should Write A Poem
THE NIGHT SHOULD WRITE A POEM
The night should write a poem
The mere ‘look’ of it
The lights- the different depths of darkness-
The night should write a poem
But tonight
The heat
The windlessness
The ugly close black sky,
All say that
Even the simple seen world
Cannot always answer
Our longing.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Strive Against The Silence Of The Night
I STRIVE AGAINST THE SILENCE OF THE NIGHT
I strive against the silence of the night
Against my own inner emptiness
I wait to hear some song from inside myself -
Nothing is written.
I go back to where I am
And begin again.
There is always a poem if one is patient enough.
But what poem?
And for what special meaning of this night?
I write again and again
A poem which is about writing a poem
And when I come to end it
I question again and again
Whether it is real.
This night is already deep in darkness
And yet I have almost broken its silence
One more line
One more writing about writing a poem -
Perhaps Memory will come back to me
And I will write a more real poem
Than this strained effort now.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Where Silence and Peace and Morning Sun/ Are
WHERE SILENCE AND PEACE AND MORNING SUN /ARE
Where Silence and Peace and Morning Sun
are
There is the Poem.
Where Quiet of the Soul is
There, the Poem.
The Poem is the Love of Life
in the Gentle Day and the Quiet Night
of this small Jerusalem garden
I sit and write in now.
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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The Silence Of Nothing To Say
The silence of nothing to say
Is forcibly broken by the will for words
A poem is made not born
And there are nights when only determination can say anything-
I write now in the shadow of the night
When all the light is artificial
When inside me is only an empty emptiness
A quiet of nothing deep or beautiful –
I can make a poem out of nothing
But then it may be nothing too
Words alone are not enough
The truer poem comes out of something deeper I do not have now
Let the words play
Let the silence be broken
Let this night be written down
For the empty poem it is.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Poem Is Going On Now
THE POEM IS GOING ON NOW
The poem is going on now
The poem is this walk
This wind this light these trees
The poem is going on now
Life
Just being alive now
Is suddenly everything I ever wanted
This wind this day
This life this world
This quiet Yerushalmi street
The poem is going on now.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Poem Came Late At Night
The poem came late at night
Long after the world had gone to sleep
It had a quiet in it and a peace and a happiness
And it felt alone and easy
Blank and white as an empty page or a fresh fallen snow-
It had in it magic and mystery
And a rare kind of beauty
Words speaking to themselves easily and readily-
It came just so so soft and so so quietly
And with such beauty and such kindness-
Surely it was a gift
This poem of the night
And surely it told me
How I should forever love life more.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Rarely Write A Poem Of Night
I rarely write a poem of night
I do not love the darkness-
I do not love less light-
But I know the night has beauties of its own
Its own special spaces-
Perhaps it is the sense that the end
Is more closely connected with the darkness-
Day as life, death at night-
I do not love the night
And I rarely write a poem about it-
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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The Poem Of Life Is Love
THE POEM OF THE MORNING IS LIGHT
The Poem of the Morning is Light
The Poem of the Night is Darkness
The Poem of Life is Love
The Poem of Death is Sadness.
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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This is a poem....
This isn't a poem of one direction,
This is a poem about perfection.
This isn't a poem about who won the election,
This is a poem about correction.
This isn't a poem of getting it right,
This is a poem of standing up to fight.
This isn't a poem of being lost like a kite,
This is a poem about trying to find the light.
This isn't a poem of running tears,
This is a poem about chasing your fears.
This isn't a poem of love and hate,
This is a poem of destiny and fate.
This isn't a poem of the end,
This is a poem of a heart unable to mend.
This isn't a poem of cruilty and pain,
This is a poem of a thng i need to gain.
This isn't a poem of shame,
This is a poem of fame.
Thsi isn't a poem of the life i let loose,
THIS IS A POEM OF THE TRUTH.
poem by Tammie LilAimo
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