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How Many Poems/Can I Make Of/ These Flowers and Trees?

HOW MANY POEMS/ CAN I MAKE/ OF THESE FLOWERS AND TREES? /

How many poems
Can I make
Of these flowers and trees?
How many times
Can I say
‘The Beauty I see with my eyes
has no words for it.’?
How many times
Can I write and write,
‘The wonder of joy of this life
Fills my soul with gratitude and Awe’?
How many times can I thank God?

Everyday-
For the rest of my life-
As long as I have eyes and mind and words and heart.
Every day.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Am My Poem

When you see me,
you see my poems.
For when i breath, i breath out ballads.
But vers libre express my heart.

Should i write in complicated
and rhythmic words to make
my poems deep and beautiful?
My life is complicated already.

Should i write in simple and
enticing words to make
my poems attractive?
My life is not that simple.

Like stream to the river
down to the sea,
so is my poems from my
soul to my spirit down to my body.

You may disapprove me
but come and take a walk
within my soul and see if
you can live there for a moment.

So when i write, must i
invite you to read.
Read if you want to.
I write because the chamber
of soul finds relieve.

poem by Enebeli Ifyprada
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All These Poems About Poems

All these poems about poems
Where do they lead?

The world is so rich in so many other things
Write poems about them.

At twilight I look out
At strangers walking
To do their errands of preparation
for Sukkot.

A poem should have some Beauty in it
And not just be an effort at recording observations-

The scarlet bright flowers rage at me from the distance
I cannot translate their Beauty to words -

There is so much I have seen
And so much I will never write –
And so many Poems beyond my Imagination.

All these poems about my failing at poetry
And about translating the Beauty of the world to words-

This is a poem I not know how to properly finish.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Hundred Times Over

A hundred times over words have flowed through my fingers to the keys
A hundred times over I have released the freedom that is in my mind,
A hundred times over I have become one with my inter most longing,
A hundred times over I have taken a journey to show you my own world.
A hundred times over I have written of pain and life, of sorrow and joy,
A hundred times over I have used my art to show you what's in my mind
A hundred times over again I will show you.
A hundred times over I have cried for those, whose names are untold,
A hundred times over I have showed you their pain.
A hundred times over I have become their connection to you,
A hundred times over I have showed you the beauty of our world,
A hundred times over I have taken you somewhere you may never see,
A hundred times over my words have screamed the horror of darkness,
A hundred times over I have sung to you the beauty of light,
A hundred times over I have taken your hand to lead you to a new place
A hundred time over I have written for those who have no words to write
A hundred times over I have tried to show truth in a world of lies,
A hundred times over I have have tried to show the world's beauty,
A hundred times over again I will lead down these paths,
A hundred times over and over again I will show you reality,
A hundred times over and over again I shall show you my world,
A hundred times over and over again until you have memorised truth,
A hundred times over again until you can repeat what I have told,
A hundred times over again shall I create an art of words, time, of life.
A hundred times over again I shall do this,
A hundred times over again.
A hundred times over.

poem by Bethany Maxwell
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The Only Dreams I Have In Writing Now Are Poems

THE ONLY DREAMS I HAVE IN WRITING NOW ARE POEMS

The only dreams I have in writing now are poems
Poems and more poems-
I write them in the morning and in the evening
At all times of day
Whenever I can make them come to me
They calm me and make me rest
They bring a sense that I am still alive
They justify me an amuse me
They give me hope
The only dreams I have now are poems
And poems keep me alive
As long as they can.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Wrote A Poem I Could Not Write

I wrote a poem I could not write-
And then when I tried to write it again
Could not write it again -

Poems written and not written
Words and more words
What do they mean?

Paradoxes and games with words
What do they mean?

If there is Beauty in the language
It is one thing
But words just to hear themselves think,
Why should they mean ‘Remembrance'?

Oh Words oh Questions oh Darkness oh Life-
Let me write myself to the grave
Believing at least
That poems too even when they can be written
Have their small unhidden meanings.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Where Are The Poems?

Where are the poems?
I don't know.
The poems are all around me
But I cannot write them-
My words cannot do justice to what my eyes see-
The world is the poem now
How beautiful the flowers the trees the green the yellows
The land of Israel in the spring-
The world is the poem now-

poem by Shalom Freedman
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We Live Poems We Cannot Write

WE LIVE POEMS WE CANNOT WRITE

We live poems we cannot write-
Words of beauty that sometimes come suddenly
And disappear before we think to transcribe them-
Indescribable perceptions that move rapidly within us
And are gone before we can even be fully conscious of them-

We live poems we cannot write
Worlds of feeling there are no words for-

Our lives are pervaded by unwritten poetry
And our strongest Will and most determined Memory
cannot make pages of it all.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Here I write about myself

Here I write about myself
and at times my personality is far too strong
my leadership wants to take control
wants to cut into conversations,
wants to teach people,
wants to get involved,
to make a better place out of the world
and all the time I am learning
how other poets brew their words

and maybe my spirit
is just too bold
and I am looking right through the enchantment
of beautiful ladies

and marsh right through
until I get my target
as if determination
locks her claws around me

and to one I stay true
as if I am a saint
and her soul is driving me deeper.

I know no fear
as war has changed
my humanity

and when I write poems,
I am myself,
at other times a spectator
who measures out time and space,
keeps book of the pain,
tear through rottenness
and illustrate beauty

and in vain I try
to walk in the steps
of the big word master,
as a true follower

but with my own talent
and the whole time
my feet comes down
like military boots in the right pace
but following a different march
as if I do not know
how to parade my poems

l’Envoi
and here I write about myself,
about how my life is

and when I get home
I listen to the voices
of Dylan Thomas,
Douglas Livingstone
and every great poet
that I can lay my hands on,
see what are written in their works

before I grab a glowing hammer
and hit words into forms
as if I can melt
thunder and fire together
to words that stays crackling.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Oh The Poems

OH THE POEMS AND THE POEMS AND THE POEMS

Oh the poems and the poems and the poems
Oh the love of Literature
Oh all that stuff
I have given my life to-
Words and meanings and feelings
Pages and pages and pages –

What it is all this literary life for?
When out the window out the door
With our eyes we see in an instant other worlds other dreams?

I don’t know and I will never know
And Literature is certainly far more than I can say it is-

Oh the poems and this poem and this day turning grey
And all my life old and old and more old and more old-

Oh why oh why oh why
And always back to God
My last rescue and refuge and escape
I who have read so much Great Literature
And can only write this-

Oh the why and the oh oh oh and the words
And the whole world of Literature
I would belong to and do not.
Oh the words oh the world oh the Literature
Oh God help me please can’t you please help me a little or not?

poem by Shalom Freedman
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To my critics [Criticilor mei]

On the earth are many flowers,
But a few bear fruit and thrive,
All of them knock at the life's gate,
Many though can't stay alive.

It is easy to make poems
When you have nothing to say,
Writing empty words on paper,
Which are nothing but cliche.

But the day your heart is flooded
By desires and by woe
And your mind, hearing them shouting,
Is excited by their flow,

When like flowers at the life's gate,
All these knock at your mind's door,
Asking you to give them freedom,
To allow them to speak more,

For your passions and desires
And for your entire life,
Where will be your severe judges,
The eyes watching you with strife?

Oh! You'll feel as if the sky falls
On your shoulders in no time,
How will you express the truth then,
How you'll find the word and rhyme?

You, my critics, useless flowers,
Without fruit, prone to decay –
It is easy to make poems
When you have nothing to say.

poem by Mihai Eminescu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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Just A Poet

I am just a poet
Poems are my life
Words are the soul
The pen is my might.
Versus are the cup
From which that I drink
And knowledge is the bread
From which my mind is fed.
I live if just to write
The words that I cant speak,
For locked away in my mind
Are the versus to be rhymed.
I am but a simple writer
With a pen and pad in hand
Gazing at the sky and trees
To write what man should read.
I have walked many trodden paths
And down many mournful road,
Now I write about their tears and fears
For now they have became my soul.
I cant cure a mans health
Nor can I stop a war
As I am not much as I see myself
A poor man who loves the Lord.
And when I walk my last mile
And then I'll write my last smile
And on my pad it will show it
That I was but, a simple poet.

Randy L. McClave

poem by Randy McClave
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The Poems Bring Me Back To Myself

THE POEMS BRING ME BACK TO MYSELF

The poems bring me back to myself
I begin to live again –

Without the poems
I would have to make a new life-

I do not know if I am capable of it-

A life without poems without poetry
With other words perhaps-

I am too old to slowly write the long narrative
I never was capable of before

Little poems
Little lines
What I am capable of now.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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All I Can Do Is Write Poems

ALL I CAN DO IS WRITE POEMS

All I can do is write poems
I have nothing else to say-
Only what Poetry alone can give
The expression of the soul
The deepest feeling we have
Whatever is in us and hurts the most
And needs most to be said.
All I can do in pain is write poems
But when the gladness comes?
When the happiness returns?
I will try too to to find words
For what is unsayable.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Poems Are My Life Now

POEMS ARE MY LIFE NOW

Poems are my life now-
I write them as if they are all
I will ever write-
I live in them
I take hope in them-

Small
And yet not delicate
My heart and soul in them
The Poems I write now
Are all I will ever be
In Literature –

Maybe they too are nothing
But they are what I have and am now.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Like So Many Poems I Read

LIKE SO MANY POEMS I READ

Like so many poems I read
These poems I am reading now
Are not poems to me.

They are too detached
Too abstract
Too up in the air.

I want to hear the words
Make a music of feeling
In my soul.

A poem must move me
If it is to be real.

Why then do I write these words
as if a poem?

poem by Shalom Freedman
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The History Poems Have Not Been Written

The history poems have not been written
The poems after Milosz
The Wallace Stevens poems will never be written
I can’t come close
I have tried the Blake poems
But of course I am not near them either
I would like to the ironic intellectual poems
I might be able to do them
I could do a kind of surrealistic association mind poem a prose poem
But I don’t like that very much
The poems of Jerusalem have not been good enough
Poems of propaganda are awkward and unacceptable
The small poems that tell of my life
They are for me the chance at real poetry
And I will continue as best I can with them
The American poems I have not yet found the idiom for
I can be epigrammatic in Emerson Thoreau fashion
But not with the hard New England observing eye
Borges poems I love
And the stories of mind and literature
Making the drama of a life of a storyteller
Interest me
But I doubt I could truly do them well
Imitation can only take one so far
And through it one may lose one’s way entirely
I can really do only what I am
Not the Dickinson poems nor the Hopkins poems nor the Wordsworth poems nor the Keats poems nor the Amichai poems nor the poems of many others whose poetry I love
The Biblical poems have been tried
The poems of cosmic and scientific reflection
I could try to improve them
There are too many different kinds of poems to write
And I cannot write almost all of them
This is another poem about poems and poetry
I have written many for a long time now
Perhaps I need to go elsewhere and write in a new way
A way I have not dreamed or even remotely understood possible before.
The poems of the unknown poetry await me
I will go on but I am not sure now I know in which wa

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Poems About.

There are poems that you will never see
Marked in a folder titled 'privacy'
Poems of hate and anger and personal pain
Poems about greed and hunger and personal gain
Poems about people I would love to see dead
Poems about women I met
Poems about relationships that have gone bad
Poems about issues with mom and dad
Poems about me, the person no one knows
Poems about places where only my soul goes
Poems I wish I could place in the clouds for all to read
Poems about lust, selfishness and greed
Poems I know will hurt those I hate
Poems I write by complete mistake
Poems I have hidden in my heart and my head
Poems about things that are better left unsaid
Poems I want to share and poems I want to retract
Poems of shame and how others might act
They stay in my psyche, they are a part of me
These poems I write, but you will never see.

poem by Mahfooz Ali
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Writers block

At times I say to my pen
write dear pen
and scribble or scratch,
but whatever you do
write down words
and make sweet poetry
out of them.

But the pen lies silent
as if it’s ink is dry,
like a broken violin
that cannot play anymore.

So I go to my thoughts
and say think dear man
and dream and sing,
but I have forgotten everything
and every hymn
that I use to know
is gone out of my memory
as if it never was there.

So I try to dream
and to see pictures
of scenes of how
the words in the poems
should be,
but they grow stretching
away from me.

So I talk to my Muse
and no Muse answers me,
but when I pray
a thunderstorm flashes past
and words comes gliding down
like drops onto a thirsty soul.

poem by Gert Strydom
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The Rest Might

The rest might...
Criticize.
The rest might,
Analyze the times.
But these are
Only the times to live.
And these are
Only the times to give...
'What' and 'how' we can.

The rest might...
Try to hide.
The rest might,
Cry with alibis.
But sympathies
Really do not pay.
Not even wishing
That these times go away.
Nothing,
Today will stay!

The rest might...
Close their eyes.
The rest might,
Fight themselves inside.
But even having nothing more to say...
Wont make a difference,
If all things decay...
Right before our eyes!

The rest might...
Criticize.
The rest might,
Analyze the times.
But these are
Only the times to live.
And these are
Only the times to give...
'What' and 'how' we can.

So live your life enhanced!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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We Need Poems To Make Us Love Life More

WE NEED POEMS TO MAKE US LOVE LIFE MORE

We need poems to make us love life more
Poems that will make us happier
Poems that will make us kinder, better people.
We need poems that will inspire us
That will add to our sense of the world’s Beauty
We need Poems that will make us love others as we love ourselves as we love God.
We need holy poems
And joyful poems
And blessed poems
And kind poems
We need poems which will make us love life more
Which will help us love others and ourselves more
God more
We need poems.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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