I Have Written My Life Away
I HAVE WRITTEN MY LIFE AWAY
I have written my life away-
The years have gone by
Without recognition for my work
The time has gone by
And there is not enough left for a career-
I am an old man
Singing the same songs I sang fifty years ago-
Perhaps it is right that no one cared
Perhaps it is right that all my words will go with me to the grave
in silence-
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Have Written My Life Away-Most Of What I Have Written Is Already Lost
I HAVE WRITTEN MY LIFE AWAY- MOST OF WHAT I HAVE WRITTEN IS ALREADY LOST
I have written my life away-
Most of what I have written is already lost-
A portion of the work remains-
And who knows how long it will last?
I will try in the time left
To make it better –
But who knows
It may be like
Much of most things
Not worth keeping-
I have written my life away-
Thank God I had the time to do this.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Poem Can Be Written Anywhere, Anytime
A poem can be written anywhere, anytime-
A poem can be written too early in the morning
While waiting in Talpiot for ‘Rami Levi Supermarket’ to open-
It can be written in one’s head in a frozen Army barracks in Beit El
Or in a small room on Rav Berlin St on an old Smith- Corona
In the first happy years of one’s marriage-
It can be written for years from Haganah St. in French Hill
In the family years and the lonely ones
It can be written walking by the sea in Tel Aviv
With small children in hand-
It can be written on the same shore years later when one’s life has been broken
By Love’s desertion-
It can be written in old age on Rehov Shahal in Givat Mordechai
As one takes joy from the birth of one’s first grandchild-
A poem can be written anywhere anytime-
I have been writing my poems in Israel
For more than half a lifetime-
May those too
Who come after me
Read and Write Poetry here.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Where Is The Poem I Could Have Written?
WHERE IS THE POEM I COULD HAVE WRITTEN
Where is the poem I could have written?
The life I could have lived?
The one in which I got it right?
Where is all the time lost
In not doing it the right way?
All the years and years of effort mistaken?
It is not good to know
That one has made a mistake of one’s life
When one could have had it right
Had one only had the wisdom, the courage, the moral strength
To ask and learn from others.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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My Words To Be Written
Words can be said, they can be written
they can be funny or sad or informed
words are sought after by everyone
papers, scripts, books, letters or texts
they can gossip, tattle or lie
honest, trust worthy, confusing
written to story or rhyme to rhythm
they can be found in our minds
written or printed they are strong
brought together the bring magic
imaginations, fantasy, real life
many stories and songs by words
have touched the soul with in
my words are to enlighten and entertain your mind
to put you in places we never dreamed
and to think I could of done that
my words to you is my soul to share
written with love, hate and sorrow
take the time to enjoy the words
words make ours dreams come true
poem by Michael Peterson
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For My Sister On Her Sixty- Fifth Birthday
FOR MY SISTER ON HER SIXTY- FIFTH BIRTHDAY
Where have the years gone?
My sister -
The most beautiful the kindest little girl on First Street Troy New York
Is sixty-five years old today-
Where have the years gone?
How can I ever thank her
For the devotion with which she cared for my parents
In those most difficult last years?
How can I ever say how much her being the only witness
Left with me of that world then
Means to me?
How can I say how happy I am for her
That she has raised with her husband
Four loving and caring daughters
That she made quite late in life
A name and career for herself?
Above all that she is still the good caring person
Who with her mother’s practicality
Makes the best of what life gives.
My prayer is for health and blessing for her
And her family
In the years ahead.
God gave me only one sister
Thank God it is Joycie.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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These Poems These Songs This Beauty This Life
THESE POEMS THESE SONGS THIS BEAUTY THIS LIFE
These poems these songs this beauty this life-
All that I hear inside me
And have heard from others
Through years of listening-
All that I take with me inside
As if it were forever mine
The songs I have learned and love
The poems I recite in my soul
Without even trying to-
All this like the dust
Like the air
Will vanish when I go
And the song of my soul
Will be
As blank as the silence
Of a page never written on.
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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Gone (In memory of my Grandpa)
Grew up without a father in my life.
15 years passed me by having a grandpa that truly cared.
Took me anywhere I wanted to go.
Teaching me from right and wrong, when mom was at work.
Never thought it would end like this.
On that last week of school hard-aching every moment while
I was there trying to get by, not trying to cry.
May 26,2005 gone 15 years of my life flashed before
my ver own two eyes.
Every Razorback game on tv, we watched together.
He never let me down.
Supported me in anything I did.
Sitting here thinking its been almost a year, one long
year since he's been gone
Can't believe its been that long.
Missing him so, wishing he was still here, here to see
me graduate next year.
You never know what you've got until its gone before
your very own two eyes.
Written in 2006
poem by Heather Hill
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Twenty- Fifth Yahrtzeit Of My Father
Dad I have written so many words about you
I have repeated your words again and again
I have described you
Laughed and cried in remembrance of you and Ma
All these years-
But what is it to you?
What does it all mean?
Is it ‘all just a dream'
There also?
Have these passing years meant anything for you?
Do you know of us and are you aware of all that has happened?
And when I come there most likely less than twenty- five years now
Will we meet again?
And will this longing to meet you end with nothing
Or with its realization?
Or perhaps will it never end
As we will both long from there too
Of the time we had together here for forty - five years?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Fifty Years Of Marriage
With dye and hair colouring they cover their gray
Their fifty years of marriage they celebrate today
Through fifty years of marriage they have argued their way
In their love hate relationship one well might say.
Their better days one can say for them are long gone
And they age without grace though time is ticking on
Their children are grand-parents and the years on them show
Since they too are ageing and their fastest pace slow.
Fifty happy years together by some we are told
But others who know them well and with their words more bold
Will tell you they never did see eye to eye
But why they stay together one must wonder why.
They have stayed together for so many years
One can hardly say of them the lovely old dears
Since they both are quite quarrelsome and grumpy as well
Perhaps without quarrels life for them would be hell.
Fifty years together and the same bed they share
Yet even in public places at each other they swear
Such marriages as their's suppose never were rare
They are not the World's only dysfunctional pair.
Today their descendants will celebrate the marriage of their Pop and Gran
And applaud this wonderful woman and man
But the truth of their marriage they will never tell
How they seem to enjoy giving each other hell.
poem by Francis Duggan
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That Fifty Year Old Woman
That fifty year old woman
she is someones mother
that fifty year old woman
she is someones lover
them fifty years of her life
unseen by a cover.
Covered by the leaves
from the autumn trees is the grass
surrounded by blue tape
and nosey people who pretend to pass
a group of actors walk by
they have come from a history class
to make history new
with conversation with questions to ask.
A fifty year old woman
in an autumn so cold
a fifty year old woman
seen dark winter unfold
them fifty years of life
it is all we are told.
The actors, they didn't get any information
they did not get pictures
nothing known about the situation
nothing at all to discuss
fifty years of age is all thats said
on the morning paper on the fifty bus
thats all thats said
a fifty year old woman, shes found dead.
That fifty year old woman
shes not someones mother
that fifty year old woman
how she had no lover
them fifty years of life
unseen by a cover.
That fifty year old woman
she was quoted in the paper today
that fifty year old woman will be gone tomorrow
the writers they will show no sorrow
because its the way things work
as people pass
she no longer lies on grass
shes covered in dirt.
poem by Daniel McCann
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So Many Words Of Love Have Already Been Written
So many words of love have already been written
Why should my poem for you be anything new?
It is true I loved you very much
And for years was deluded in the joyful thought that you loved me
I wrote of course words of love to you
But they are lost like most of what I have written-
Do I still love you now
So many years after we truly loved?
I loved you with the total obsessive love of one for whom the happiness of the other is the only meaning of the world-
Now I am old and far from even true remembrance of the love
that once was my life
And where you are in your soul I sadly do not truly know.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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If The Poem Is Written Against The Silence Of Where Nothing Happens
IF THE POEM IS WRITTEN AGAINST THE SILENCE OF WHERE NOTHING HAPPENS
If the poem is written against the silence of where nothing happens
And aims to find a way to make life sing of meaning
But instead finds itself turning only on its own author's pain
Then what is the use of it all?
Let Poetry too go lie in its own grave
And rest in silence
With all the billions of human voices
And endless words which have sought beauty and greatness and fame and honor and love
And now must lie silent forever as if they never were-
Poetry too can like all its authors die
And if the human light goes out
Rest in darkness forever as if it never were.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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All I Can Do Now Is Write Another Poem
All I can do now is write another poem-
The poems are small,
And do not require the long hours and long years
Of the books-
Like the world as a whole
I seem to have a shorter attention span
And less patience-
A poem can be written and given a name
In minutes not years-
Though some would say a great poem
Takes the travail of years of waiting
And years of work-
But I did not say
‘All I can do now is write another great poem'
Perhaps I have in all the years of the nights never written one-
I can write the poems I write
My kinds of poems
In a fairly short time-
All I can do now
Is write another of my kind of poems-
Whether they be worth anything,
Or not.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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My Pipes Are Still: The Poets Lament
I have given what I knew to give
placed my 'x' on the written page
yet the written words there have proven to be incomprensible
to those I had written them for.
I place fruit on the table
for mouths which sour
and see them brown-spot and fade;
I lift my heart strings
allow my music to sing
and yet receive back only half notes
but I none the less complete my songs
in my own head; lay them out allowing their blood to let.
Mark my pages lonelier than they should be
for consummation and soul-singing is sometimes that goal which eludes
and the fault lies with no one, except blind chance and cringing solitude.
So like Pan we all sometimes play our pipes, wander in the woods
hoping yet
our songs will resonate a yore
in time
among those souls
who wander the woods of life
after we are gone.
Til then
let's take solace
in lonely climes and solitary writings
comforted only by our own song
even if we are the only ones whom
by them
are heard,
heeded
and loved.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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A Life Philosophy
a life philosophy
not a philosophy on life
a living philosophy
clear concise defined
articulated in civil rights liberty
clemency morality humanitarian symmetry
it is not important to memorize words
words thoughts searched out through years decades
words become life beat peace harmonies
not a manifesto
not written out
not important to memorize
to write out
to be distorted
to be used to manipulate minds
a manifesto not
written out not
important to memorize not
no a great life philosophy
is lived in simplicity acts of humility
freedom gifted to all humanity
love in life
love for all life one life
love sacred fertile compassion love life
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Fourth Year
Four years have gone
And something's well done
It's not just the book
but the courage I took....
To have come this far
and winning the war
Of sleepless nights I battle
with my notes I patiently handle....
Through the rain and the sun
my school life's been fun
For the friends I made
half the weather is paid...
From the guards on the gate
and the bus drivers who wait
To the instructors who inspire
my grades got a little higher...
I'll come to acknowledge
for you all have given me advantage
To learn my lessons either ways
For both hard and easy pays...
I was neither disobedient
nor a student that obedient
But school life will be a miss
Along with people I used to tease...
Now I'll go and be on my own
Four long years I have grown
To be someone worthy of recognition
So now, it's time for my graduation.
P.S. written 8 days to go
before my graduation...^_^
poem by nObOdy's gIrL
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The Silence Between
the silence between
words being written and read
seduces the mind to think
thoughts of creation anticipate
the blank canvas of the mind
which mirrors the open soul
calling out to listen
to the sound of pen upon paper
a mind at work
is a beautiful thing
and in writing seductive
words flow into sentence
a verse crafts itself
to be seen, felt
all in the aftermath
of the silence between
words being written
words being read
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Spoke To The Heart
many will read
few will comment
written words provoked
no response
in heart of emptiness
no answering echo chimed
perhaps these probing words
were not written to you
perhaps your faith
was still fledgling
unable to leave nest
to venture forth
upon world adventures
courage to take wing
was lacking
it was not your time
words never spoke
to your heart
perhaps they were not
written to you
perhaps you never
opened minds eye
perhaps you never will
perhaps this is not
your life purpose
perhaps to lead is
not written upon
enlightened soul
is not an aspiration
also born are those
who must follow
who must serve
poem by Terence George Craddock
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poem from frances R. (1)
i sang a sad song last night and they all liked it.
i rested for a while on that soft chair on that table by the corner
like a very lonely stranger.
i listened for the singer after me with his guitar singing another
love song.
not for me but for all of you.
i smoked my marlboro cigarette and breathed out some smoke like what
the rest were doing in that crowded karaoke garden,
a tissue was passed, i looked at it on a pinlight
i would be singing again another sad love song as requested by all of you
that time it was the song that i had written myself four years ago
i had given birth to two lovely daughters then when their father left them
i took my guitar went on stage and started to strum and sing
a song i had written years ago, some memories rushing back to me
all of you were silent then with your glasses of wine and smoke
holding hands to your girl or man on your side pressing some
soft flesh and felt the sad song of love creeping like a vine in the air
you waited for the moment when i will cry again
lights and eyes focusing in my eyes
i didn't cry anymore on the stage as you saw me once crying.
my tissue was wet with tears just a moment ago when i sat like any
stranger on that table beside an empty chair.
it was dark on that nook.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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