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I Hear The Music Of My Own Poems Again

I HEAR THE MUSIC OF MY OWN POEMS AGAIN

I hear the music of my own poems again
I am grateful for this
Quietly and more quietly I listen -
When I wait
When I know how to wait
The poem is written for me
From somewhere deeper in myself
God has given me.

Why I have a name
And need a name
And need to own the poem
I do not know.

The poem is not mine
And I am not mine
And nothing will be mine.

All belongs to where it has come from
Beyond me

God of Israel
Be quiet and kind
To all of us
Who love You.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Was Away From The Poems

I was away from the Poems
I could not hear them within myself -
There were many sounds
Many different kinds of words
And speakers and ranters and shouters
And all kinds of false music also
And even beautiful music and prayer-

But there were no poems
I could hear no poems
And within myself suddenly there came such ‘longing’
And such ‘anxiety’-
‘Where is the Poem? And where can I possibly be if there is none?
And how can I find it again? ’

And all I needed I thought was some long long long silence
Some being alone and away
Some forever waiting to hear
Some listening to the true voice
And then somehow somehow the Poems would come again –

And here here here it is now
The poem
Quiet and sure and happy and light and singing
As if it were the one music God wanted me to hear
And repeat always as if it truly were mine and yours
Dear imagined reader,
Alone.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Listen

LISTEN

Listen
Listen more carefully
Hear your own inner sounds
Wait for the music
Listen
The poem is being written within you
It does not know your name
Or any name
But listen
Let its rhythm come
It needs not be anything any other poem has been before
Listen
Its your poem
Now
Listen listen listen
And write it slowly down.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Poem Without Music Of Its Own Is Not A Poem

A POEM WITHOUT MUSIC OF ITS OWN IS NOT A POEM

A poem without music of its own is not a poem-
I have lost the rhythm of my soul
I try-
I write these words
But where is the music?

Slowly slowly I strive
To listen to my own voice-
It sounds as if it comes from deep within me
Deeper than my own dreaming.

Is this a poem I hear?
Or only my own ambition and scheming?

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Wanted To Write The Most Beautiful Poem

I wanted to write the most beautiful poem
The one beyond any music I had known-
The one which would reveal the changes
in yellows and greens
spring sunlight whispered to the trees

I wanted to write the most beautiful poem
The one which would tell the stories of all those I have loved and cared for-
I wanted to write the most beautiful poem
As a poem of Kindness-

I wanted to write the most beautiful poem
Of sublime and overpowering distance
Of stars when stars were dreams -

I wanted to write the most beautiful poem-

But I knew many other poems already written
Would always be far more beautiful than mine-

So I tried to write the most beautiful poem I could-

But the light outside
The world and its colors
The beauties we see and hear everyday
Said to me again and again,

'Walk more humbly with your God and do Justice and love Mercy also'.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Wrote A Poem I Loved

I WROTE A POEM I LOVED

I wrote a poem I loved
But I could not rest content with it.
I had to write another poem,
And another poem.
And in the writing of other poems,
Some of which I also loved.
I lost the poem I loved.

Essentially I am a writer of poems
And not their possessor.

I possess many poems of others,
But somehow mine, I cannot.

However I love them
Perhaps I really believe
None of them good enough
To be worthy of such love.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There Is A Poem Which Is Not A Poem

THERE IS A POEM WHICH IS NOT A POEM

There is a poem which is not a poem
Its mind breaks its music
Its heart is too much in thought.
It does not sing us to somewhere else.

There is a poem which is not a poem
Prosaic confessional flat,
Its says its single thing from the soul
And leaves the page without implication.

How many such poems have I written
As I write this one now?

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poem Of All The Places I Have Never Been

THE POEM OF ALL THE PLACES I HAVE NEVER BEEN

The poem of all the places I have never been
The poem of all the dreams I have not seen
The poem of others poems written in lines I have never imagined
The poem of the infinite – what-is- not and ‘what- will- never- be
The poem of seas and suns and sounds and Shakespeare’s sonnets,
The poem of words and only words whose sounds do not mean what we feel
The poem of all I would not and cannot write
The poem that is not and never will be in me
The poem I do not write
The poem I am not
The poem lost
The poem which itself is not a poem
The poem of the last contradiction and the first
The poem beyond the poem hidden within the poem
The poem which will never be a poem
The poem which is not
The poem I cannot dream.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poem Is Always With Me

THE POEM IS ALWAYS WITH ME

The poem is always with me
It waits inside.
And when it wants to be heard
It asks me to write it down.

Sometimes I say it,
Sometimes I hear it within myself silently,
Sometimes it goes away
When I go elsewhere for a while.

The poem is always in me
But sometimes it goes away
And is lost forever.

How many poems have I lost?
And how many poems have I never written down
That I should have?

And how many times have I written down
What is not a poem for anyone,
Except for the one who seems to need
A poem inside
All the time
So much?

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wait For A Poem

WAIT FOR THE POEM

Wait for the poem
Let it speak in you
Let the words come as they come
Feel if they are real
Check them as they are written
And afterwards
When the poem is done
Look with a critical eye
Listen and hear if within
Its rhythm is true -
Then rest and wait
And read again
And feel if it is something
Others may listen to-
And then pretend
You have no doubts,
And tell yourself
You have done
What it is for you to do
And can now
Shut down.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Perhaps Some Of My Poem Is Yours

PERHAPS SOME OF MY POEM IS YOURS

Perhaps some of my poem is yours,
And some of yours mine
And perhaps we have a poem together.
Perhaps, but only perhaps.
Maybe after all my poem is only my poem
And your poem only your poem
And never the poems shall meet.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Not Every Poem Knows How To Say Its Own Name Properly

NOT EVERY POEM KNOWS HOW TO SAY ITS OWN NAME PROPERLY

Not every poem knows how to say its own name properly-
There are poems that have no name
And poems that are named by others who have not written them-
There are poems whose names make them what they are
And poems whose names contradict and belie them-
Many poems have their first lines as their names
And these poems often are as memorable as one line only-
Great poems and good poems can be nameless
Or can have unforgettable names.

Not every poem knows how to say its own name properly -
Poems are poems are poems
And names are names are names
And sometimes they meet and are one
And live happily ever after-
But there are times when perhaps
They never should have met each other at all.

Poems have their names
And names have their poems
But sometimes they love each other
And truly are one.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Poem Is Not The Answer To Everything

A POEM IS NOT THE ANSWER TO EVERYTHING

A poem is not the answer to everything-
Perhaps it is not the answer to anything
Though I wouldn't take it that far-
There have been times
When a poem was the answer-
Many times
A poem written by someone else
A poem I tried to write by myself-

Poems can be an answer
Perhaps not for most things
Perhaps not for all the major things
But for moods and pains and feeling
And desire for Beauty
Poems can be answers at time-
A poem is not really the answer to my problem of the moment now
But it is an answer of a kind anyway
Thank God for poems and for this poem also.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poem Of The Evening Is A Quiet Poem

THE POEM OF THE EVENING IS A QUIET POEM

The poem of the evening is a quiet poem
It comes in gentleness with tired eyes
It does not know how long it will last
It believes a fresh breeze
And a simple song
Are all its needs
To feel happiness.

The poem of the evening this evening
Believes in life
Believes in Goodness of God
Believes it will somehow be alright.

The poem of the evening this evening
May be a foolish one
But it is a quietly happy one.

We need such poems sometimes
For life is hard in the long working days
And in the times of difficult idleness
When no dreams come.

Quiet and quiet
Soft as sleep
The poem of the evening this evening
Is a gentle one.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There Was A Poem Long Ago

THERE WAS A POEM LONG AGO

There was a poem long ago
A poem of youth and hope
Now there are other poems
Poems of age and sorrow.
There was a poem once
Of love – and happiness in love
Now there is a poem of lovelessness
And sadness.
There was a poem once
Of the long and distant open road
Now there is a poem of the dead end.
There was a poem once
That believed in Poetry
Now there is a poem that knows
Even the most beautiful worlds of words
End in dust
There was a poem once – long ago.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Waiting And Wanting To Write Something Else

WAITING AND WANTING TO WRITE SOMETHING ELSE

Waiting and wanting to write something else
The spirit of poetry comes to me
It does not say a specific subject or theme
It has no meaning in mind for itself
But it sings in me
It calls to me
It says ‘now you have the music- let it flow’
And I write it down now
Not as if it is my poem or your poem or anyone’s poem
But only words which God is kind enough to give me
As God has given me so much else which I can be grateful for
A poem to You then
Who have so many poems
And need not my poem
Thank You God My Father.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There Is No Poem For Me Today

THERE IS NO POEM FOR ME TODAY

There is no poem for me today
There is no poem of yesterday
The poems have gone
And far away
There is no poem
For another day.

There never will be another poem
Poems are gone
Poems are stone.

All the words I will ever write
Are not enough
For a Poem of Life.

The Poems are not
They will never be
I am not a Poem
Nor Poetry.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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