I Hear Within Myself The Greater Lines Of Others
I HEAR WITHIN MYSELF THE GREATER LINES OF OTHERS
I hear within myself the greater lines of others-
I began to write ‘I wandered lonely as a cloud’
I thought ‘Continuous as the stars that shine and twinkle on the Milky Way’
I felt ‘When you are old and grey and full of sleep’
I thought again ‘Doth God exact day – labor light denied? ”
I felt in my soul ‘Ah love let us be true to one another For the world which lies before us like a land of dreams ‘
Inside me I heard ‘The world is filled with the grandeur of God’
Time after time I repeated ‘O cursed spite that ever I was born to set it right’-
All in me is poetry more than my own
‘Oh to be in England, now that April’s here’
'Oh wild west wind thou breath of autumn's being'
I do not know how to stop the lines -
More in me than myself is the Poetry of others
And where I begin must end a greater Beauty not my own-
Oh Poem Oh Poetry Oh Poets of the Past
Oh Light of the world greater than my own small light-
Oh singing in the wilderness a song not my own
Oh much more than I can ever be
Others’ Poetry.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Greater Lines Of Others
THE GREATER LINES OF OTHERS
The greater lines of others
Shadow my own.
I hear them within myself
Making mockery of the lines
I now write down.
The great poets own poetry
And we with the little words
And the big dreams
Might be wiser
To let only our silence
Speak for us.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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When The Need To Write Poetry
When the need to write Poetry
Is greater than the Poetry one has-
When one forces onself to write lines
Though those lines are lesser poetry-
When against one's own inner emptiness
One nonetheless writes the words down-
When the need to write poetry
Is greater than the Poetry one has
There is lesser Poetry
Perhaps no Poetry at all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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There Is Another Poetry
THERE IS ANOTHER POETRY
There is another Poetry-
A poetry of inspiration
A poetry of help
A poetry of encouragement
A poetry of courage and heart
A poetry of love of life
Which teaches greater love of life.
There is another poetry
A poetry I would write
But the poetry I largely live in
Is complaint and question and fear and doubt
And trouble and sadness-
Oh why can’t I give some greater goodness to others
Than I am myself in my soul?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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On Poetry
1
poetry can be
like a sky filled with wrangling clouds
or as a sky without a wisp
2
in poetry there are no
clichés in thought and phrase;
and what is left there is
the resplendent and the living
3
poetry leaves one
rich inside
and ordinary outside
4
the fool defines poetry
and poetry defies all definitions
5
poetry entertains, inspires;
poetry tickles, distracts, and shapes and frees -
but its true intent, no one knows
6
many lines, and countless lines
many pages, and thick volumes
don’t make poetry
7
if one had no coins
one cannot buy bread;
but not all the world’s wealth
can bring you poetry
8
Oh no!
Not another love poem!
Oh no!
Not another poem about oneself!
9
rhyme, technique and meter
and tricks of prosody
don’t make poetry: passion does
poem by Raj Arumugam
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Sometimes I Read Or Hear A Poem
SOMETIMES I READ OR HEAR A POEM
Sometimes I read or hear a poem
And know there is real Poetry in the world-
Poetry that takes me beyond anything I myself could know or write-
Poetry of a different kind of Beauty -
A language I never thought to hear
But once heard charms and delights me
As never before.
There is Poetry-
And there are real Poets-
And there are yet Dreams to be written-
So write on Stranger
Maybe you are the next one
A real poet
A voice the world truly needs and wants and loves to hear
Beyond any ever heard before.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is in the beginning of new life,
Poetry is in the tears of a child,
Poetry is in the warmth of mother's kiss,
Poetry is in the child's bliss,
Poetry is in the hug of a father,
Poetry is in the love of a dear,
Poetry is in the happiness of affection,
Poetry is in the pain of separation,
Poetry is in someone's loss,
Poetry is in missing someone very close.
Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is in the first rain,
Poetry is in the cultivation of first grain,
Poetry is in the first light of dawn,
Poetry is in the drops of dew o the grass of lawn,
Poetry is in the blowing of cool wind,
Poetry is in the beauty of green,
Poetry is in the twinkling star,
Poetry is in the aroma of a flower,
Poetry is in thunder and lightning,
Poetry is in the heat scorching.
Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is something more sweeter than sweet,
Poetry is something more closer to heart beat,
Poetry is something more than the most beautiful creation,
Poetry is something more than the depth of an ocean,
Poetry is something more higher than the blue,
Poetry is something more true,
Poetry is something more enjoyable than wine,
Poetry is something more shiner than sunshine,
Poetry is something more pure than air,
Poetry is something which is present everywhere.
Poetry...Poetry...
Poet ry is not just rhyme,
Poetry is but the voice Divine,
Poetry is not just Poetry,
Poetry frames History,
After so many lines,
Poetry still remains undefined.
Poetry...Poetry...
poem by Akash Agrawal
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There Was A Poem About Poetry
THERE WAS A POEM ABOUT POETRY
There was a poem about poetry
Written by a poet whose name was hidden within the lines-
The poem about poetry
Became a song in the night
And a distant metaphor
For the incomprehensible journey that is life-
It became anything it could be made to be-
Love,
A world of a kind,
A mystery,
The holy sounds of light far far away -
All the poems we know are like this,
In the darkness they say one thing
But in the light in the light
Oh how dark and deep and far and lonely they are-
poem by Shalom Freedman
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All The Poems Remain Written Where They Once Never Were
ALL THE POEMS REMAIN WRITTEN WHERE THEY ONCE NEVER WERE
All the poems remain written where they once never were
The grass and the skies of Whitman form lines in the mind of Baudelaire
The trees and dark cities of the distance form single sounds in the heart of the poet who cares
Night is more than darkness and day more than an early setting out
Each thing influences the other and calls back its own origins and end
We are going somewhere we will never know whether we write eternal lines or not
Over everywhere can be heard in the morning light the selfsame sound that through the heart of Ruth burned the alien corn
Keats is not dead, and Borges is not dead and Kafka is not dead and Wordsworth and all those who wrote great lines are not dead
Poetry is the last first eternity of the living word
And those who can hear the sounds of others greater than themselves in their own lines know
We are all writing down this last poem for ourselves and no one else
Though as we go to pray each morning the minyan tells us secretly
All our prayers together are more than any single poem can be alone
In the grey long distance where no one hears any poem at all
God writes and rewrites for us all the book of the stars in which dread is no longer a name
And beauty bright bright beauty is heard and reechoed as more than we will ever be
God is the only Poetry in the End
God is the Only One who never will be dead..
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Wait To Hear From Within The Words Which Will Mean 'Poetry
I WAIT TO HEAR FROM WITHIN THE WORDS WHICH WILL MEAN ‘POETRY’
I wait to hear from within the words which will mean ‘poetry’
I listen to myself
Only these lines come-
Silence is greater than I am
But I must be, mustn’t I?
The world does not know or care-
Universes in the distance burn bright and then die-
The world does not care
It need not care
Who am I?
What is my poetry?
Billions and trillions and zillions of each and everything
Come into being
And then are not-
Like one of them
The silence will too embrace me
And the vast worlds elsewhere go on
In their indifference
Even to themselves.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Wait To Hear Within The Words Which Will Mean 'Poetry
I WAIT TO HEAR FROM WITHIN THE WORDS WHICH WILL MEAN ‘POETRY’
I wait to hear from within the words which will mean ‘poetry’
I listen to myself
Only these lines come-
Silence is greater than I am
But I must be, mustn’t I?
The world does not know or care-
Universes in the distance burn bright and then die-
The world does not care
It need not care
Who am I?
What is my poetry?
Billions and trillions and zillions of each and everything
Come into being
And then are not-
Like one of them
The silence will too embrace me
And the vast worlds elsewhere go on
In their indifference
Even to themselves.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Poet Became His Own Poetry
A POET BECAME HIS OWN POETRY
A poet became his own poetry
And all he could be
Was lines and lines and lines
Inside and outside
Lines and more lines
Off- rhymes
Finding a phrase
A metaphor
Hearing listening
To sounds
His own mind made.
A poet became his own poetry
And went into the long sleep
Of being only what he wrote.
No one can know how
Reading these lines now
The poet and the poetry live
without themselves.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Poem I Cannot Write/ Is The Poem Beyond My Own Poetry
THE POEM I CANNOT WRITE/ IS THE POEM BEYOND MY OWN POETRY
The poem I cannot write
Is the poem beyond my own poetry -
It is greater than what I am capable of -
It surprises in ways my awkward phrases cannot
It is complex beyond my simple simplicity
It has an infectious beauty
That demands to be recited again and again -
It lingers in the mind and memory
As a strange new beauty beyond anything done by anyone else before.
The poem I cannot write
Has been written will be written
By those greater than myself-
I have the great blessing
Of being able to read them
But I cannot join them
Despite a lifetime of trying.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Man Became Addicted To Poetry
A MAN BECAME ADDICTED TO POETRY
A man became addicted to poetry-
Wherever he went he read or wrote a few lines-
Poetry became much of what he did-
Poetry and poetry and poetry-
As if that alone could give meaning and pleasure to his life.
A man became addicted to poetry
And so lost at times
What true poetry is –
Now he writes without knowing
Whether he is truly writing
Or merely using the ‘idea and world of poetry’
For his own peace of mind.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Egoism of Poets
We don’t write poetry,
Poetry writes us.
How can we make poetry,
If we are part of poetry.
The world around us is poetry.
Poetry is already defined.
Calling ourselves poets.
Selfishness in every line.
Egoism in every word.
Stealing poetry from the world.
That already exists in every form.
It’s written in every mist,
Every tree, every bliss.
Who are we to write?
Calling ourselves masterminds.
Trapping ourselves in believe
That we are creating something unique
The world at our feet.
Just too full fill our need.
Even this poem is an act
of a selfish deed.
Every letter in ink.
Created through love and sin.
Writing on a paper
But it’s the world’s skin.
Pressing on the surface.
To see blue blood is our purpose.
Thinking poetry is ours.
Poetry devoured
By poets every hour.
Poems all around us.
Turning grey to dust.
Turning brown to rust.
We have captured the most
But there is still so much.
Bleeding away in disaster, poverty
And war.
Ink to us all.
A poet’s only lord.
His only norm, his only home.
His precious and beloved poem.
We should be ashamed.
poem by Nadim Lost Soul
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I Thought To Begin The Day With A Poem
I THOUGHT TO BEGIN THE DAY WITH A POEM
I thought to begin the day with a poem
But inside myself I hear only my own slow emptiness
Word by word I try to hear
And there is some small motion now
But still
A real poem
A poem of beauty
A poem of light
A poem of love
A poem that makes the dreamer long to dream-
And the lover long to love-
A poem that moves-
Well it is very very dark outside
And the world straining to give
Small rain to a dry land
Seems to say,
‘There may be a poem today
But it is not the poem you dream
Not the poem others will love
As you have loved
True poetry.’
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Wanted A Poem/But There Was No Poetry In Me
I WANTED A POEM/ BUT THERE WAS NO POETRY IN ME
I wanted a poem
But there was no poetry in me
I said to myself from outside,
‘Write the feeling of a song'
But I had no song within me-
Poetry did not flow
No music moved me
I was alone with a Mind
That had no heart or song-
And then I writing
Simply tried to listen to myself
And what I heard
Was these awkward non- poetic lines
That make a poem
Which is not true poetry
And yet here now
proclaims its own rhythm as this page.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
Why are we addicted to Poetry?
We Poets who write,
All day or all night,
That Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
There’s scarce a moment in time,
That thoughts don’t find words in rhyme,
To put into verse,
Whether better or worse,
In that Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
Why do we write all these Verses?
We must have better things to do,
But whatever we try,
And I don’t know why,
We write Poem upon Poem for you.
It’s funny how my style has changed,
It’s a Limerick today I’ve composed,
It wasn’t meant to be,
But it is ~ you can see,
Just Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
© Yisroel Yonatan Goldman [JGthepoet] - 26 January 2006
poem by Jonathan Goldman a.k.a JGthepoet
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On The Poet And Poetry: The Complete Text
1
Shakespeare and Kalidas and Homer
had no need to flaunt qualifications
so don’t trumpet too much of yours
2
in this kingdom
where one writes
there is no seniority, each is equal
3
it is not important to be a poet;
the thing is to bring the poetry
4
one may win titles
and may be crowned Poet Laureate:
but only time points out
the poet from the crumpet
5
none of your self
and none of your importance here:
just poetry, if you can,
poetry is all that’s needed
6
poetry can be
like a sky filled with wrangling clouds
or as a sky without a wisp
7
in poetry one wakes from dreams
and it may yet be
that one’s wakefulness is itself but a dream
8
in poetry there are no
clichés in thought and phrase;
and what is left there is
the resplendent and the living
9
the writer who repeats
inaptly
word, phrase and concept read or heard
comes second-hand into a market for bad verse
10
one writes;
one does not fill one’s mind with the words:
I want to achieve
11
one writes and
the self disappears
and what is left is understanding
12
poetry leaves one
rich inside
and ordinary outside
13
the fool defines poetry
and poetry defies all definitions
14
poetry entertains, inspires;
poetry tickles, distracts, and shapes and frees -
but its true intent, no one knows
15
expand your understanding of the self –
it includes the world
16
if one had no coins
one cannot buy bread;
but not all the world’s wealth
can bring you poetry
17
celebrate your locality
but go beyond the parochial;
go beyond the region’s arrogance
to reach minds across cyberspace
18
many lines, and countless lines
many pages, and thick volumes
don’t make poetry
19
Oh no!
Not another love poem!
Oh no!
Not another poem about oneself!
20
rhyme, technique and meter
and tricks of prosody
don’t make poetry: passion does
21
the fool speaks of having
written the most number of poems in the world;
and the same fool speaks of quantity
22
we rarely succeed
if one does not go
beyond oneself
23
you wink, you twinkle
you want praise;
you write and you publish online
and you want to win titles –
and so poetry eludes you always
24
a hundred titles, a hundred prizes
a hundred spots of fame
and international renown
all these pale, all pale
before a single line of luminosity
25
the ambitious write pathetic verse;
the lover yields
and poetry embraces such a one
poem by Raj Arumugam
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18 Definitions Of Poetry
1) Poetry is what is Beautiful in words –
2) Poetry is the deepest feeling words can tell
3) Poetry is the soul of each one of us
4) Poetry is the morning light after the longest night
5) Poetry is a dream of dreams in a world that needs dreams to be
beautiful
6) Poetry is the Search for God and the Love of God in all holy writing
7) Poetry is Reality itself when it is doing what it should
8) Poetry is you and me and all of us when we are kind to each other
9) Poetry is more than we can say or know- deeper than the deepest
silence and quieter also
10) Poetry is the place we go to in ourselves when we need to cry out loud
11) Poetry is Love words of love and the first spring of the young lovers first
song
12) Poetry is all we are when our minds are right and strong
13) Poetry is what saves us from all the other words
14) Poetry is what ceases to exist when Cruelty comes
15) Poetry is Love and Blessing and Kindness again
16) Poetry cuts through the icy sea within and sends chills down the spine
17) Poetry is what is recollected in tranquility but also tried and tossed in
tempest on the most difficult seas
18) Poetry is open to more than what it has been It is what others have not yet created and will so long as we are human and in search of the Sublime
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Freedom By Poetry!
Poetic freedom is the real freedom for human race;
The freedom they enjoy nobody enjoys in the world!
Free birds are the poets leading the world to freedom;
Nothing can stop the poetic spirit of human beings here!
Human life is incomplete without poetry in the world;
Poetry expresses the dreams, visions and imagination
Not only of the poets but also of the whole of mankind!
Poetry is also the criticism of human life in the world.
Poetry talks about the past, present and future for all;
Tells about love, life, Nature and beauty, a full knowledge!
Otherwise not anyone can gain that by any way in the world
And the place of poetry nothing can capture or replace ever!
Humankind is inspired by poetry for freedom to achieve freedom
And education for freedom can be imparted only by poetry ever!
poem by Ramesh T A
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