I Just Wait
I just wait
The habit of years
The poem forms itself
The words come
Poetry is the natural language of my being
Even when it does not mean anything-
I cannot help it
Words and poems come
While in my heart bitter as fear and death
Are only prayers for a loved one in danger.
God Oh God God God God
Why can't we just live in peace
And our enemies no longer be enemies
But peace-loving people like us?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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We Want A Poem Of Peace/We Cannot Write (A Poem of Israel)
We want a poem of Peace we cannot write
Because Reality does not let us
Because too much Hatred and Violence
Because our enemies do not let us-
We want a poem of peace
But we do not have enough power in the world
To write it-
The Reality of threats and dangers from too many enemies
And the need to fight for survival
Does notlet us-
We want a Poem of Peace
And an ordinary quiet everyday life
But there are just too many out there
Who wish to destroy us.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Peace and Enemies
Peace, peace, peace!
We cry for peace
And we think that
by killing our enemies
peace can be achieved.
But peace can never
dwell in our midst
by killing our enemies.
For as many are killed
as many are the thousands
of the silent ones
who will rise up
to avenge these deaths!
There is never peace
in the cycle of revenge and hate.
poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
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Enemies of the Peace
Enemies of the peace
Are not consecrating the life
Tampering with the nature
Crucifying the childhood
On the sidewalks
Burying the chastity
In the brothels
Killing the light
Before coming the dark
Enemies of the peace
Adoring the wars
Kissing the poverty
Dreaming with the famines
Clapping for catastrophes
Destroying everything
Schools
Hospitals
Synagogues
Churches
Mosques
Temples
Enemies of the peace
They want to uproot feelings
To extinguish the flaming longing
In the hearts
And burn the growing yearning
In depths of humans
Enemies of the peace
Robbing the dreams
Jailing the tears
Deforming the colors
Crushing the flowers
Turning off the hope
Enemies of the peace
Not knowing the love
Not appreciating the values
Not believing in the peace
poem by Naji Almurisi
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What Is A Jewish Poem?
WHAT IS A JEWISH POEM?
What is a Jewish poem?
‘Shema’ is a Jewish poem
Perhaps the Jewish poem-
'Shmoneh Esreh' is comprised of Jewish poems
Nineteen prayers as one-
Our history is filled with Jewish poems-
From the beginning with Abraham and Sarah
Those who have given so much beyond our understanding -
Jewish poems everywhere -
Is each Jewish life a poem and a story also?
Or is it only those who give something to our people and history
Who are worthy of Poetry?
I have known many Jewish poems
People the great world will not know the names of
People who whether they walked humbly or not
Made the lives of others better in some way –
Kindness is perhaps the ultimate Jewish poem
And Justice also-
And Jewish poems are not without their contradictions –
As I write this poem in Jerusalem in the land of Israel
I think of the small Jewish world of Troy New York where I came from so many years ago
And miss so many people no longer of that and this world –
Longing for Israel for two thousand years was the Jewish poem
Living here now is a blessing and a gift
I thank God for.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Poems About Poems About Poems
Poems about poems about poems-
More poems and more poems and more poems-
Poems poems poems poems poems-
How many poems?
How much poetry
Until there is no poetry at all?
But only 'words' and 'words' and 'words'
Until one goes far away
Where there was never a poem before-
And suddenly hears
“Let there be Light”.
And Poetry perhaps
Is born again.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Deceased Poets Of Nature
Such beautiful poems to Nature they did write
The poetry we love for to read and recite
May they rest in peace now where-ever they lay
The deceased poets of Nature their poems live today
They glorified Nature and her praises they sung
And though they may be long dead their poems remain young
the poets of the land and the poets of the sea
In their beautiful poetry their greatness we do see
Their poems and their songs I loved as a boy
And their poems and their songs I will always enjoy
The beauty of Nature they did celebrate
And beauty in their words they loved to create.
Great insights of Nature from them we did gain
The beauty of their words with us does remain
We loved them for their poems in decades long gone
The deceased poets of Nature their poems living on.
poem by Francis Duggan
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There Are Days No Poem Can Be Written
THERE ARE DAYS NO POEM CAN BE WRITTEN
There are days no poem can be written
Grief and worry frighten the poem away
Yet the poem lives hidden
For our darkest moments our loneliest fears
Too need their poetry.
Poetry is a way of saying all we need to say
It is our deepest feeling most deeply expressed
It is all we are
The whole of our being
In words.
When a poet dies
Words die
When I will die
All I am will no longer be able to write
One more poem.
How afraid I am in the night
And how dark in the early morning before I rise
But now that I am here
Writing this
A bit of hope begins in me
And I can dream that
When I walk out the door
a few minutes from now
A new day will begin.
How many days I have left
How many poems to write
I do not know.
It is not light yet
And the darkness is still here
But I will feel the morning again
This morning
Thank G-d
You have given me so many poems.
A few small words
help me believe
I truly am alive.
.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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An enemies demise
An enemies demise
~
I no longer fight the usual fight
I stand back and watch on
Disinterested at the plays for power
Drawing my attention elsewhere
There are better things, better people
To occupy my thoughts, my time
Words once bitter now relent
My lips silent when questioned
And silence speaks volumes
Without the fight what’s an enemy
But a soul in demise becoming forgotten
Stripped of attention their strength
Its better to speak no ills
Its better to turn the other cheek
The words of peace have taught me
To stand back and simply breathe
My words now dedicated
To understanding a worlds unease
poem by Matthew Holloway
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A Poet Loses His Power For Poetry
A POET LOSES HIS POWER FOR POETRY
A poet loses his power for poetry
He can put down words
But they no longer have poetry in them
Something of the feeling of what real poetry is
is gone.
He strives
He writes again and again
He puts words down in the forms and in the shapes his poems usually take
But he has no poetry in him
He has lost what he is
And all he can do
is strive again and again
Word after word
Silence after silence
To hear within himself again
A voice he does not have.
The poet is writing poetry
And it is not poetry
The poet is dead
And he is pretending to be alive
Is this a poem?
Is he a poet
Is he dead?
Is he alive?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Don't fear death
Don't fear death in earthly travels.
Don't fear enemies or friends.
Just listen to the words of prayers,
To pass the facets of the dreads.
Your death will come to you, and never
You shall be, else, a slave of life,
Just waiting for a dawn's favor,
From nights of poverty and strife.
She'll build with you a common law,
One will of the Eternal Reign.
And you are not condemned to slow
And everlasting deadly pain.
poem by Aleksandr Aleksandrovich Blok
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It Is A Habit
writing poems
when you really write poems
everyday and every moment of your life
even when you're in the middle of your
bread and butter eating thing
or even when you are defecating
writing poems becomes a habit
even when you sleep even when you dream
writing poems becomes a part of your system
you eat poetry you vomit poetry
you digest poetry you poo poetry
you breathe poetry you sweat poetry
you love poetry and you live with your poetry
and at the end you die with poetry
and your epitaph says: here lies the poet,
choked with poetry.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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There's fear in my eyes
No sorrows in my life
No enemies to fight
There are thousand reasons to smile
Yet there's fear in my eyes
Sweet dreams to see
Beautiful day to live
There are many reasons to love
Yet there's fear in my eyes
No fire to burn
No darkness to curse
No valleys to fall
Yet there's fear in my eyes
A Mother to love
A Father to care
A sweet family to live with
Yet there's fear in my eyes
All friend with me
No enemies far mile
There are all relations of truth
Yet there's fear in my eyes
Showers of blessings on me
All smiling faces for me
All words of love for me
Yet there's fear in my eyes
But what I fear for I'm unknown
What? When all these things will go
And I'll be left all alone?
And for all these things I'll have to say bye! !
May be for this reason
There's fear in my eyes
There's fear in my eyes
poem by Differently Indifferent
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Everything In Poetry Is Allowed
everything in poetry is allowed
so much sweat had been wasted
so many words alienated from their own meanings
on the issue of which is true poetry
enough of that
let me state once more that everything in poetry is allowed
whatever is it that comes from your mouth
that slips from your lips
becomes a poem by the intensity of your intention
today my mouth gives birth to bees
and i am telling you a poem is a swarm of bees
like a set of hands spreading some prayers
tonight i shall dream of words escaping from my mouth
i see them as snakes singing
oh, i see, i am telling you a poem is a choir of snakes hissing a song
(do you really imagine that? am i not a little bit
weird?)
i never tire giving birth to words, and images, and metaphors
and a poem never gets weary like the insomniac still not wanting to sleep
oh, i see, you too must have words like these
those that never sleep, you see? what a poem can be?
a poem is a set of sleepless words, smoking at night, looking over the window,
naked, like a very beautiful woman, looking for love.
you want things to make connections? hmm, don't be silly, some connections
do not seem to be
takes time, sometimes, takes even death upon one's self, to see the light.
but don't you worry, whatever is it, becomes a poem by the intensity of your
affections.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I could have done other useful things than writing a poem
Sometimes I have regrets writing poems
Love poems, poems about virtue and heroism
Poems that explain myself, that justify
This nothingness
That fill this emptiness,
What are these but signs and metaphors of
My weaknesses,
Symbols of my hopelessness
Ciphers of my uselessness
To life’s dreams, unfulfilled, stars that I have not
Reach or even touch with the words in my lips
I could have danced, and danced so well
Sweat things out shedding sighs and skins on the floors
I could have played a role, acted my way out
Exiting through the doors of author’s characters
And feel this sense of
It was her it was him it was not me
Sometimes I feel
To be a poet is to be dumb and dead
To demand nothing but this honor
This laurel this principle
That I cannot eat that I cannot sell that I cannot
Make use of,
Useless poetry, trashy, nothing but bad breathes
Of my being
Foul and nauseating to my sense of
What I dream what I want to be
To be this great, respected man of power
One that commands rather than take orders
From someone claiming superior feathers
I have long wanted to stop but here I am again
An addict to poetry destined for rehabilitation
In distant cruel word processing centers
Just like you, here I am again, not stopping
My fingers always wanting to type the words
My mind always listening
my heart always mouthing
Words, words, words, these words
This poem
This poem is born and I am its tributary
I am this poet now without a face without a name
I am but a mouth, fingers to my hand
Always not stopping, how can I tell you why?
When I myself, do not really know. I am this poem
With an unknown author, I am this poem just written
Taking shape like a candle lighting,
Flowing from your thoughts
Taking the forms of beings unknown to us
We claim we understand we claim we can live with
You are now lost asking the way
You could have done other things than reading this poem
Precisely this is what I really feel. Do you feel it now?
Yes.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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
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Your Heart
So you’ve given your Heart to me…
Do I keep it or give it back
Do I at all need it
Was it worth the wait
Why did you lose your heart to me?
Or did you give it out of sympathy…
Do you think I deserved it…
Or was it one of your many
Give-aways
As you’ve always done with ‘others’ of my kind
Or were you being sincere, loving and true
When you considered giving me:
Your Heart
And will you take it back from me
Once the ‘rosiness’ is over…
When we’ve had our share of making love,
When you no longer fancy me,
Having ‘felt’ me inside-out…
And then give it to that someone else
who would woo you as I did
Mind you, my love…
If ever you could be loved so much
It has to be me, and only me…
I’ve been true to God and You,
loving Him and loving You…
at peace with my loneliness,
I learned to live, longing for you…
‘merely existing’ – you might say,
Yet still livable than a ‘living death’
Once you snatch your heart from me…
So my love, there is still time,
Tell me it’s not yet true:
That you falling for me
Cannot ever and ever be true…
Let me keep on loving you
Longing for you
Just the way I do
Forever and ever and ever so…
You keep your heart to yourself
for I don’t yet deserve you,
and you don’t have to heed me
just so as I keep asking you.
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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Peace and Conflict
Peace is laughter ike a musical bell,
Conflict is people crying,
Peace is everything being well,
Conflit is people dieing,
Peace is a very wonderful thing,
Conflict can be used t pursue peace,
Peace is a sound that makes you sing,
Conflict is the least luxurious thing,
Peace is sought after
And sometimes found,
Confit is punishment,
Paying the price,
Peace is being on safe ground,
Conflict makes people with heart of ice,
Peace you find in your heart,
Conflict tears our minds apart,
So remember these words and you'll live well,
Peace is laughter like a musical bell...
poem by Sasha Julia
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We Honour The Courage Of Peace Advocates In China
We waited hoping
China would allow...
Liu Xiaobo
to attend the Nobel
Peace Prize ceremony.
Or his wife or close relatives or friends.
We wait and pray for freedom in China.
We honour the courage of peace advocates in China.
We cry for their pain we share their dream freedom.
We waited for weeks years bitter sour
hoping China would wisdom relent
see reason recognize freedom allow
all Chinese people gift freedom of speech.
At the Nobel Peace Prize Award in Oslo
awarded was to the symbolic empty chair
representing Liu Xiaobo innocent imprisoned
we viewed peace soaring in freedom fair.
Freedom in noble crimson silken robes
took flight before us smiling innocent in adversity
the face of freedom without fear enemies
looked down from heaven in wisdom piety serenity.
In sovereignty freedom declares supremacy immutability.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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In This World Of Infinite Words
IN THIS WORLD OF INFINITE WORDS
In this world of infinite words
So many poems have already been written,
Infinite poems in infinite words-
Therefore any new poem simply seems to cry out its own non- necessity-
Yet in a word in a voice
A whole world can be born and transformed-
A new poem a real poem
Can make us forget all the others
And make all the others live through it-
Yet who in this world of infinite words
Can write this poem?
And when will the next set of strangers names come
To show me that my words are nothing?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Poetry Has Some Advantages
Poetry has some advantages
Over other forms of Literature-
It is ordinarily smaller than most other kinds of writing
It can be read in a shorter time-
People who would not try to write in more demanding forms
Can try to write in it-
Its subject is human feeling
It touches on our deepest experiences-
Almost everyone has a poem in them
And most a poem they have been moved by-
It is everywhere
And seems to be a part of every culture-
Language at its most intense is what Poetry is
And most of us have our intense moments-
Poetry is open to us all
And we can take it with us wherever we go.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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