I Wait To Hear The Lines Come
I WAIT TO HEAR THE LINES COME
I wait to hear the lines come
I try to listen only to what has the melody and rhythm of poetry
I wait-
I hear-
But in me deeper than myself some Silence stops my soul -
The words are the words and they can come
'But what this Life is and what I have done in it? '
Is still a question-
After all these years
And old –
Still a question-
I listen to myself
But it is not enough-
Some one else, others must want to listen also
And perhaps they never will-
I have a poem, you have a poem
But do we have Poetry?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Listen To The Line I Wait To Write
I LISTEN TO THE LINE I WAIT TO WRITE
I listen to the line I wait to write
I hear myself speaking the poem to myself.
What I write
Comes from somewhere else
Inside myself
Perhaps beyond.
I take these words down
Which appear right before
I say them
Which appear
As I say them.
Is what I am doing ‘Poetry’?
Or is it merely my own illusion
Of what I am
And what Poetry is?
God gives and God takes.
Will God make these lines too
What they are not now,
And yet?
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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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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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
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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
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I Have Heard Only My Own Silence Today
I HAVE HEARD ONLY MY OWN SILENCE TODAY
I have heard only my own silence today-
And what I am trying to do now
Is hear my words as poetry-
I wait and listen
I let silence play softly next to me
I lean over and bend my ear-
Nothing is heard-
I am not a poem
And life is not poetry
And all that there is
Vain lines of a vain passing player
Who soon will sing no more.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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When You Know There Is A Poem Within You
WHEN YOU KNOW THERE IS A POEM WITHIN YOU
When you know there is a poem within you-
You can go slowly and wait and listen to yourself,
As the words unfold within your fingers and on the page.
A poem comes
Because Poetry is who you are.
And when you are silent within yourself
Poetry says itself to you
I did not have to do anything,
I only had to listen,
And write this down.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Hear Nothing
I HEAR NOTHING
I hear nothing
There is no poem
No poetry
Dull stale flat unprofitable
Oh the uses of this world.
Silence
Fear
Oh the darkness the darkness
Deep deep deep
I hear nothing
I wait
A thousand great lines of others
And not one of mine
No poetry no poem no poet
The world is going on and by
And poetry is in it
But I am on the side mumbling in silence
A silence unheard and only alone.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Can Sense It Coming
I can sense it coming
I hear it from within
The words are here
A poem-
But whether what I feel as a poem
Is a poem
Is another question-
Words come
Perhaps they are only prose -
Not every sound which comes from within is beautiful
And not every word I wait to hear is a poem-
Should I stop here
Or is this already enough for now?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Nothing Much Means Music Now
NOTHING MUCH MEANS MUSIC NOW
Nothing much means music now
A poem has to hear itself be said.
I wait and I listen
And I hear-
This poem now is just another,
Thrown on the pile of words.
My wealth is millions of words
Even I cannot truly listen to.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Why Can't You Listen?
Why can't you listen?
Why can't you hear words from Me?
Why can't you sit and just be...
To listen.
Listen.
Why can't you listen?
Why can't you hear words from Me?
Why can't you sit and just be...
To listen.
Listen.
Why do you call Me?
Why do you say you're alone?
You wish for Me to appear.
And yet when I'M near.
Your closed ears wont hear Me!
Why do you pray to Me?
Master I Am of your World.
I'M with you there silently.
But you will not see...
Everything that is Me!
One I Am and only One!
Maker of your Moon, Stars and Sun.
All things on Earth that is there...
Is there if you ask,
But your faith does not last!
Why can't you listen?
Why can't you hear words from Me?
Why can't you sit and just be...
To listen.
Listen.
Why do you call Me?
Why do you say you're alone?
You wish for Me to appear.
And yet when I'M near.
Your closed ears wont hear.
A word.
Why can't you listen?
Why can't you hear words from Me?
Why can't you sit and just be...
To listen to Me.
Listen...
And let Me in!
'Father...
Clear my mind of these obstacles! '
I'M trying!
But you wish it 'your' way.
And not the way MY way is.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Listen!
Listen!
Can't you hear them?
You don't know what your missing
A birds chirp, a Bees hum.
Listen!
Can't you hear them?
Children's laughter hark!
Playing In the park.
Listen!
Can't you hear them?
A lovers sigh
Never to deny.
Listen!
Can't you hear them?
Old folk words
Wisdom and life's tales
Listen!
Can't you hear me?
Heart crying
Soul flying
Listen!
poem by Robert Green
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There Is No Poem To Begin The Week With
THERE IS NO POEM TO BEGIN THE WEEK WITH
There is no poem to begin the week with
Emptiness is the beginning
I try to think
I try to listen to some internal rhythm
I write words down
My thoughts are simple and self- referential
The green- yellow light is there outside my window
The world is moving
Am I writing a poem or simply writing whatever sentences come into my mind?
I sometimes think poetry never stops being written within me
At other times I believe I am just ambitious and pretentious
Today this is the beginning
These lines these words
A poem to begin the week with?
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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Great Listening Act Part 2
I don’t want to understand
I don’t want to listen
But I hear it anyway
I don’t want to know
I don’t want to listen
But I hear it anyway
Words are jumping wild
Like a sudden flood
I don’t want to promise
I don’t want to listen
But I hear it anyway
I don’t want to consider
I don’t want to listen
But I hear it anyway
Why can I erase that mud
That covered my heart
I don’t want to think
I don’t want to listen
But I hear it anyway
I don’t want to care
I don’t want to listen
But I hear it anyway
I always fall to the trap you made
And play with my sympathy
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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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
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This Morning/ I Wait To Hear A Poem In Me
THIS MORNING / I WAIT TO HEAR A POEM IN ME
This morning/
I wait to hear a poem in me
The only sound the sound of the seem
Words and words
Empty and free
Nothing true
Nothing believed.
I wait to hear a poem in me
And whatever I hear
Is only me
And nothing is true
And nothing is real
All I am writing
Only a dream.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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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
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There Are Those Who Wait Years To Write A Poem
THERE ARE THOSE WHO WAIT YEARS TO WRITE A POEM
There are those who wait years to write a poem
The fruit slowly ripens inside and then as with Rilke
It suddenly falls -
There are those who write a few lines
And come back time after time
And find the poem after many efforts-
There are those who cannot wait to write a poem
And once conscious of it must write it down as fast as possible
Before it is lost-
And there are those who only in the present writing
Find the poem -
The page suffers many methods and modes
But what truly makes a poem worthy
Is another question.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Night Is Deeper Than I Am
THE NIGHT IS DEEPER THAN I AM
THE NIGHT IS DEEPER THAN I AM
The night is deeper than I am
Sleep will soon come
I have no lines I need to write
The words are only what they happen to be now
I wait and try to listen to myself.
I do not have much to say.
The poem written in this way
Will always suffer its own hesitations.
I write because this is who I am and who I need to be
These lines too another proof to myself of who I am
But are they a true proof or just another dreaming?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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