I Walk And Try To Dream A Poem
I WALK AND TRY TO DREAM A POEM
I walk and try to dream a poem-
There is so much Beauty in the world-
There is Goodness also
And kind people-
One must take Hope
There is what to live for-
Life can be good-
Oh if only I could be true
To the best in others and in myself.
poem by Shalom Freedman

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The Poem The Poem And The Poem Again
THE POEM‘ THE POEM AND THE POEM AGAIN’
‘The poem the poem and the poem again’
Isn’t there any life without poetry?
Why is it always ‘The poem the poem the poem’?
Let it be some other dream
Or some other small facet of our endless realities
Why always ‘The poem the poem the poem? ’
The poet who lives and dies for the poem
Is only one kind of poet
And perhaps not even a good one.
poem by Shalom Freedman

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Dream Poem
this poem is a dream
you wish to escape
if only you would awake
you could forget this poem
words pursue you through
the white pages of this dream
the voices you hear have
been spoken by this poem
people reach out, they live
here, they dream of you
now you smile, eager to dream
on, but the poem is fa d i n g
poem by Bruce Deitrick Price

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My Dream Is That My Poem Will Be My Name
MY DREAM IS THAT MY POEM WILL BE MY NAME
My dream is that my poem will be my name-
And that my name will say to others something of the truth and the beauty of G-d’s world -
And that when I am no longer alive and dreaming,
The beauty of the poem will be true.
poem by Shalom Freedman

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I Wrote This Poem And That Poem And Another Poem Again
I WROTE THIS POEM AND THAT POEM AND ANOTHER POEM AGAIN
I wrote this poem and that poem and another poem again
The world of poetry was open to me
And I could go on and on in it
It was a dream come true
A world which opened when I moved through it
A place I wanted to be
A place of beauty and peace and spirit and imagination
A good good place
The world of poetry was open to me
And as I wrote my way through it
I felt God had given me a gift of life
And I should at least know enough to be grateful for it-
poem by Shalom Freedman

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The Poem At The End Of The Walk
THE POEM AT THE END OF THE WALK
The poem at the end of the walk
Does not know
Whether or not it will come into being-
Why a poem now?
Because the pen is in my hand
And I have some minutes to wait
And the world outside
Has so much light and beauty,
And I am quiet inside
After the long walk
Before the day of work
Not tired.
poem by Shalom Freedman

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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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Is This The Best Poem I Can Write?
IS THIS THE BEST POEM I CAN WRITE?
Is this the best poem I can write?
A poem without Hope,
Without Love,
Without Beauty.
Then why write any Poem at all?
For my own ambitious little name?
For some remembrance of me I dream
Others may have?
For some Love I need so deeply
And live without?
For the child I have always been
And continue wrongly to be?
For just me?
Me Me Me.
There are better people elsewhere
Let God shine His Countenance on them –
Also.
poem by Shalom Freedman

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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

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I Lost The Poem I Wrote In My Mind
I LOST THE POEM I WROTE IN MIND
I lost the poem I wrote in my mind
When walking to Shul this morning-
I can only try to recall its thoughts;
‘Walk too fast and the mind cannot hear itself
Walk slowly and listen to the poem inside yourself.
The road ahead the trees the sky
Has a beauty too great for you to write
Thank God for your sight.”
The best lines are forever gone-
A poem to replace a poem
Is not as good as the original-
I wish I had the words for all the beauty God gives me in my life
How wonderful it is to be alive- sometimes
And to be able to write poems – even if somewhat poorly.
poem by Shalom Freedman

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I Don't Have A Dream Today
I DON’T HAVE A DREAM TODAY
I don’t have a dream today
Is a Poem a dream anymore?
One poem? ten poems?
Even a real poem?
Without a dream
The person can’t live
What is my dream now?
Where am I now?
So I write and write
As I have all my life
And it is so small a part
Of everything that is
Even in my own life-
I don’t have a dream today
And yet writing these lines
Somehow makes me begin to feel
A bit better.
poem by Shalom Freedman

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This Poem Is Not A Dream
THIS POEM IS NOT A DREAM
This poem is not a dream
It comes from where so many true poems come
From the other side of the mind
When it does not know peace -
From the waking desire
The hunger that is not satisfied
The lonely life and the lonely mind-
It comes from the search for love
And the love itself – the joy of love-
And from the memory of what we most deeply know when we are ourselves in love of another-
This poem is not a dream-
It comes from the waking world and the waking words-
The hard truths the bitter small things
The disappointments and rejections
The endless small humiliations which Time and Chance make of us all-
This poem comes from where we are most human
With the pain of those closest to us-
And our longing to save them and be loved forever by them-
The dream is not the poem
Life in its all its endless difficulties is the poem
And this poem too
Does not say half of all the hurt I have suffered in this one small day alone.
poem by Shalom Freedman

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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

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The Poem I Did Not Write Today
THE POEM I DID NOT WRITE TODAY
The poem I did not write today
Will never be written.
No one knows what it is
Or where it is
'How it can be? ' is another question
No one can answer.
The poem I did not write today
Never went away
It is always here with me and with you
It is the same simple poem
Written over and over again
In our everyday minds.
It is the poem of love of life
The poem of happiness
The poem of belief in God
And in the goodness in the world to come
It is the poem which believes too that poetry will help save the world.
It is the good poem
The happy poem
The poem I did not write today
Is the poem my life is writing now and always
And with you it says
‘What a miracle it is that we are here
reading and writing
and loving life as we do’.
poem by Shalom Freedman

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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

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A Poem Especially For You
I write this poem,
Especially for you.
Hope you like it too.
I love this poem,
Hope you love it too,
Especially for you.
I love you so much that,
I Dream of you every night,
Especially be with you.
I write this poem,
Especially for you,
To remember your loving smile.
Give me your smile,
Give me your cheerful face,
Give me your Laughter.
Only this poem can,
Take your heart away.
Especially made for you.
I say this poem,
Especially designed for you,
In remembrance of our True friendship.
In this moment of life,
I share this poem
Especially with you.
In this precious memory,
I want you to know that,
I forever love you.
To say the right words,
At the right time;
Especially for you, is hard.
More than any right words,
I composed this poem,
Especially for you,
So that the world may know that
I fall in Love with you again.
Especially with you.
poem by Lawrence Hiung

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The Poem About The Poem About The Poem
THE POEM ABOUT THE POEM ABOUT THE POEM
The poem about the poem about the poem
Written in dream
And forgotten in sleep
Comes back to me slowly now
As if it had been away on a long long journey
And is reluctant to come home-
I write it
But it really writes me
And when I try to make sense of what it means
It tells me its ambiguities
Are more important and interesting
Than my clarity-
The poem about the poem about the poem
Written now
May not be a poem about a poem about a poem at all
But may merely be my own playing with words
Which take the place in my life
Of really living-
A poem about a poem about a poem?
Surely this is a mysterious thing
If it exists at all.
poem by Shalom Freedman

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A comment on contemporary poetry
Not a true poem, to former minds;
but a poem that remembers truth;
not a good poem, to former minds;
but a poem that remembers goodness;
not a beautiful poem, to former minds;
but a poem that remembers beauty;
myself, as blissful
as a stretching cat.
poem by Michael Shepherd

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He Walks Without A Poem
HE WALKS WITHOUT A POEM
He walks without a poem
There is no poem in his mind
No poem in his heart.
But the idea of a poem
The dream of a poem
The daily task of a poem
The justification given by a poem-
He stops and writes these words down.
All around him
the morning light sings songs
of the things
of this world.
A poem perhaps?
Perhaps not?
I
poem by Shalom Freedman

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If You Can Dream
If you can dream,
Why don’t you dream
For a good family
Who can stay with us
In our peaceful home.
If you can dream,
Why don’t you dream
For a sweet song
Which fills in every one’s heart
The joy to share with people.
If you can dream,
Why don’t you dream
For the innocent creatures
They can get their world
To play in a melodious tune.
If you can dream,
Why don’t you dream
For the flowers
Which can spread all the hues
In poor’s eye.
If you can dream,
Why don’t you dream
For quiet moments
In which everybody can live
Peacefully to weave
A kind of bond among us.
If you can dream,
Why don’t you dream
For doing all the good deeds
Through which you can
Get the perfect rest.
If you can dream,
Why don’t you dream
For believing in maker
Who is holding our hand
In each and every moment.
If you can dream,
Why don’t you dream
For sacrificing your life
For those whose eyes
Searching you for help.
poem by Cheyanne Whien

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For Every Time There Is A Poem
FOR EVERY TIME THERE IS A POEM
For every time there is a poem
And for every season also
For life there is a poem
And for the end of life
For what we love and what we hate
For what we are and what we are not
For our vanity and for our most caring love
For our goodness and for our failings in goodness
For what is and what is not
For what was and what will be
For all things and times and seasons
There is a poem –
But perhaps
Beyond what our mind and reason can know
There is a time too
When no poem
However good or great or wise
Can speak of what we feel-
No poem as deep as the silence of Awe
And Gratitude to G-d.
poem by Shalom Freedman

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