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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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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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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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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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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The Music Is Gone
THE MUSIC IS GONE
The music is gone-
What is a poem without its own music?
There is no melody in me.
I hear these flat words form on the flat page.
There are no dimensions to me
I hear no singing as I write.
This poem is words with little feeling
A flat poor poem written by an old man
Who this morning
has not yet truly woken up.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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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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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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The music in your heart
Music, what a beautifull word,
It can be played, or even heard,
Not to like it is just absurd,
Oh music, oh what a word!
Just listen,
you can hear the sound,
it is coming from here, there,
from all arround!
There! you found it, it's in your heart!
Music is inside you, you were never appart!
Just listen to the music inside you,
and you can acheive wonderfull things,
Music can make you fly,
just feel the rythm and flap your wings!
Listen to the music, listen to the melody,
as it brings joy, as it gives a symphony!
(I would like to dedicate this poem to my dear friends: 'Doha Ewiess, Omar Ibrahim')
poem by Kuji soliman
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I Try
I TRY
I may have no poem today -
And perhaps no poem tomorrow-
And perhaps no real poem at all ever-
I have the desire for
And the love of poetry,
And the writing of my words
The telling of my soul
With whatever music and meaning I can give-
I try-
But is ‘Trying’ good enough?
I hear the poem within myself
Do you hear it at all?
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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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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Dive
Dive in to the poem
Diverge not.
In poem
There are words and letters
Letter means not late not later
Letter means present
Always everywhere all times to come.
Dive in to the poem
And in poem
word means not wander
word means wait
Wait and see
See and strike
Strike and stay
Stay and know
Know and understand
Understand and go
Go upward and upward
Till atain divinity.
Dive in to the poem
Divinity is only there
In the poem
Diverge not
Life breath here.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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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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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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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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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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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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The Music
I hear the music
The music is playing
The music is soft
The music is now fading
The music is gone
Which means so is my life
No music means no life
The music is gone
Come back to me music
The Music is begining
I have a life
The music is pretty
The Music is wonderful
Oh no
The music is fading again
I love the music
The music is gone
Good bye music
poem by Kathryn Thompson
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The Poem That Is Not Good Enough
THE POEM THAT IS NOT GOOD ENOUGH
The poem that is not good enough
Awkwardly fumbles from line to line
Does not hear its own music
Has none.
Its words are larger than its feelings
Its Ideas overwhelm its words
It proclaims a Beauty it cannot reveal.
The poem that is not good enough
Pretends to be a poem
It has birds and flowers and trees and winds
which are names alone.
The Poem which is not good enough
does not touch the Heart
has little Soul
puts everyone to sleep before they finish
beginning it.
A Poem that is not good enough
Just does not Live
And who am I?
And what are you?
And why are we?
Writers and readers of Poems
Looking for our own lost Eternity.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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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
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