Of All The Poems I Have Written And Forgotten
OF ALL THE POEMS I HAVE WRITTEN AND FORGOTTEN
Of all the poems written and forgotten
Are there any worthy of remembrance?
I go on losing my poems as I make more of them-
The same old story
The future calls
And the past is forgotten
And all futures
Become past.
When will I learn to remember
My own work?
To cherish it
As I do that of others?
Line after line
Racing into the distance
Of a never- to- be – known
And forever forgotten
Unreality.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Always The Poems In Me
Always the poems in me-
Saying themselves over and over
Returning to lines learned long ago
Or lines learned with more difficulty in old age-
Always the poems in me-
While my own poems written
And forgotten
As if only
Poems of a single occasion
The time of their writing-
Always the poems in me-
The poems which others will have in them after me
Poems not my own.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Have Written Many Poor Poems
I have written many poor poems
That may not be poems at all -
They are single in dimension
Prose
In short lines of seemingly poetic form-
They do not call for their rereading
They are not difficult in ambiguities-
They seem to me only one simple clearly understood thing-
Like this poem
They can be understood at once
And forgotten soon after.
I have written many poor poems
That may not be poems at all
And this is another one.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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What Poem Will There Be/ When The Story Ends
WHAT POEM WILL THERE BE/ WHEN THE STORY ENDS
What poem will there be
When the story ends
And I say no more?
What poem will there be
When I am not?
All that has been written
Will not save me
And every remembrance of me
Will not mean I will not be forgotten-
In the long run
Where it all ends
Only G-d can know-
And what will be with us
With our singing and our poems and our love and our fear and our desire to go on forever being as we are now?
And what will be with us with our poems and our love and our happiness
And our crying out to God to save us lest we be silence and nothing forever?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Wrote Many New Poems Now Long Forgotten
I WROTE MANY POEMS NOW LONG FORGOTTEN
I wrote many poems now long forgotten
Why do I believe any poem I will write now
Or in the future
Is better than them?
I am a man lost in the world of his own words
And the only way out I know
Is writing more words
Which too are added on
To the unending pile of the forgotten.
Tell me where this poem too will be
When I am in the ground?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Not Every Poem Knows How To Say Its Own Name Properly
NOT EVERY POEM KNOWS HOW TO SAY ITS OWN NAME PROPERLY
Not every poem knows how to say its own name properly-
There are poems that have no name
And poems that are named by others who have not written them-
There are poems whose names make them what they are
And poems whose names contradict and belie them-
Many poems have their first lines as their names
And these poems often are as memorable as one line only-
Great poems and good poems can be nameless
Or can have unforgettable names.
Not every poem knows how to say its own name properly -
Poems are poems are poems
And names are names are names
And sometimes they meet and are one
And live happily ever after-
But there are times when perhaps
They never should have met each other at all.
Poems have their names
And names have their poems
But sometimes they love each other
And truly are one.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Folder
While lifting a folder
from a box of papers
I had stored up in the loft
several loose pages fell out
and landed at my feet.
As I lifted them,
I saw much to my surprise
that they were half a dozen poems
I had written twenty years ago
and forgotten all about.
As I quickly flicked
through the folder
it became clear to me
that there was about fifty other poems
buried within I had forgotten about.
I’ve put the folder to one-side
to sort through it when I have more time.
Then I can rediscover
what I was writing
more than twenty years ago.
6 March 2008
poem by David Harris
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The Poem Of Shabbat Morning Is Gone
THE POEM OF SHABBAT MORNING IS GONE
The poem of Shabbat morning is gone-
Forgotten forever
As if it never was.
It came to me
And I could not write it down
And now it is gone.
The world is filled with poems which are lost
And never written down
Great works and great mysteries
Never to really be.
In all those billions of unrecorded lives
That went before us on this earth
There were many many poems lost.
I write this down now
as compensation-
How many poorer poems
have replaced
the true poems
that were once
and never are to be?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Haven't Forgotten
I haven't forgotten when I meet you first!
I haven't forgotten when I greet you last!
I haven't forgotten your pretty face!
I haven't forgotten your smile and grace!
I haven't forgotten how we started chatting!
I haven't forgotten when we started dating!
I haven't forgotten our last walk together!
I haven't forgotten how I became a loser!
I haven't forgotten how it became too late!
I haven't forgotten when I understood fate!
I haven't forgotten that summer's northwester!
I haven't forgotten and won't forget ever!
poem by Asif Andalib
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Forgotten Time
bumming around
the country...
sleeping under bridges,
or just under...
the night sky...
working when i
could find it.
selling blood
when i couldnt!
gather a little change,
stop in a diner
for a cup of
black coffee...
writing poems
on napkins
with pencils...
leaving them for
my tip...
unsigned, forgotten
prayers, a forgotten
man, a forgotten
time!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Let it be Forgotten
Let it be forgotten, as a flower is forgotten,
Forgotten as a fire that once was singing gold.
Let it be forgotten forever and ever,
Time is a kind friend, he will make us old.
If anyone asks, say it was forgotten
Long and long ago,
As a flower, as a fire, as a hushed footfall
In a long-forgotten snow.
poem by Sara Teasdale
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Forgotten Future
The forgotten future of what should have been.
It's crumbled at our feet,
gone and most certainly dead.
The mournful times I now must face.
Companionship and love without a trace.
A forgotten future that filled me with endless hope.
Now so barren and fruitless it makes me choke.
Forgotten furture where did it go?
A nuclear winter with in my black soul.
Broken hearted soul bereft.
I face this forgotten future now with death.
No other way to kill the pain.
In a forgotten future it matters not here anyway.
The forgotten future that was held so dear.
I grabed and fed for many a year.
It was my life, it was my hope.
Now it hangs me with short rope.
The end is nigh.
I need not fear,
the relief I seek is very near.
Forgotten future now grows dark.
As the memory of me will soon be marked.
poem by Michael McParland
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We Need New Poems
WE NEED NEW POEMS
We need new Poems-
So many great Poems
Have already been written.
Perhaps the Greatest poems
Have already been written.
But we need new poems.
We need our Poems
We need the poems only we can write
We need the poems we must write.
We need new poems
My poems
Your poems
Our poems.
We need new poems.
Let us write them.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Forgot The Poem I Wrote Today
I FORGOT THE POEM I WROTE TODAY
I forgot the poem I wrote today
I forgot the poem I wrote yesterday
I have forgotten all my poems-
No one rereads my poems
I do not reread them-
They will all be forgotten-
O Poems O World-
Will we ever know
What God Remembers?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Moments Of Writing Poetry
Draft poems sometimes like
loose ripped off pieces of paper
to be drafted out roughly upon.
Draft poems hang around
in the strangest places waiting
to be written out one day.
Draft poems wait for a poet
to wake at the beginning of day
to be written out, in any
seized moments, sacrificed.
This is now time, shower time, eating time,
reflective time, conversation time, work time;
t.v. time, driving time, riding motorcycle time,
going to sleep time, cooking time, or any time.
Draft poems can only be written
in spared moments of seized time.
Draft poems can only be written today,
they will not wait for fair weather like hay,
which lays around waiting to be harvested.
Draft poems will not wait for a clear sunny day to dawn,
and then mature slowly, over a perfect golden summer.
Draft poems are ever now or never
if they are ever to be swiftly written.
A draft may possibly be perfected
upon any future day of favoured writing;
but a draft never written is a poem
never written, never completed, never known.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Faithful Poet To His Craft....
he is getting bald over
words
emaciated having forgotten
several meals
because he is faithful to
his craft
everyday he writes
more poems than he could
muster
for his heavenly muses
on paper the poems become
written
well sculpted with curves
and smooth finishes
he does not know whether
they are read somewhere
but he does not care
on nights when he finds himself
alone and abandoned
by fate
he makes a fire
at the center of his yard
puts all those paper poems
there
all burned
smokes like some forms of
ghosts
go to the night skies
to be with the countless stars
in the extreme cold
of silence
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The History Poems Have Not Been Written
The history poems have not been written
The poems after Milosz
The Wallace Stevens poems will never be written
I can’t come close
I have tried the Blake poems
But of course I am not near them either
I would like to the ironic intellectual poems
I might be able to do them
I could do a kind of surrealistic association mind poem a prose poem
But I don’t like that very much
The poems of Jerusalem have not been good enough
Poems of propaganda are awkward and unacceptable
The small poems that tell of my life
They are for me the chance at real poetry
And I will continue as best I can with them
The American poems I have not yet found the idiom for
I can be epigrammatic in Emerson Thoreau fashion
But not with the hard New England observing eye
Borges poems I love
And the stories of mind and literature
Making the drama of a life of a storyteller
Interest me
But I doubt I could truly do them well
Imitation can only take one so far
And through it one may lose one’s way entirely
I can really do only what I am
Not the Dickinson poems nor the Hopkins poems nor the Wordsworth poems nor the Keats poems nor the Amichai poems nor the poems of many others whose poetry I love
The Biblical poems have been tried
The poems of cosmic and scientific reflection
I could try to improve them
There are too many different kinds of poems to write
And I cannot write almost all of them
This is another poem about poems and poetry
I have written many for a long time now
Perhaps I need to go elsewhere and write in a new way
A way I have not dreamed or even remotely understood possible before.
The poems of the unknown poetry await me
I will go on but I am not sure now I know in which wa
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Donald Rumsfeld Meets William Wordsworth
There’s what we remember we remember
and there’s what we forget;
then there’s what we remember
that we’ve forgotten;
and there’s what we’ve forgotten
that we used to remember;
and there’s what we’ve forgotten
that we’ve forgotten.
There’s a poem there somewhere
now I’ve got that far.
Dammit, I’ll go for a walk
now the daffodils are out.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Storyteller Poet
I would like to say I am a storyteller foremost,
my poems are stories, like the Poem about the Ghost.
My 'People' poems are a happy story,
poems are never sad, mean or gory.
'Peeve' poems where written when I was mad,
I couldn’t express it to people who made me sad.
Now 'Pet' poems are always happy, funny or cute,
some make you cry or laugh like a hoot.
Now I want to write like C.S. Elliot one day,
maybe before I’m old and grey.
My initials are C.S. or S.C. Suzae or Sue,
one day poets will copy my storytelling poetry style too.
Written By Suzae Chevalier on January 20,2012
www.suechevalier.com www.melodiememories.com
poem by Christina Sunrise
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Which Poems Are True and Which Poems Only A Story?
WHICH POEMS ARE TRUE AND WHICH POEMS ONLY A STORY?
Which poems are true
and which poems only a story?
There are poems I have to write
They are the heart of who I am-
And other poems that tell a story my mind makes
And takes me where I do not know I'll ever really be-
There are real poems and there are imaginary poems-
And there are poems-in- between like this one.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Forgotten, But Not Gone
(johnny macrae/buzz carson)
Her birthday came and went without a card, or a single I love you
On their anniversary she sat all alone at a table set for two
She tries her best to please him, but she never hears one single word of praise
She feels just like a stranger, in a home where love has seen its better days
Well hes taken her for granted
God only knows why she keeps hangin on
cause its better to be gone, but not forgotten
Than to be forgotten, but not gone
Somehow he cant remember, when hes late to even take the time to call
And even on the nights hes there she gets the feeling hes not there at all
Shes become a prisoner in that big old house where sweet love used to be
Well, its not even over but lord she feels just like a memory
Well hes taken her for granted
God only knows why she keeps hangin on
cause its better to be gone, but not forgotten
Than to be forgotten, but not gone
cause its better to be gone, but not forgotten
Gone, but not forgotten
Than to be forgotten, but not gone
song performed by by Gary Allan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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