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Oh God, I Pray For A Real Poem

OH GOD, I PRAY FOR A REAL POEM

Oh God, I pray for a real poem-
For lines that remain in the mind forever-
And not words words words
that fade as they are written.
A real poem
Like Your Tehillim
Lines that remain in the mind forever.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poem Was Destroyed By Its Own Words

The poem was destroyed by its own words
And could not be written-

The words were not good enough
The words were not exact enough -

The poem nonetheless wanted to be
It waited in longing for other words-

Other words came
But they were not the poem either-

The poem it appeared
Was never to be -

The poem disappeared
Before it could be written

That poem forever is not
And in its place only these lines

Barely a poem at all.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Do I Remember What A Poem Is?

DO I REMEMBER WHAT A POEM IS?

Do I remember what a poem is?
Did I ever really know?

‘Those lines which remain in mind forever’.

‘Our deepest feeling.
‘Our soul in words.’

‘A poem is what we most are in words
The Beauty- Language gives.’

‘You know it when your heart tells you so.’

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poem I Am Writing Now

The poem I am writing now
does not know if it will be finished
it does not even know if it will be a poem -
it is slowly appearing line by line
and making its own meaning on the page-

Is it worth anything?
will anyone care?
I don't know -

The poem I am writing now
is just these lines
and these lines like all lines
are only small words
in a vast universe
that has long lived
and will probably longer live
without them.

Why then write these words now?

The poem I am writing now is saying,
'I am here now'.

But why should this mean anything to anyone else?

The poem I have written here
is not the poem I would have posted here
It is only the poem I am finishing now
a poem without great love or belief in itself.

The poem I am writing now
is written.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poem of the Ageing

A simple poem I wanted to write
The words were so clear in my mind
But my fingers were numb and sore
Lift a pencil they can't at all
Before a few lines write I could
With my signpen wrestle I should

I tried to read what I've written
And asked my self how did I fare
The words I saw were all in blur
And were in badly crooked lines
I have but lost my metering
And all my lines did hardly rhyme

My next poems shall not be written
And in my thought will just remain
Be unrecited as they may
Till in my mind they fade away

poem by Pacific Hernandez
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Ageing Poem

A simple poem I wanted to write
The words were so clear in my mind
But my fingers were numb and sore
Lift a pencil they can't at all
Before a few lines write I could
With my signpen wrestle I should

I tried to read my scribbles
And asked my self how did I fare
The words I saw were all in blur
And were in badly crooked lines
I have but lost my metering
And all my lines did hardly rhyme

My next poems shall not be written
And in my thought will just remain
Be unrecited as they may
Till in my mind they fade away

poem by Pacific Hernandez
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You Do Not Have...

you do not have to
read me
for me to become
another poet

i am
and i can be
and i will be
even without you

and you are
and you can be
and you shall be
even without me

i am a poet
because i have decided to write the poems
and the poem shall be there forever
until the right reader comes along

the one who loves
a poem even without me
even without you
even without the world

this poem and that poem shall be
even without us
for these are words
and words shall be words even without the world

for it was the word which came first
and shall remain
till eternity.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poem Of The Evening

THE POEM OF THE EVENING

The poem of the evening
Is a small poem
It waits for its own words
And hears itself come slowly and surely
It knows by the time the darkness is here
It will already be real.

The poem of the evening
Is an easy and small poem
It may not mean much
But it comes so smoothly
It seems to laugh at the heat of the day
And love itself for being here.

The poem of the evening
After the long day
Is a happy poem

And it looks forward to praying the evening prayer forever.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Wanted A Poem To Break The Silence

I WANTED A POEM TO BREAK THE SILENCE

I wanted a poem
To break the silence
Of my own inner emptiness-

No thought no feeling
Blank inside-

These words too flat and emotionless
Strive to move me back to myself-

But there is nothing in me now
But the waiting to be ‘real’ again-

I am alive now
But I am nothing inside-

Blank words trying to be a poem-

And lines written as if I were only
A slave of the idea
of my being somehow
a writer of Poetry.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poem Is Restless In Me

THE POEM IS RESTLESS IN ME

The poem is restless in me-
It waits to be heard-
Now that it comes
It does not feel especially happy about itself.
It knows it is not real-
It is not much-
Just because it is called a poem by me
Does not make it a poem -
The mind has its own place-
My mind also -
I am always thinking poems are with me,
And poems waiting to come-
But who am I and what do I know?
These lines are written in the still of the morning
When the light outside still brings hope
That a new day is possible.
But so many poems have been written in the early morning
And I am so old from hearing them said to me by myself-
And what does it all mean anyway in the end when God is the Only One?
And who am I to know what God is, or invoke the name of God
In such a small thing as my own poetry?

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I read another poet I could not understand

I READ ANOTHER POET I COULD NOT UNDERSTAND

I read another poet I could not understand
The metaphors racing one after the other
The eternal thoughts taking on a new particular dress
Words and more words
Lines and more lines
Rushing toward meaning and beauty.

And in it all my simple not understanding,
My waiting to hear words that would return to me-
My understanding
That only by my own effort
By my reading again and again
By my willing to believe
Could I make another poet real.

But do I want another poet to be real
When I am a question,
And when there are already others real for me also?

Oh selfish little man oh poor poor reader-

Write your poem alone again
As if no one but you will ever be able to write
The poems which are real.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A poem for you...

I write a poem for you today,
to get a place in your heart for ever
A poem that could tell you my love for you
I write my poem with emotion and affection
for you to understand my deep thoughts for you
A poem to love and a poem to understand its soul
A poem to enjoy and a poem to understand its happiness
A poem to think and a poem to understand its way of life
A poem to learn and a poem to understand its content
A poem to sing and a poem to understand its melody
A poem to cry and a poem to understand its sorrow
There are poems I have written but this is specially for you
The poem could tell you how important you are for me
There are words comes out freely from my mind to write poem
but there are no words to find my love for you
Those words can not missed as I miss your love today
Let me have all those words put in to my heart and
say I love to write a love poem for you

Ravi Sathasivam / Sri Lanka

Copyright ©2004 Ravi Sathasivam

poem by Ravi Sathasivam
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There Is Always Another Poem

THERE IS ALWAYS ANOTHER POEM

There is always another poem
Waiting to be written.

But when it comes
Who knows
If it is Real
Or not.

Our dreams and our life too
Come to us
Unexpected.

Do we know
In our heart of hearts
When they are real
Or whether only
Empty lines
No endlessly rewriting
Will redeem.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Poem Does Not Know Itself

A POEM DOES NOT KNOW ITSELF
A POEM DOES NOT KNOW ITSELF

A poem does not know itself
It is written from a mind not its own
It says what it does
And is what it is
Without being able to ask itself
Why it should live.

A poem is more than all it means
A poem is real when it seems.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Nothing Is Being Done

NOTHING IS BEING DONE

Nothing is being done-
Time is passing-
What will be?
Will I do nothing for the rest of my life?

A small poem is being written-
Am I alive again?
Any lines even bad lines are better than none
When one can do nothing-

Am I writing a poem?
Is something being done?
Or am I simply fooling myself
And doing nothing as I have always done
And always will do?

Or have I really done something?
Is this nonetheless a small poem?
Perhaps I have written something real in my life
Perhaps

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Slow Mind The Sleeping Mind

THE SLOW MIND THE SLEEPING MIND

The slow mind the sleeping mind
The mind that cannot move
Resists itself in these words.
But the desired poem
The true thing
Can it be made in this way?

When one goes away for a long time
Even from oneself
The return is difficult and awkward.

I have been away from Poetry
For only one long holiday day
And yet
It seems now a distant land
I am barely beginning to see.

These lines
Are another poem
About writing poetry
Which do not know
Whether they are real or not.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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