The Late Afternoon Is Heat
THE LATE AFTERNOON IS HEAT
The late afternoon is heat
The poem is far away
The day has yet to begin
I am old
Time mocks me with another small smile at its passing.
I do not know where I am going
And what I will be
And how I will die.
But I will die
And in much less time
Than I have already lived.
Late afternoon
The heat
My tiredness
The silence
This poem
Tonight will be Shabbat
Another day will begin
Time mocks me with its passing
And blesses me with each moment I still live.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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If Every Time of the Day Has a Poem of Its Own
If every time of the day
Has a poem of its own
This afternoon too should long
To say something about itself-
But as it stretches its slow length too long
As it makes heat and light one long unending discomfort,
This afternoon says only
That even the time of day
Cannot mean much
If one does not have something
Outside oneself
To say in it.
All heat and light are emptiness now
And the overwhelming shape of brightness
Is nothing more than the stunned silence
One fears when one wakes from a bad dream
In the middle of the day and night.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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An Afternoon Poem Is Rare
AN AFTERNOON POEM IS RARE
An Afternoon Poem is rare-
Afternoon is long after the first light-
Afternoon is a time of heaviness and quiet
A time of rest-
Afternoon is after the morning work has been done-
Afternoon is the weight of the day-
Afternoon is the time after the day has lost its freshness-
Still there must be afternoon poems-
There must be a beauty that emerges
In its own way,
Perhaps from where lovers meet
Perhaps from ‘ripeness is all’
Perhaps from the anticipation of evening
Perhaps from winter where it is the warmest time of day.
There must be afternoon poems-
Poems that celebrate all that warmth can bring-
Poems of rest poems of sleep-
Poems of waiting to believe
That in the evening
A new day and a new world
Will make life easier again.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Poem Of The Afternoon
Poem of the afternoon
What do you have to say for yourself?
You are tired and you want a nap
But it’s too late for a nap
We must be going-
Poem of the afternoon
Say something different
Say life is wonderful
On a warm day after many cold ones
Say life is wonderful
When you can still walk and talk and move about
Though you are older than you ever thought you’d be-
Poem of the afternoon
Cloudy and a bit sunny
Say the night is still a certain way off
And the day the long day is still happily with us.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Poem Of The Afternoon Quiet Before Shabbat
THE POEM OF THE AFTERNOON QUIET BEFORE SHABBAT
The poem of the afternoon quiet before Shabbat
Is a peaceful poem -
Waiting and already resting
I try to remember those days
When Shabbat was Shabbat
In greatest joy and happiness-
But I am older now than I want to know
Shabbat has a quiet and music of a different kind
God can be served in old age also-
Let the family gather and the guests come
Let prayer be our music -
Joy is rest and quiet and peaceful family love also.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Poem of the Afternoon
THE POEM OF THE AFTERNOON
The poem of the afternoon
Long and drawn out
Does not know why it is written
And what its true name is.
It does not ask or answer
Remember or remain
It simply appears
And disappears
As if its writing
Were yet
One more way of
Just being in the world
And passing its light.
The poem of the afternoon
Does not know why it is
Or why it should be
But now that it is here
It looks out at the trees
Through the sun of its pages
And prepares itself to be read and reread
As if someone somewhere
Searches and sees it.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Afternoon Tea
Tea time wont be the same without my donna
At night I lie awake and dream of donna
I think about that small cafe
Thats where we used to meet each day
And then we used to sit a while
And drink our afternoon tea
Ill take afternoon tea (afternoon tea)
If you take it with me (afternoon tea)
You take as long as you like
cause I like you, girl
I take sugar with tea (afternoon tea)
You take milk if you please (afternoon tea)
Like you talking to me
Because you ease my mind
Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba (afternoon tea)
Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba (afternoon tea)
Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba (afternoon tea)
Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba (afternoon tea)
Tea time still aint the same without my donna
At night I lie awake and dream of donna
I went to our cafe one day
They said that donna walked away
Youd think at least she might have stayed
To drink her afternoon tea
Ill take afternoon tea (afternoon tea)
If you take it with me (afternoon tea)
You take as long as you like
cause I like you, girl
I take afternoon tea (afternoon tea)
Every day of the week (afternoon tea)
Please come along if you like
Because I like you, girl
Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba (afternoon tea)
Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba (afternoon tea)
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Poem That Comes After The Afternoon Nap
THE POEM THAT COMES AFTER THE AFTERNOON NAP
The poem that comes after the afternoon nap
Wakes the world
Is clear
Understands
Hears the answers to problems
It could not see before.
The poem that comes after the afternoon nap
Is a clear- minded Poem
A Poem of light
A Poem without fear
A happy Poem.
It has the answer
To the question
Yesterday asked
And tomorrow may make questionable again
A happy poem
Now.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Late Night Poem
THE LATE- NIGHT POEM
The late- night poem
Is a tired poem
It wants to sleep,
But it has not done what it should do-
Once it is written
It can go to rest.
The late- night poem
Is not a real poem,
Nothing is,
Not tonight,
In all this tiredness.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Late In The Afternoon
LATE IN THE AFTERNOON
Late in the afternoon
Late in life
Lyric poetry is still possible.
It is quieter of course
And calmer of course
And its passion is subdued of course
But it is still possible.
Love does not die in old age
It simply sings softer.
Even now towards the end of this happy day
The light has its own sad song.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Late- Afternoon Sadness
LATE- AFTERNOON SADNESS
Late- afternoon sadness
Has a feeling all its own.
Life is all the things one has failed to do
It is all the disappointments brought us
By loved ones.
It is the sense that nothing good will happen again
Late- afternoon sadness
Is a world of its own,
And within it one sinks and sinks and sinks
Until one does not know
If the ground ever existed.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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O Let Me Have A Late- Night Poem
O LET ME HAVE A LATE- NIGHT POEM
O let me have a late- night poem
A way of saying goodbye
To all the thousands of jumbled feelings of today
To all the music and the beauty of everyday life
To all the quiet haunting search for some great epiphany
To all the letdown and the loss and the fading
In the small errands of daily duty.
Let me have a late night poem
Which hints at the sense of loss
The question of why so much so beautiful
Must die
Why each of us is a passing fragment only.
Let me have a late night poem
For all my sorrow and prayer my pleading to God
A poem to say goodnight and goodbye
Because I too in yet another day ahead
Will understand why
We must all die.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Early June Girls
While walking
Along the street
On a sunny afternoon
Of late spring
The air was filled
With the heavy smell
Of carcinogenic gases
Emitted by
The rolling cars.
Oh! How I
Loved the aroma
Of gasoline
In my childhood.
While walking
On a sunny afternoon
Of late spring
The petrol
In the street
Was mixed
With the hovering
Exciting scent
Of by-passing
Early-June girls.
poem by Paul Hartal
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Irritation Is Not The Best Feeling To Begin A Poem With
IRRITATION IS NOT THE BEST FEELING TO BEGIN A POEM WITH
Irritation is not the best Feeling to begin a poem with
But the great heat, the great humidity
The slowness of my mind on Motzei Shabbat
The many errands that must be done tomorrow
The inability to begin true work,
The news of another anti- Semitic utterance by the Nobel Prize winner Gunter Grass
Above all the worry over the health of a family member
All these irritate and disturb-
And I can at best write a few plain lines
Begin to work
To make myself feel better
But not really influence what is outside myself-
And too the irritation that my poem and my words
Will reach a few at best
While the mendacious former Waffen SS member's poem
Has already made its hateful way to headlines in the world-
Oh it is wonderful to be an obscure nothing in writing
When it is only my own name and reputation which are involved,
But when it means I cannot really help the people I care about
This irritation this frustration anger so-
Oh how I just pray that my loved one
Will be after the doctor's visit
Better tonight.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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When the sun languished slowly in the late afternoon
When the sun languished slowly in the late afternoon
I held you in an embrace,
while the moon did cling bright white to the heaven,
winking stars appeared in the night
and sweet we were blissful together
when you trusted me, with your body, spirit and soul.
When the sun languished slowly in the late afternoon
I held you in an embrace,
suddenly the evening star did disappear
while I held your hand in mine,
saw the glance in the depths of your eyes
and all the misunderstandings and pain were gone,
when the sun languished slowly in the late afternoon.
poem by Gert Strydom
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When You Read This Poem
when you read this poem
silently like a prayer written
on the wall
of an ancient structure
and then when you pause
upon a word and begin
to ponder
like ' what is this poem really
trying to say? '
or ' does this poem have in some
way something to inform me
or touch me
or simply waste my time? '
rest assured this poem has
made you phrase some questions
not about you
or about me alone but
whether you believe it or not
this poem has become
a bridge between us
taking the shape
of a rainbow between two islands
and in a moment before you
begin to figure it out
or even know it
it is gone like a sigh passing you by
without any significance
and not worth remembering
but once
after you have read till the end
once there was this poem
and it seems to have no meaning at all
except a task
a journey that you have taken
arriving at nowhere
and giving you the essence of nothing.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Morning Poem Did Not Come
THE MORNING POEM DID NOT COME
The morning poem did not come-
So this is the effort of an afternoon poem,
Warm and sun- filled and relaxing and deep and waiting.
This is a poem between times more interesting than itself.
The light is so great now.
But this too is a poem of little or nothing to say
Of afternoon emptiness after morning emptiness
On a tired tired day.
Once I thought I would write poems which would make immortal
Those I love.
Now I write poems to keep myself going.
This afternoon I am extremely tired
But if this is poem
Or even if I only think it is
I can have a rest
Before I face the evening.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Buckled
like a highway buckled by a heat wave
so does a poem warps time like a yarn
arranged lengthwise on a loom and then
crossed by a woof, your body shape
twisted by the way i look at some distance,
you know it, you sit there and begin to write
the words, it was still 3 o'clock in the afternoon
when the people speak of arrivals and then
departures, and then you finally finish your
poem, carefully weaving and weighing and
asking which word fits what you want to drive
to the niche of your dead thoughts or to the
womb of the birth of your fertilized words
suddenly, the clock strikes 7: 09 in the evening
you forget dinner, you forget the birthday party
of a friend, you have forgotten time, and yet you
are so alive, like the stars in your window that
now have started to appear like fireflies on a
very lonely tree. You close the door. It is dark.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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IT is dark (2)
like a highway buckled by a heat wave
so does a poem warps time like a yarn
arranged lengthwise on a loom and then
crossed by a woof, your body shape
twisted by the way i look at some distance,
you know it, you sit there and begin to write
the words, it was still 3 o'clock in the afternoon
when the people speak of arrivals and then
departures, and then you finally finish your
poem, carefully weaving and weighing and
asking which word fits what you want to drive
to the niche of your dead thoughts or to the
womb of the birth of your fertilized words
suddenly, the clock strikes 7: 09 in the evening
you forget dinner, you forget the birthday party
of a friend, you have forgotten time, and yet you
are so alive, like the stars in your window that
now have started to appear like fireflies on a
very lonely tree. You close the door. It is dark.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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How did it get so late so soon? Its night before its afternoon. December is here before its June. My goodness how the time has flewn. How did it get so late so soon?
An Evening Poem
AN EVENING POEM
An evening poem
Waits for deeper darkness
A night poem knows blackness
As home.
A morning poem is light
An afternoon poem is thick with heat.
All times have a poem
And all seasons poems also
All lives are poems
And all stories also.
We all are and all know poems
Poems pervade us
And the universe.
It is night now
But when the morning comes
Its poem will overshadow now.
What a brave new world it is
With so many poems in it
And what a life-
With such deep sadness
Waiting forever to be unexpressed.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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