The Making Of Many Poems

OF MAKING MANY POEMS

The making of many poems
Is not a weariness of the flesh-
Perhaps it is even
A defiance of
The weariness of the flesh.

But there is an end,
No end or not-
For me
Anyway.

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The Writing Of Many Poems

THE WRITING OF MANY POEMS

The writing of many poems
Has not been a weariness of the flesh
It has been by and large- a happiness-

What will happen to the Poems
Is another matter-

But the writing of them
Has given me life.

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Oh Weariness

OH WEARINESS

Oh Weariness
Weariness of Body
Weariness of Mind
Weariness of Soul
Step by Step
Thought by Thought
Dream by Dream
I walking into the morning light
Force myself against you.
Oh Weariness
Weariness of Mind
Weariness of Body
Weariness of Soul.

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Kohelet Again It Is Not Just The Vanity Of Vanities

It is not just the vanity of vanities
It is not just the truth of the contradictions
It is not just ‘a time for this and a time for that'
It is not just ‘Remember thy Creator in the days of thy youth before the evil days grow nigh'
It is not just ‘Better a living dog than a dead lion'
It is not just ‘Enjoy your days with the wife of your youth'
It is not just the eternal truths
And the poem of the long home-
And the turning again and again of the wind and the water
And the sun and the sound-

It is not just the sheer beauty of the thing and its words
Despite an occasional archaic ugliness
It is not just the truth that cannot be gone beyond
Because this is what life is and what the grave is and what we are
It is not just too ‘that the making of many books much less the making of many poems is a weariness of the flesh-

It is that after all the years I have arrived at the time
Where the golden bowl may be broken and the voice of the grinders made low
And man return to his eternal home-

As in youth I in old age read and reread the words of the Preacher
And know myself and all of us in them-

Oh the greatest Literature is here
And part of it I repeat in my fragmented self
While the long distance of life goes beyond
In words which will be heard for the first time -

For this too is not everything
And what we do not know yet
Kohelet too does not know-

And for all of us as God permits
Who knows what will come
After the Vanity-
If it is after all Vanity
And the end of it all?

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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

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Poems About.

There are poems that you will never see
Marked in a folder titled 'privacy'
Poems of hate and anger and personal pain
Poems about greed and hunger and personal gain
Poems about people I would love to see dead
Poems about women I met
Poems about relationships that have gone bad
Poems about issues with mom and dad
Poems about me, the person no one knows
Poems about places where only my soul goes
Poems I wish I could place in the clouds for all to read
Poems about lust, selfishness and greed
Poems I know will hurt those I hate
Poems I write by complete mistake
Poems I have hidden in my heart and my head
Poems about things that are better left unsaid
Poems I want to share and poems I want to retract
Poems of shame and how others might act
They stay in my psyche, they are a part of me
These poems I write, but you will never see.

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For a friend who starts

I am happy you find this thing
This old thing this oldest thing
Of being us
Making us feel us making the rest
See us making them
Take the form we are forming
This image these thoughts
These fragments
Of our humanity
Thanks for finally becoming like me
My friend you have just started
This art
I am happy for you and I will see
You more in what
You write
Your poems shaping your soul
Your poems to bare them all

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Oh The Poems And More Poems

OH THE POEMS AND THE MORE POEMS

Oh the poems and the more poems
The wonderful poems I am writing all the time
God has given me this gift
And when I wait in the right way
And when I listen to myself properly
The poems come in ways I could never have thought of or imagined before
They come as mysteries as gifts as surprises
As wonderful to me as perhaps to you their possible readers
Oh the poems and the more poems
The wonderful poems God has given me
And the light of this day and so many other days, also.

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The poems I love

There are poems that I envy,
poems that I admire and respect,
poems that simply sing to me,
poems that I puzzle over…

but the poems I most love -
they may be jewelled and adorned
with adjectives and adverbs,
similes and metaphors, (but
they must be enlightening, relevant,
making mind and heart to expand
in sheer exhilaration)

or they may be so quietly, humbly carpentered
that they say, I’m simply here to serve you…

but they all say to me with
shining eyes, as if
the world made new in that moment,

‘Yes, I was there!
Join me there! ’

and their ‘there’ is here and now
and as great as the universe
and the heart that yearns.

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The Sex Confessions

The Bed
Your Mouth
My Touch
Our Lips

It’s a fever
In the night
Forbidden

Forbidden

Desecr ated and damned together
Desecrated and damned forever
One naked flesh, we’ll die together
One naked flesh, making love forever

The Flame
Your Cries
My Salt
Our Wounds

It’s a fever
In the night
Forbidden

Forbidden

Desecrated and damned together
Desecrated and damned forever
One naked flesh, we’ll die together
One naked flesh, making love forever

The Earth
Your Rain
My Seed
Our Life

It’s a fever
In the night
Forbidden
Forbidden

Desecrated and damned together
Desecrated and damned forever
One naked flesh, we’ll die together
One naked flesh, making love forever

Hell
Regrets
Confessions
Of Love

Your Love
My Love
Our Love
Love

It’s a fever
In the night
Forbidden
Forbidden

Desecrated and damned together
Desecrated and damned forever
One naked flesh, we’ll die together
One naked flesh, making love forever

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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.

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Poems About Poems About Poems

Poems about poems about poems-
More poems and more poems and more poems-
Poems poems poems poems poems-
How many poems?
How much poetry
Until there is no poetry at all?

But only 'words' and 'words' and 'words'
Until one goes far away
Where there was never a poem before-
And suddenly hears
“Let there be Light”.

And Poetry perhaps
Is born again.

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I Read Some Poems Today

i read some poems
today, and these are
poems about the flesh
touching another flesh

like the lips touching
another lips, a kiss to
another kiss, like a
body rubbing another
body, and then it went

higher than that, a
spirit touching another
spirit, ablaze, like some
flints catching fire, like

that desolate house
of bukowski where parents
forbid the children to see
that man with beautiful
eyes, on his pajama
wet with his sweat and
carrying a rhum on his
right hand and a cigarette
between his mouth.

i see, this is all about
isolation, a man's way
of getting away from
the maddening crowd

his way of loving himself
and making a part of
himself grow and glow.

the door bell rings
someone is calling
'anybody home? '

i am pressing my fingers
on some letters
my left hand rests and
touches my crouch

the woman with a shrill
voice finally stops and
leaves and i hear her
footsteps departing

i am silent, i am awake
finally i find my way home.

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The Poems Written About Poetry

The poems written about Poetry
Seemed to be self- indulgent and self- serving,
The Poet worshipping what he does
And making himself Holy-

But in some other way
They were simply Explorations
Efforts at understanding the Art
And improving the Music-

They were in their own quiet way small adventures
And gifts to other would- be- poets
And lovers of intense lines-

The poems written about the poetry
Were small additions to a long history
Poems about poems-

One kind of poem
In a world
Where there is no end to more and many.

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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.

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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.

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We Need Poems To Make Us Love Life More

WE NEED POEMS TO MAKE US LOVE LIFE MORE

We need poems to make us love life more
Poems that will make us happier
Poems that will make us kinder, better people.
We need poems that will inspire us
That will add to our sense of the world’s Beauty
We need Poems that will make us love others as we love ourselves as we love God.
We need holy poems
And joyful poems
And blessed poems
And kind poems
We need poems which will make us love life more
Which will help us love others and ourselves more
God more
We need poems.

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Blaise Pascal

Thus so wretched is man that he would weary even without any cause for weariness... and so frivolous is he that, though full of a thousand reasons for weariness, the least thing, such as playing billiards or hitting a ball, is sufficient enough to amuse him.

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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.

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I Don't Want The Poems To End

I don’t want the poems to end
I don’t want to stop hearing my soul say
What it most deeply means-
I don’t want the poems to end
I want to go on and on with the poems
Day by day
As life at its best may go on
Just being and loving
And letting the poems come-
I don’t want the poems to end
And I don’t want to end now either.

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Paul Valery

A work is never completed except by some accident such as weariness, satisfaction, the need to deliver, or death: for, in relation to who or what is making it, it can only be one stage in a series of inner transformations.

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