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The Poem Of The Evening Is A Quiet Poem

THE POEM OF THE EVENING IS A QUIET POEM

The poem of the evening is a quiet poem
It comes in gentleness with tired eyes
It does not know how long it will last
It believes a fresh breeze
And a simple song
Are all its needs
To feel happiness.

The poem of the evening this evening
Believes in life
Believes in Goodness of God
Believes it will somehow be alright.

The poem of the evening this evening
May be a foolish one
But it is a quietly happy one.

We need such poems sometimes
For life is hard in the long working days
And in the times of difficult idleness
When no dreams come.

Quiet and quiet
Soft as sleep
The poem of the evening this evening
Is a gentle one.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Poem Came To Me In The Evening

MY POEM CAME TO ME IN THE EVENING/ AFTER THE RAIN AND EVENING PRAYER

My poem came to me in the evening
After the rain and evening prayer
When the sky opened up
For a moon and a star
And the winds diminished
And walking became a pure pleasure
And looking up a simple calm
Joy-

God giving me
Another gift
In a life in which there already have been so so many.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Need A Poem

I NEED A POEM

I need a poem
To get back to myself
To feel alive again-

A small poem, not a great poem
But nonetheless a poem-

These lines- the evening breeze-
I am who I am – again.

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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This Poem

THIS POEM

This poem
This first poem
This last poem
This poem that invented Poetry
This one and only one poem
This fictional poem
This ideal poem
This perfect poem
This would – be holy poem
This unreal poem
This poem which is not a poem
This poem which is the essence of all poetry
This poem
And that poem
And my poem
And your poem
And all poems
Poem poem poem poem poem
This poem
Mine and yours
This one small poem of so so many
And not such a good poem at all.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poem I Did Not Write Today

THE POEM I DID NOT WRITE TODAY

The poem I did not write today
Will never be written.
No one knows what it is
Or where it is
'How it can be? ' is another question
No one can answer.

The poem I did not write today
Never went away
It is always here with me and with you
It is the same simple poem
Written over and over again
In our everyday minds.

It is the poem of love of life
The poem of happiness
The poem of belief in God
And in the goodness in the world to come
It is the poem which believes too that poetry will help save the world.

It is the good poem
The happy poem
The poem I did not write today
Is the poem my life is writing now and always
And with you it says
‘What a miracle it is that we are here
reading and writing
and loving life as we do’.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There Is A Poem Of The Evening

THERE IS A POEM OF THE EVENING

There is a poem of the evening
never written before.

The tiredness of time
And the tiredness of mind
take flight.
when in the cool corner
of the silent light
Lines are put down
Slowly
One by one,
As if in forgiveness
For all the sins of omission
Of a life
that never came to be
what it dreamed

In the evening here
After the long day
And who knows how much time he has left
as these lines are written.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poem.

I do not like the silly poem,
I do not like the angsty poem,
I do not like the ridiculous poem,
I do not like the damned poem,
I do not like the cheesy poem,
I do not like the random poem,
Or the epic poem,
Or the dandy poem,
Or the long poem,
Or the short poem,
Or the stupid poem,
Or the rude poem,
Or the useless poem,
Or the wordless poem,
Or the poem poem,
Or the poem poem's daughter,
Or the word, Poem,

I like the story.

poem by Aisha Patterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poem.

I do not like the silly poem,
I do not like the angsty poem,
I do not like the ridiculous poem,
I do not like the damned poem,
I do not like the cheesy poem,
I do not like the random poem,
Or the epic poem,
Or the dandy poem,
Or the long poem,
Or the short poem,
Or the stupid poem,
Or the rude poem,
Or the useless poem,
Or the wordless poem,
Or the poem poem,
Or the poem poem's daughter,
Or the word, Poem,

I like the story.

poem by David Carter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
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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I Would Write A Quiet Poem

I WOULD WRITE A QUIET POEM

I would write a quiet poem.
There is so much noise in the world.
A poem to be read in silence
A poem to give comfort and rest
A poem of peace
Of mind and soul.

A quiet poem
Against all the furies and pains of this world
A poem of peace
Restful as the most bliss-filled sleep.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There Was a Poem Written Long Ago

There was a poem
Written long ago
A quiet poem
I cannot read it now
I will not write it again-

A quiet poem
We wrote
That went deep
Into my soul
And made it know
That life
Is forever good and beautiful-

A quiet poem
that will never be written
for me
again.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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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This is a poem....

This isn't a poem of one direction,
This is a poem about perfection.
This isn't a poem about who won the election,
This is a poem about correction.
This isn't a poem of getting it right,
This is a poem of standing up to fight.
This isn't a poem of being lost like a kite,
This is a poem about trying to find the light.
This isn't a poem of running tears,
This is a poem about chasing your fears.
This isn't a poem of love and hate,
This is a poem of destiny and fate.
This isn't a poem of the end,
This is a poem of a heart unable to mend.
This isn't a poem of cruilty and pain,
This is a poem of a thng i need to gain.
This isn't a poem of shame,
This is a poem of fame.
Thsi isn't a poem of the life i let loose,
THIS IS A POEM OF THE TRUTH.

poem by Tammie LilAimo
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They Call It Gentle and Smile

The Sun wrote a poem
That is morning
The Moon wrote a poem
That is evening
I wrote a poem
That is love
You wrote a poem on your lips
They fondly call it gentle and smile

poem by Kavin Charalan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There Was A Poem Long Ago

THERE WAS A POEM LONG AGO

There was a poem long ago
A poem of youth and hope
Now there are other poems
Poems of age and sorrow.
There was a poem once
Of love – and happiness in love
Now there is a poem of lovelessness
And sadness.
There was a poem once
Of the long and distant open road
Now there is a poem of the dead end.
There was a poem once
That believed in Poetry
Now there is a poem that knows
Even the most beautiful worlds of words
End in dust
There was a poem once – long ago.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poem The Poem And The Poem Again

THE POEM‘ THE POEM AND THE POEM AGAIN’

‘The poem the poem and the poem again’
Isn’t there any life without poetry?
Why is it always ‘The poem the poem the poem’?

Let it be some other dream
Or some other small facet of our endless realities
Why always ‘The poem the poem the poem? ’

The poet who lives and dies for the poem
Is only one kind of poet
And perhaps not even a good one.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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