The Poems Scatter Themselves

THE POEMS SCATTER THEMSELVES

The poems scatter themselves
Like stars through the distance-
No one can understand the vast emptinesses in between
The darknesses which will forever surround them.
They too within themselves are burning and unstable
Expanding and exploding before
Contracting into their own ash-dark demise.

The poems scatter themselves
Like stars through the inner emptiness of a long life-
Who knows where they will end up
And what their ultimate destination will be?
Intimate fires? little lights? great darknesses?
Shapes of kindly beauty?
What will you mean
When the Lights go out forever?

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Days Without Poems

DAYS WITHOUT POEMS

Days without poems-
Nights without poems-
A time of life without poems-
No poems anywhere.

Empty inside
Running outside
Tired.

No inner energy
No great urgency in feeling
Nothing.

In the emptiness inside of no- poems
I pass this time without song.

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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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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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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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Edward Thomas

The Trumpet

Rise up, rise up,
And, as the trumpet blowing
Chases the dreams of men,
As the dawn glowing
The stars that left unlit
The land and water,
Rise up and scatter
The dew that covers
The print of last night's lovers -
Scatter it, scatter it!

While you are listening
To the clear horn,
Forget, men, everything
On this earth newborn,
Except that it is lovelier
Than any mysteries.
Open your eyes to the air
That has washed the eyes of the stars
Through all the dewy night:
Up with the light,
To the old wars;
Arise, arise!

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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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Res Ipsa Loquitor (2)

let the poems
without mouths
and teeth
without lips
and tongue

let these poems
speak for themselves
let them be
take them for whatever they are
their appearances
let them smell the way they exude themselves
let them be
let their essence be within themselves

even without our own thoughts impressing
imposing dictating
destroying
annihilating

let the poems be like dew
dissolving to the warm rays of the sun

the poems-in-themselves
even without the necessary
english-ness...

let the poems have no shame
in whatever language
in whatever form

let the lousiness be a poem in itself
let the ugliness make you feel its ugliness
let the beauty be there
side by side with everything: darkness and light
evil and good
order and chaos
stars and explosives
pins and touch
holiness and profaneness

etc and the exclusive
specifics and generalities
you and them


and let your feelings go beyond all these
in that field where anything does not matter
where there is no more bother
but just this companionship
this togetherness this wonder
this bewilderment without end

this forever-ness, this eter
nity.

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My inspirational poets

Let me think of the Vietnamese literature
let me miss the poet named Ba Huyen Thanh Quan
Who is so lovely and so warm.
As her romantic love poems are so clever and
forever for thousand years.

Let me dream of Nguyen Du
in the romantic love story of Lady called Kieu
that is so fantastic love life
and the beautiful nature 's lovely way
still lives in his poems forever.

Let my soul sinks in their marvelous poems
that are so simple and so beautiful for thousand years
AS my childhood fills all of their poems
that let me stirs the emotion never forget.
To their beautiful poems are forever and always.

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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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All These Poems About Poems

All these poems about poems
Where do they lead?

The world is so rich in so many other things
Write poems about them.

At twilight I look out
At strangers walking
To do their errands of preparation
for Sukkot.

A poem should have some Beauty in it
And not just be an effort at recording observations-

The scarlet bright flowers rage at me from the distance
I cannot translate their Beauty to words -

There is so much I have seen
And so much I will never write –
And so many Poems beyond my Imagination.

All these poems about my failing at poetry
And about translating the Beauty of the world to words-

This is a poem I not know how to properly finish.

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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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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 Wanted To Write The Poems Of The Stars

I WANTED TO WRITE THE POEMS OF THE STARS

I wanted to write the poems of the stars
The poem of Beauty and Hope and Inspiration
I wanted to write a poem that helped others
Find Joy and Meaning in their lives -

I write my little poems
Often they are the sad truths of my own little life
Consolations for myself
I think may perhaps echo the souls of others.

I am not what I would have been
And perhaps not what I should be
I am what I am
What G-d has given me to be -

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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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The Stars Are So Innocent

THE STARS ARE SO INNOCENT


The stars are so innocent
When I see them with ignorant eyes-
But when I apply even in my small way
What Astronomy teaches
Oh what hells and darknesses and fires they are –

We can no longer dream as we once did
Even in looking at the stars-
We know too much
And what we know isn’t necessarily
What we would like there to be-

When I glance up in wonder
There is so much I need to forget –

Oh God why did You make it all this way?

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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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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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The Deceased Poets Of Nature

Such beautiful poems to Nature they did write
The poetry we love for to read and recite
May they rest in peace now where-ever they lay
The deceased poets of Nature their poems live today

They glorified Nature and her praises they sung
And though they may be long dead their poems remain young
the poets of the land and the poets of the sea
In their beautiful poetry their greatness we do see

Their poems and their songs I loved as a boy
And their poems and their songs I will always enjoy
The beauty of Nature they did celebrate
And beauty in their words they loved to create.

Great insights of Nature from them we did gain
The beauty of their words with us does remain
We loved them for their poems in decades long gone
The deceased poets of Nature their poems living on.

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These Poems These Songs This Beauty This Life

THESE POEMS THESE SONGS THIS BEAUTY THIS LIFE

These poems these songs this beauty this life-
All that I hear inside me
And have heard from others
Through years of listening-
All that I take with me inside
As if it were forever mine
The songs I have learned and love
The poems I recite in my soul
Without even trying to-

All this like the dust
Like the air
Will vanish when I go
And the song of my soul
Will be
As blank as the silence
Of a page never written on.

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Who Knows All The Sadnesses That Death Brings

Who knows all the sadnesses that death brings
The hidden wounds that never heal?
The darknesses that remain black forever?
Who knows the hidden pains that death brings
And the darknesses and the sadnesses
And the cryings forever
Of what is lost and will always be lost in all of us?

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