The World Does Not Wait/For A Poem It Will Never Listen To
THE WORLD DOES NOT WAIT
The world does not wait
For a poem it will never listen to
Silence is easy to bear.
My poem
Small as it is
Soft as it is
Shakes no great world to its foundation.
Little lines
Little lives
Great love
And it need not be registered at all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Hear Nothing
I HEAR NOTHING
I hear nothing
There is no poem
No poetry
Dull stale flat unprofitable
Oh the uses of this world.
Silence
Fear
Oh the darkness the darkness
Deep deep deep
I hear nothing
I wait
A thousand great lines of others
And not one of mine
No poetry no poem no poet
The world is going on and by
And poetry is in it
But I am on the side mumbling in silence
A silence unheard and only alone.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The World I Wait For Within Myself/ Is A Poem
THE WORLD I WAIT FOR WITHIN MYSELF/ IS A POEM
The world I wait for within myself
Is a poem
When it comes
I simply write it down-
I am doing this now
As if this were the most natural simple and easy thing in the world-
I dream and you dream and we all dream
And whatever comes to us
Is what we are-
And we are all poems
If we can write it down
Simply and clearly and beautifully
So that when someone else reads it
They believe it.
Is this a poem now?
Perhaps.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Wait To Hear The Lines Come
I WAIT TO HEAR THE LINES COME
I wait to hear the lines come
I try to listen only to what has the melody and rhythm of poetry
I wait-
I hear-
But in me deeper than myself some Silence stops my soul -
The words are the words and they can come
'But what this Life is and what I have done in it? '
Is still a question-
After all these years
And old –
Still a question-
I listen to myself
But it is not enough-
Some one else, others must want to listen also
And perhaps they never will-
I have a poem, you have a poem
But do we have Poetry?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Wait For The Poem
WAIT FOR THE POEM
Wait for the poem-
Wait-
Let the Breeze go through you
The heat of these past days has been long.
Wait
Let your mind
Begin to move
With the wind.
Lines
More lines
A poem?
Writing now
The breeze.
Thank God
For the Breeze
For the Poem
For Now.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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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
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I Walk And Wait For A Poem
I WALK AND WAIT FOR A POEM
I walk and wait for a poem
What else do I have but a poem?
The schoolchildren by the side of the road
Are helped by their father into the car.
Yeats had ‘schoolchildren’ in his poem-
But I am not Yeats.
I stop and write these lines down
A poem is not enough
A small poor poem
Is not enough.
But what else do I have but a small poor poem
And the memory of my children
The children I love so much-
When they were schoolchildren
So long long ago?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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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
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The World Is a Poem
Scrutinize around you and see poem
See poem in the air
See poem in the sky
See poem in the sea
See poem in plants
See poem in man
See poem from man
See poem in his eyes
See poem in his love
See poem in life
See poem in death…
Now what is a poem?
Poem is nature
Nature is the world
And The world is a poem.
poem by Chinonso Uche
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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
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I Wrote No Poem Today/ I Wrote No Poem Yesterday
I WROTE NO POEM TODAY/ I WROTE NO POEM YESTERDAY
I wrote no poem today-
I wrote no poem yesterday-
Will I write a poem tomorrow?
Perhaps all my lines are done-
And I must live out
The rest of my life
In silence-
God is Great
Am I a small small small voice still?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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What Is A Jewish Poem?
WHAT IS A JEWISH POEM?
What is a Jewish poem?
‘Shema’ is a Jewish poem
Perhaps the Jewish poem-
'Shmoneh Esreh' is comprised of Jewish poems
Nineteen prayers as one-
Our history is filled with Jewish poems-
From the beginning with Abraham and Sarah
Those who have given so much beyond our understanding -
Jewish poems everywhere -
Is each Jewish life a poem and a story also?
Or is it only those who give something to our people and history
Who are worthy of Poetry?
I have known many Jewish poems
People the great world will not know the names of
People who whether they walked humbly or not
Made the lives of others better in some way –
Kindness is perhaps the ultimate Jewish poem
And Justice also-
And Jewish poems are not without their contradictions –
As I write this poem in Jerusalem in the land of Israel
I think of the small Jewish world of Troy New York where I came from so many years ago
And miss so many people no longer of that and this world –
Longing for Israel for two thousand years was the Jewish poem
Living here now is a blessing and a gift
I thank God for.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Wait For A Poem
WAIT FOR THE POEM
Wait for the poem
Let it speak in you
Let the words come as they come
Feel if they are real
Check them as they are written
And afterwards
When the poem is done
Look with a critical eye
Listen and hear if within
Its rhythm is true -
Then rest and wait
And read again
And feel if it is something
Others may listen to-
And then pretend
You have no doubts,
And tell yourself
You have done
What it is for you to do
And can now
Shut down.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Only Poem Is The Poem/ At The Moment Of Its Writing
THE ONLY POEM IS THE POEM
The only poem is the poem
At the moment of its writing
The poem being lived now
The poem I am trying to make
The poem of these lines.
The only poem now is this one-
And this poem is so small and so self- reflexive
That it is not much of a poem at all.
The only poem is not much of a poem at all
This one
And me now? .
But what about everything else I have not done?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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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
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I Stop And Wait/For A Poem
I Stop And Wait/ For A Poem
I stop and wait
For a poem.
The poem does not come
The city says ‘Morning beauty’
The silence is a sadness unsayable -
Light is lovely
Isn’t it?
Irony Irony Irony-
I write these lines
As if I actually believe
I am writing poetry
And doing something.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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There Are Those Who Wait Years To Write A Poem
THERE ARE THOSE WHO WAIT YEARS TO WRITE A POEM
There are those who wait years to write a poem
The fruit slowly ripens inside and then as with Rilke
It suddenly falls -
There are those who write a few lines
And come back time after time
And find the poem after many efforts-
There are those who cannot wait to write a poem
And once conscious of it must write it down as fast as possible
Before it is lost-
And there are those who only in the present writing
Find the poem -
The page suffers many methods and modes
But what truly makes a poem worthy
Is another question.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Wanted The Sky To Write Me A Poem
I WANTED THE SKY TO WRITE ME A POEM
I wanted the sky to write me a poem
I looked up to its dark spaces, grey clouds, deep stars-
It said to me,
“You are the poem
wander freely
the world is forever open
before you.”
I looked up at the sky again
And the Beauty of the night
Was too great for me
To bear the Silence of.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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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
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Listen
LISTEN
Listen
Listen more carefully
Hear your own inner sounds
Wait for the music
Listen
The poem is being written within you
It does not know your name
Or any name
But listen
Let its rhythm come
It needs not be anything any other poem has been before
Listen
Its your poem
Now
Listen listen listen
And write it slowly down.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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In The Small World Of My Poem
in the small world of a poem
there lives a
teardrop
and there is only one reader
who sees it
and takes it
and says
'the teardropp is not salty
it is sweet
and now it is inside me'
in the small world of my poem
lies the miracle also of the dew
the pearl of the leaf
that lasts only
one morning.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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