There Is No End To The Longing
THERE IS NO END TO THE LONGING
There is no end to the longing
And no end to the poem.
The Life will end
The Darkness will come
But the poem
The poem will go on
And the longing with it
Elsewhere
Where only God knows.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Longing Is The Heart Of The Poem
THE LONGING IS THE HEART OF THE POEM
The longing is the heart of the poem
The longing for so much
Which will never be again-
The longing to be young again
To love again
In a true and deep way-
The longing for all the times and people
Who are not
And never will be again-
The longing which tells me again and again
How much we lose in merely living
How deep and rich life is
In time and ways and people
Beyond our ever remembering and recollecting fully-
The longing is for so much that is gone
For so much that will never be again-
Life itself is a longing for life itself
And life goes beyond itself in so many ways-
All the longing all my longing
Will never bring it back
even that
which is always here.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Is There Still Longing In Paradise?
Is there still Longing in Paradise?
Or is there no Paradise without Longing?
In Longing we most feel alive-
And in Longing’s realization deepest live-
No life without longing-
Longing as Paradise
Longing as Poem.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Will I Have A Poem Tonight?
WILL I HAVE A POEM TONIGHT?
Will I have a poem tonight?
Or will tiredness take me to bed
Without an answer?
Will I be able to find within myself
Some sounds of meaning
Some hint of beauty?
Something deeper than the darkness outside
As real as the longing within?
The poem which is written about the poem which is not
Is the poem which is written about the poem which is
And the poem which is
Is tonight the poem of the night
And the poem of the night tonight
Is the poem this poem is.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Poem Of The Sea Is For Me in Tel Aviv Today
THE POEM OF THE SEA IS FOR ME IN TEL AVIV TODAY
BET CHOL HAMOED PESACH 5762
The poem of the sea is for me today
The poem of longing and beauty
It is the poem of light
Of distance
It is the poem of waves unceasing
And colors dreaming their changes faster than they can be named-
The poem of the sea is for me
On this day
A poem of return and happiness
A poem of being with my family-
It is too a poem of memories
How thirty- five years ago just beginning
I came to the same sea alone
And wondered how
If I would ever have a family of my own
Then young in love
And later losing love
And then returning alone
And now again here
With a daughter her husband and my granddaughter
The poem of the sea is for me
On this day
A poem of Love and Gratitude to God
Of longing and beauty of light of distance
And happiness.
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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A Poem Of The Sea Is For Me Today in Tel Aviv Chol Ha- Moed Pesach 5762
THE POEM OF THE SEA IS FOR ME TODAY IN TEL AVIV CHOL HAMOED PESACH 5762
The poem of the sea is for me today
In Tel Aviv Chol Ha- Moed Pesach 5762
The poem of longing and beauty
It is the poem of light
Of distance
It is the poem of waves unceasing
And colors dreaming their changes faster than they can be named-
The poem of the sea is for me
On this day
A poem of return and happiness
A poem of being with my family-
It is too a poem of remembrance-
How thirty- five years ago just beginning
I came to the same sea alone
And wondered how
If I would ever have a family of my own -
Then young in love
And later losing love
And then returning alone
And now again here
With a daughter her husband and my granddaughter
The poem of the sea is for me
On this day
A poem of Love and Gratitude to God-
Of longing and beauty of light of distance
And happiness.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Poem Comes/ Of A Longing
THE POEM COMES /OF A LONGING
The Poem comes
Of a longing
Deeper than we are
Out of what
We can never know
As sound alone.
The Music whose Essence
Is beyond dreaming
And which returns always
To the depth
Of what Memory
Might be
Even should we have been born
more than once.
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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The Last Poem Of The Year
THE LAST POEM OF THE YEAR
The last poem of the year
Has Happiness as its message
Has Sadness as its theme
Has Love as its Longing
And Repentance as its meaning-
The last poem of the year
Has gratitude to God
And prayer for those I love
And prayer for healing for
sick-friends and family-
The last poem of the year
Has quiet as its message
And silence as its theme
And kindness as its longing
And hope for the next year
As its blessing-
The last poem of the year-
poem by Shalom Freedman
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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
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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
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The Poem Was Destroyed By Its Own Words
The poem was destroyed by its own words
And could not be written-
The words were not good enough
The words were not exact enough -
The poem nonetheless wanted to be
It waited in longing for other words-
Other words came
But they were not the poem either-
The poem it appeared
Was never to be -
The poem disappeared
Before it could be written
That poem forever is not
And in its place only these lines
Barely a poem at all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Poem I Most Love
THE POEM I MOST LOVE
The poem I most love
Was written to me by my dreams
Long before I was born
It did not know its name
But came from somewhere else deep inside
The beyond of God-
I do not know its name
I can only feel and hear it again and again
When the music of some other time
Some other life I lived once and have lost
Returns to me.
The poem I most love
Is the life which has been
And will never come again
Seeing it and hearing it
I know we human beings are dreams and dreams again always dreams
And never ever to be finally at peace and true
But longing and longing for what we were and not were
What we lived and did not live
What we will never be again
And always are.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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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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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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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
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The Silence Of The Poem
THE SILENCE OF THE POEM
The silence of the poem
Conceals the endless longing
For those we have loved so much
For those who cannot be here with us ever again
For those we loved with all the love we have
And will always love with all the love we have
Until we too are not here.
Oh God what a world
With such longing and such love in it
With such feeling beyond our understanding
Oh God what a world which lets us know and love these most wondrous people with all the love we have
And then takes them from us
And leaves us only
With the silence of a poem
Which is only words.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Night Should Write A Poem
THE NIGHT SHOULD WRITE A POEM
The night should write a poem
The mere ‘look’ of it
The lights- the different depths of darkness-
The night should write a poem
But tonight
The heat
The windlessness
The ugly close black sky,
All say that
Even the simple seen world
Cannot always answer
Our longing.
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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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
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