R.M. ENGELHARDT

Poet Writer Author Albany NY

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R.M. Engelhardt is an American poet, writer and author who over the last three decades has published over 20 books of poetry including “Nod” “Alchemy” DarkLands, RAW & “The Last Cigarette: The Collected Poems of R.M. Engelhardt. The founder of the Upstate NY organization ALBANY POETS & the Annual Poetry Celebration THE ALBANY WORD FEST he has through his ideas & visions helped to contribute a large amount of advocacy and creativity to the Spoken Word~Poetry Capital District scene and is the former host of the long running readings The School of Night & Vox. He is currently the host of SPEAK THE WORD ALBANY!. An Open Mic for Poetry And The Spoken Word at Ophelias. Over the last thirty years his work has also been published in many journals such as The Rye Whiskey Review, Red Fez, Rusty Truck, Sure! The Charles Bukowski Newsletter, Thunder Sandwich, Black Noise, The Hobo Camp Review, Full of Crow, on the Outlaw Poetry Network & in many many others. Look for his books “WHERE THE PEOPLE’S VISION PERISHES 2020” “DARK LANDS (2019 on LuLu, Amazon & At Barnes and Noble) The Resurrection Waltz, 2012 ( Infinity Press) & “COFFEE ASS BLUES & OTHER POEMS” ( 2018 Alien Buddha Press 2018) ” DarkLands” 2019 & “Where There Is No Vision” 2020, “WE RISE LIKE SMOKE” (2021) & Of Spirit, Ash & Bone (2022) and RAW- Poems ( 2023) all available on Amazon.com He is also the Editor of the small independent poetry press Dead Man’s Press Ink since 1998. Look for his books The Bones of Our Existence A Journal 2046 & his new books THE DYING TIME POEMS BY R.M. Engelhardt 2026 & NO KINGS 2025 available at Barnes & Noble and currently on Amazon. www.gentlemanoutsider.com *All Poems, Writings & Information Contained On This Blog Are The Property & Owned By The Author R.M. Engelhardt. © 2026 www.rmengelhardt.com

  • AS AUTUMN BEGINS

    As Autumn Begins By R.M. Engelhardt

    AS AUTUMN BEGINS

  • NATIONAL POETRY DAY

    NATIONAL POETRY DAY

    What is ” National “
    These days?

    And what
    Is “Poetry?”

    Is it the screaming
    Sound of immigrants &
    Their children being
    Handcuffed & pushed
    Into a black van?

    Is it the sound of
    Assholes in masks
    Pretending that they
    Are real human beings?

    Joking
    About the murder

    Of Poets?

    Nurses?

    What is ” National “
    These days?

    And what
    Is “Poetry?”

    It is the sound
    Of jail cell doors
    Clashing, clicking
    And locking on fascists
    & deranged pathetic Nazis

    All that is an offense

    To the human race

    And to the earth

    And that
    Without violence
    Is the perfect poem
    That sends the message
    Of truth

    ~ R.M. Engelhardt
    © 2026

  • AN ODE TO THE MEDIOCRE

    AN ODE TO THE MEDIOCRE

    you rise
    you rose

    you have risen

    then?
    after a time
    the belittlement
    and their ego driven jealousy

    begins

    and in turn
    they will overlook
    you to make themselves
    immortal for a whole ten
    seconds of fame

    and they will fear
    that you get there 1st

    wherever
    the fuck exactly

    that is

    and they will secretly & privately worry that their self made images will disinigrate into the thin air that were nothing to begin with in the first place

    they will lie about you in private only for their own acknowledgement

    while the crowds
    feed on hype

    and believe in their shit

    and not your truth
    or depth

    and they will
    steal your thoughts
    ideas & creativity
    and place them upon their
    own self worshipping alters

    without a second thought

    hey
    look what I did

    (didn’t)

    and they will fear that
    you will speak the truth and
    that the masses will accept it

    destroying their existence
    wholly built upon

    shit

    but the true artist
    still remains

    unbreakable &
    unphased

    laughing at them
    and creating

    which is something
    and the impossible
    that they cannot

    do

    ~ R.M. Engelhardt
    © 2026

  • THE 21st CENTURY POETS AREN’T DRUNK ENOUGH

    THE 21st CENTURY POETS
    AREN’T DRUNK ENOUGH

    The poets
    Of the 21st century
    Are still well, poets
    A bit lost at times
    But here & there & now
    Recovering from other
    Generations words
    Vaulted within their
    Minds & souls forever

    The Beat Manifestos
    Kerouac and Ginsberg
    Still stuck in our heads as
    Frost & Yeats voices
    Keep playing in
    The background &
    As Whitman still
    Yearns for an America
    We’ve never seen

    Never felt

    We have technology
    We have laptops we have
    Our ecology falling apart
    At the seams our oceans
    Polluted and all our nations
    Still divided hate and racism
    & unconquered dreams
    Running up that hill that
    A young black girl mentioned

    Recently

    At some inauguration
    On the collapse of some
    Faux American Nazi regime

    But there are still words
    Verses yet to be written
    & sung

    As always

    The poet of the 21st century
    Never getting or fitting
    The all & everything
    Within an epiphany
    Or a sonnet

    Some of us even fell off
    The back of the railroad car
    Living as traveling punks
    While others have seen the inside
    Of the suburban prisons
    Of their own intricate designs

    Our philosophies
    At best diluted amongst
    The need for our own
    Realities & God

    Cigarettes &
    Guns & Coffee

    Meaning & Relevance

    As we long for our own
    Ancestoral forests
    Worshipping animals, trees
    & rock icons for gone is the
    God of the harvest and all the
    Poems of the starry night

    Lord Byron & Shelly
    Burned & buried long ago in their
    Frock shirts
    The romance at the end of
    Their stories

    Dead

    So we write of our own times
    Dancing upon these hardcore
    Graves looking for the missing
    Pieces of our childhood & the
    Events of the moment

    The news, the headlines.

    No longer to dream or
    Transcend without being
    Drunk or stoned, medicated
    Within the lines of something

    Lost ~

    For the poets
    Of the 21st century
    Are still well, poets
    Searching
    Here & there & now but still

    Looking for that something
    Looking for the perfect words
    But never finding them in these
    Drifting days of media

    Writing

                 The Poet

    Sees chaos. Hears laughter

    Posts randomly within

    The vortex

          A photo

    To see the dream

    So others may see it also

        But do not

    For the poet
    Of the 21st century
    Is not drunk enough
    Will never be drunk enough

    Commonly void by information

    Random apocalypse

    Floating

    Somewhere

    In the extinction of his own backyard

    Ten likes

    Five likes

    None.

    The 21st Century Poets
    Aren’t Drunk Enough

    T- Shirt now
    Available

    At Walmart

    ~ R.M. Engelhardt
    ©2023

    Title Idea by Jason Otero

  • TIRED …

    Tired … Aren’t You?

  • IN RETROSPECT

    IN RETROSPECT

    The writer newly published
    The flavor of the month
    The watering eye

    A voice trapped in
    Another world gone by

    Singular
    Unique
    Those words
    Were gold

    My favorite poems are
    The one’s he wrote
    About suffering

    Mostly the old love
    Poems about drinking
    And having your soul
    Torn out & ripped apart

    Gritty bar poems
    & one night stands, sarcasm &
    Broken hearts in
    Nightclubs

    Poetic Noir

    All dressed
    In black

    But then?
    That poet?

    He grew a conscience

    And a dangerous one at that

    His verses saw the
    Monsters for what they
    Were, what they are

    The wandering poet
    Now the slayer of dragons

    The manifestos
    The punches landed
    A nation’s political demise

    That it doesn’t take
    Some empath
    To see rising

    Asking

    What is pain &
    What is life?

    And where do we start or begin?

    To walk through the dark
    And out of the light

    To some strange form of
    Awakening

    The death
    Of the old guard or

    Just what we need

    Another punk rock
    Fucking shaman
    Trying to save the world

    But in retrospect

    Who gives a fuck
    About poetry anymore

    Anyways?

    When everyone
    Can be the same
    Creating digital horse shit
    From home

    That gets consumed
    And thrown out like
    Garbage

    Souls, all meaning recycled
    In its now withering futuristic

    Grace

    The man
    Mankind
    Out of time &
    Out of place

    Rumor has it he’s dead
    Rumor has it he’s been
    Locked in a cell

    By the monsters
    He fought against

    And lost

    Burned books
    And the thousands
    Of other voices

    Now gone

    Without memory

    So how’s that for dystopia?

    Or a vision received ?

    I found one of his books
    Thrown in another pile

    Mistaken for a Christian
    Guide

    Of prayer

    ~ R.M. Engelhardt
    ©2026

  • The Dying Time Poems By R.M. Engelhardt

    The Dying Time Poems By R.M. Engelhardt

    THE DYING TIME, POEMS BY R.M. Engelhardt is a visceral, raw collection of poetry that functions as both a political manifesto and a spiritual eulogy for a fractured America. Published in 2026 by Valhalla Shelter Press, the work captures a sense of immediate crisis, weaving together themes of societal decay, the loss of artistic “magic,” and a fierce, defiant call for resistance against the Death of Democracy and the Rise of Fascism.

    Engelhardt’s writing is unapologetically aggressive and deeply cynical of modern institutions, yet it remains rooted in a desperate love for what America once promised: equality and freedom. This is not a book for those seeking comfort; it is a “reckoning” and a manifesto intended to “Witness Man Burn Once More” and create a final stand against the darkness.

    *Published By #valhallashelterpress

  • Bohemian Soul, Poem R.M. Engelhardt

    Bohemian Soul, Poem R.M. Engelhardt

    Bohemian Soul ~ R.M. Engelhardt

    BOHEMIAN SOUL

    Bohemian Soul
    No Overlords
    Freedom & Democracy

    The Past
    Still Remains

    In The Future

    For We Are The Caretakers
    Of The Human Race, The Earth,
    The Skies & The Seas

    The Denizens
    Of the Underground
    The Keepers Of The Peace

    Unchained

    Bowing Down To No Man
    No Monsters
    No Kings

    Burn Down Our House
    And We’ll Rebuild It
    We’ll Tear Down Your
    Swastikas And Knock
    Down Every Racist That
    Insults Our Being

    Like Walt Whitman

    With A Protest Sign
    Standing At Every Corner
    Of The Earth

    For Are We Capable Of
    Violence?

    Yes
    If Necessary

    For To Be Free Means
    To Stand Up For Every Single
    Mortal
    Soul

    Every Animal
    Every Human Being
    And Every Breath Of Every
    Creature

    For Humanity
    Shall Not Cease

    And Our Numbers Only Grow
    And Multiply In This Place

    Poets
    Artists
    Accountants

    It Doesn’t Matter Who
    We Are Making Our Path
    Through This Burning World

    Our Voices
    Our Fearlessness

    Stands

    And Never
    Surrenders

    Bohemian Soul
    No Overlords
    Freedom & Democracy

    The Dream Of A World
    That’s Better

    That Lives

    That Cares

    And Against It All

    We Shall Win
    And Cannot Be

    Defeated

    ~ R.M. Engelhardt
    ©2026

  • Every Tyrant

    Every Tyrant

  • Perchance

    Perchance

    PERCHANCE

    The night is far too humid

    Misery

    Older than I wish to be
    My spirit younger than some

    Sitting outside on an old
    Wooden chair having a smoke
    And a beer

    In the summer time

    Like another old Bob Seger song
    Reminiscing about the days
    Gone by

    Past days
    Past lives

    The thrill of it all

    A time that has never lost
    It’s soul

    Or heart

    Solitude though I find
    Is far better

    Knowing
    Exactly who you are

    And the idea of death
    Doesn’t really scare me

    But the state of the world still does

    Someday
    The very thought of leaving behind
    A shit show world that never had
    The freedom to grow, the chance
    To thrive

    That now, younger generations
    Will have to fix and clean up

    And history
    Is never kind to us

    Our voices lost admist
    The screams and the blood

    Gen X
    Boomers

    Protest

    Etc

    The good people of our times
    Just thrown in a pile with the
    Sick demented bastard ones

    The artists of our time viewed
    As possibly contributing nothing

    And that’s the rub

    The curse of being someone
    Something different

    Recognized
    As the same

    After the party’s over
    And all the music has died

    And the fools pushing entertainment
    To blot out reality keep talking & talking
    Carry on
    Carry on

    Because everybody wants a good time
    Because everybody bullshits themselves and says

    Hey
    Not my problem

    But who told us we were responsible?

    Who told us we owed this country or
    Planet anything back?

    Bury me in the backyard
    Bury me in the city park

    It doesn’t matter

    But I’d rather write
    And try to do my part

    Simply because
    That’s who I am

    And what I do

    Perchance it’s all a
    Dream

    Trying to keep away
    The nightmares

    I need another beer
    Because the chaos isn’t
    Quiet enough

    And people
    Keep getting killed
    And shot

    Carry on
    Carry on

    Carry on

    ~ R.M. Engelhardt
    ©2026