Forget The Dust

The Bones of Our Existence~A Journal, 2046

forget the dust

FORGET THE DUST

An old man

Upon an old bed

I now breathe slowly

And remember

All of it

Every moment

Every dream

And I still believe

Still hold all these

Beliefs that

Everything is

Still everything

Love

Is still

Everything

That the words are

The all or

The nothing

(So forget the dust)

Because

One day

I shall

Become young

Again

I shall

Become truth

I shall

See all beauty

And like the lotus

Basho wrote of

Each morning shall

Blossom forth

Into words

__________

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jim harrison | five poems

Some people hear their own inner voices with great clearness. And they live by what they hear. Such people become crazy… or they become legend. ”

~ Jim Harrison RIP

poetry dispatch & other notes from the underground

POETRY DISPATCH No. 362 | January 5, 2012

JIM HARRISON

FIVE POEMS

Editor’s Note: I just trashed a lead-in piece, essay, on Harrison that I spent too much of yesterday (and the afternoon of the day before) writing. I liked where it was going, but after a trip to town, after a cup of coffee and reflection, after I came back to the desk here in the coop, I was tired of the piece, tired of what we’ve done to Harrison, maybe even more tired of what Harrison has done to himself.

Success in American writing means the making of the myth. Then living up to it till it eventually kills you, spiritually if not physically. I don’t want to get started on this or I’ll spend another day or more writing that piece. I don’t want to be reminded of how many times Harrison has been compared to hard…

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Easter

Waitin on the resurrection
The bartender pours me
Another drink

A guy who looks
Like Jesus walks
Into the bar

The punch line
Gets lost in translation
He calls me a cab
And then mysteriously

Disappears

The end

~ R.M. Engelhardt

WALT WHITMAN IS DEAD

Walt Whitman

R.M. ENGELHARDT

waltwhitman

Whitman died on this day in 1892; aged 72. A public viewing of his body was held at his Camden home; more than one thousand people visited in three hours and Whitman’s oak coffin was barely visible because of all the flowers and wreaths left for him. Four days after his death, he was buried in his tomb at Harleigh Cemetery in Camden.

_______________

WALT WHITMAN IS DEAD

Where are you now?

Uncle?

Poet?

Walt?

Old man, child of the Long Island

Free verse son of America,

Teacher & government work-man?

“Human – Being”

Citizen

Man… Mind of the spirit

Spirit, in the flesh

Where have you gone?

Disappeared

Now a ghost

Among the leaves,

The rest.

Uncle,

I see your name written in

School books and upon the wind

And within the rain,

And I still hear your songs fill the air

In the forests & the city streets

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The Poem Remains: Tribulations

RM ENGELHARDT EVENTS
CREATE THE BOOK

The”Bones of Our Existence, A Journal 2046″ my new book is now up & online. Find the words, the work & the poetry here. Look for 2 , The free PDF chapbook and the audio versions of the pieces to be added soon.

 

Thanks again for all your support, love and comments.

 

The Poem Remains.

 

 

~R.M.

 

http://www.thepoemremains.com

OF POEMS AND TRIBULATION

Light

The deal is no matter what, no matter how bad things get or are that we try. Even in the worst of times we must remember there will be light, someone, somewhere waiting.

~ R.M. Engelhardt
The Bones of Our Existence
http://www.thepoemremains.com