MURMUR
There is an echo
That resonates
Throughout her soul
A light
Where all darkness
Disappears
Her smile
A mere second
Which lasts
An eternity
Poet Writer Albany NY
MURMUR
There is an echo
That resonates
Throughout her soul
A light
Where all darkness
Disappears
Her smile
A mere second
Which lasts
An eternity
SHORT HAIKU FOR CHARLES MANSON
Burn Mother
Fucker
Burn.
OLD SOUL
An old jukebox is playing
Tom Waits as the smell of beer
And cigarette smoke
Permeates the bar
The patrons, the drinkers
Are old and now I am
Have, become one
Of them as
The days of light
Electricity & destruction
Punk rock & single living are now
Over & as the words take over
And possess the pen
As the ink transforms thoughts
Bourbon into
Something someone
Else
The unknown man
The unknown poet
Left with an old soul
Just writing a poem
In some dark place
Or darker corner
On napkins
Outside & behind the walls of
The always boring &
Casually observed
The popular &
Pop culture writers &
The 5-minute celebrities
Of the world
All supposedly living on
Some lost & lonely planet called
Earth
Where
I am no man
No memory
Or of any place
Or time
At all
Where I am merely the
Drunk priest in black who
The city sings to at night
And the sound that is
Beneath you
& beneath your
Howl your heart & soul
The truth
That no one wants to
Hear or think about
Anymore
And I no longer have
A young man’s eyes or
Some epic poem love or
An epiphany to share
And I don’t give a shit about
Your politics
Television or the news
Because as always
Death & history
Always repeat
And always remain
The same
Hand in hand
Forever
So I don’t pretend to be a
Prophet or
Something I am not
And I am not interested
In attempting to save the
World or
In creating the next great
Literary movement
Of fools
But for those of you
Who do?
Gee
That’s swell
But my gods
My muses
Still walk
Still dwell
Still scream
In another
Century
Who tell me
Whisper to me
That in the end of
All ends nothing is left
But your words
Your soul
Burned &
Weathered through
Ink blood & paper
The years &
The experience
Of time
Alone
And we
The poets
Are only
The dust
That remains
Behind
Another
Old soul
At the end
Of the world
At the end of
The bar
Writing for
No one anymore
But himself
Stand at the crossroads, and look,
and ask for the ancient paths,
where the good way lies; and walk in it,
and find rest for your souls.
(Jeremiah 6:16)
On Wednesday November 29th The Troy Poetry Mission Returns to O’Brien’s Public House With Our Featured Poet Rebecca Schumejda & An Open Mic For Poets & The Spoken Word Hosted By R.M. Engelhardt and James H Duncan.
7:30pm Sign Up*8pm Start Time
$3.00 Donation Requested
http://www.troypoetrymission.com
STEP UP TO THE MIC
THIS IS POETRY
O’BRIEN’S PUBLIC HOUSE
43 Third Street
TROY, NY
BIO:
Rebecca Schumejda is the author of Our One-Way Street (NYQ Books, 2017), Waiting at the Dead End Diner (Bottom Dog Press, 2014), Cadillac Men (NYQ Books, 2012), Falling Forward, (sunnyoutside, 2009) and several chapbooks including Common Wages, which she co-authored with poet Don Winter. She received her MA in Poetics and Creative Writing from San Francisco State University and her BA in English and Creative Writing from SUNY New Paltz. She lives with her family in New York’s Hudson Valley.
HOMELESS WARRIORS
We are
Multitudes
Young &
Old
Men &
Women
An army
Dethroned
Without the
Respect of
Generations
You cannot
See what
We’ve seen
The fine
Line between
Humanity
And disease
Destruction
Poverty
Death
So I beseech
Thee
America
To believe
To care
To help
To save
For we
Have lost
Our families
Brothers &
Sisters to
The grave
The enemies
Which you
In all your
Endless campaigns
Have created
The sons &
Daughters
Of your fate
You cannot
Will not
Ignore us
Those who
Have laid
Down our
Bodies &
Souls
Sacrificed our
Very existence
So you can
Watch television
And drink beer
Without a
Conscience
For there
Is no more glory
No Valhalla
In a country full
Of political
Vultures &
Fakes
You have
Betrayed &
Abandoned us
With our
Insanity &
Disabilities
Wounds &
Without anymore
Weapons to fight
Back without
Food or a
Place to rest
Our heads
You have
Disappeared
After Vietnam
Afghanistan
Iraq & Kuwait
Without a single
“Thank you”
For is
No place
Left for damaged
Warriors
In your self
Serving beliefs
And we
Are still fighting
For survival
Every day
Waiting
Praying for
One more
Victory
Unnoticed
Moving through morning silently
Believing in something unseen
A pilgrim on a forest road
~ R.M. Engelhardt