R.M. Engelhardt & The Notorious Coffee Quote Scandal

My Quote Has Been Shared All Over Creation Since 1994 Because, Well, I’m A Coffee Addict

Damn. ( I’m laughing at the obvious)

And I mean this humorously but:

Generally I’m an open minded writer and I support new and upcoming writers but If I had single dollar for every time someone ripped off my famous 1994 coffee quote I’d be a billionaire by now. I’ve seen it switched around, I’ve seen it turned into (gag) tea etc.boring, gross, lines stolen and thrown in without the smokes blah blah blah

Will someone please tell these idiots to create their own damn words and learn to write? I’m tired of seeing my words unravelled by dim-wits who think they’re being clever( See said inferior plagiarized quote below. No author on Google found or mentioned) Found this ” gem” on Facebook … Twice!

Twits!

Go buy your own damn coffee.
This one’s mine.

And always shall be.

~R.M. Engelhardt. Writer (And Coffee Addict)

Said Inferior ” Rip Off” Coffee Quote Above

Rainy Days” my Ass (Yawn)

~ R.M. Engelhardt ©2023

2023 A New Year

As the old year fades away

I dream of a far off day

Where we all contain the humanity

To mend & change our ways

Let greed make way for charity

Let hate make way for understanding

And let these two wrongs to others disappear

And as the old year fades away

Let our world begin again anew, awake

A better place without malice
A better world without disease

But
This future time
This future place
All depends upon

You

~ R.M. Engelhardt ©

2023.

It’s going to be a great year of change, poetry, writing & events. My small press Dead Man’s Press Ink will be publishing new work by poets and hosting events such as our monthly poetry open mic INVOCATION OF THE MUSE POETRY OPEN MIC at Lark Hall here in Albany NY as well as a new non poetry event at the Fuzebox Nightclub called PROHIBITION 1923.

Also? I’m working on my next book!

Have a Happy New Year!

~ R.M. Engelhardt

2023 R.M. Engelhardt

The Lost Poems From Nod. R.M. Engelhardt 2003

Twenty years ago I wrote a chapbook called Nod. 2003. These were some poems based on the experimental style of EE Cummings & George Oppen Many of the poems were published on now long gone poetry journal internet sites and as we know many online journals don’t last forever. Here are a few poems. Hope that you enjoy them.

~ R.M. Engelhardt

HEDROGLOSSIA

LOOK

If I can’t find the meaning well then at least I’ve found you
And that being that is much more than ever being and much
More than ever merely needing a touch, a voice, a word or a
Feeling, something to be or not to …

SEE!

There I’ve done it again!

Hyper and not hedroglossia!

Too many words asking me to listen
Too many voices only mine repeating
Being two when I’m with you when this elusive thing they call time stands still and these days of our lives are suddenly & distinctly becoming entangled
Moving much too fast for even Captain Zoom & his paisley rocket ship to fathom
And sleeping beneath these quiet dreams of unspokeness
And hearing all of these voices at once and yet, at times being so alone.

So I guess this is what they call hedroglossia,
The wanting of a voice now gone, the hearing of a song
The fear of not knowing possibly what belongs In these arms of poetry and dusk.

WRECK

(oh no Jock Cousteau, please help me salvage this heart.) because she who thinks she knows who thinks she knows knows nothing.
says so long because his song has been sung. (and being a wreck, invisible)
he sinks, drinks her false fear un-emotion and her ice cold seas into oblivion
and sends out one last beacon for her in the night
that she will never answer.

and lost at sea even she knows that he cannot comeback from the dead.
for it was she who sunk the ship before it could even reach its destination

Crea en el amor y en yo¶ll siempre cree en usted

MEMENTO

Better to feel
          (Than be)
Blood rushes thru veins
And the heart beats,
Only one-day to complete its duty
While eventually earth and gods shall all come
Crashing down
And kingdoms & civilizations fade.
And so please, I ask you only this;
That when I leave to let me take these
Few things with me;
The moon, the sun and the stars,
And the small traces of light which
Once reflected in your eyes
That I can no longer see

NOTES TO AN INSENSITIVE UNIVERSE

So what do you know about What is or is not to be?
(Hmmm … perhaps it is we)
Moving, living and struggling as if we think the very existence of the universe depends upon these things
But the universe (dam dark void)
Will be quite fine without us
&  our  ³Feelings´

Poor universe
And without love
Sadder still for not
Knowing what it wants
Or what its here for

POEM TO PAST SELF IN FUTURE TENSE

Yours is a beauty of monstrous pro-
Portions with the world
Spinning randomly into
Oblivion where the leaves are all
Dying all of the time off of the trees,
Where  misery makes its way into every small tissue stealing.

Yours is a world where
Beauty has fled and has left town
For greener pastures, has drowned its-
Self into the sea of angst & tears and
Has mixed its-self with alcohol &
Cigarettes, sad poems and
Indiscriminate men & women who
Already know that beauty has left
The scene,

(And they no longer care to find her)

And yet it is good that beauty has
Finally found you and that beauty is not
Dead

But was only merely sleeping

On the sofa of your dreams

WHAT SHE SAID
 
She said;

³If you ever tell me that you love me I’m afraid that I’ll have to leave.´  

So not wanting to ever lose her he bent down, got close and softly whispered   in her ear;

                     ³Lust … .Lust …Lust´ 

WAR FILM

Buddhist hope cow.com of love transcending the  dialect of     
gloss & loss & gloom to the mysterious mysticism of the time  machine

                                               of  ³when?´
                                              
             Oh how I love thee, mammals of flesh and blood and candy.             Let me count the innocent waves, the waves of psychotic           
              emotion, measure my ass for caps and my heart for meaning                                
                less
                                             ³gestures.´
                                            
(And please; screen my phone calls for truths, religions, promises & AIDS.)

  For selective in our service we the
  brave and the free will send out our hippie-bred children into the 
  Man swarm and the cities of their destinies, their lives as  
  Instantaneous as eighteen-year-old twinkies and our reasons   as contrived as an
 
oily eagle
                                                ³fart´
                                               
         Captain Zoom may send you to your doom as happy as a       
           rectal thermometer but the smiling mortician man grim will       
             dress you up in green who spills & spells out
                                        F R E E D O M     
                                       
                                     ³Horizontally´
                                    
                                    with a capital
                                   
    D.

ALONE

Alone in a room with-
                                               Out you is alone, alone                                                 Without you is alone.
                                                             Alone without you is like
                                                             The moon without the stars,
                                                             The world without the sun                                                           
                                                               Shining upon it.
                                                              
                                                 Good days or bad
                                                 With you I’m never sad
                                                 But without you in a          
                                                                                        Room I’m alone.

I   KNOW

There are certain things  I know don’t  know, feel don’t  feel & see don’t see.

I am a blind
Man with the near
And the far, I am a
Baby bat that grasps
And squeaks to all
Things sad & mean all
Past & future present past
In the worship of your heart.

Sacred life of words
Unspoken by man
Knowing truth
Is truth.

*All poems From The KotaPress Anthology  2003
R.M. Engelhardt ©

WITH NOTHING MORE TO SAY

WITH NOTHING MORE TO SAY

Some day
One day
You won’t reach out
For fame
Because it doesn’t
Exist never existed
Never came or stayed
or ever paid
The rent

True

Or real

Or yours

Or was ever
Truly

Like words

And then?

Someday
Sometime off
In a near distant future place you
Will find yourself standing up
On a stage older

And under the lights

All alone

Empty & Vacant
Like all the stars
You once dreamed of or
Wrote about

Yet still comparing
Yourself to all the
“Famous Ones” remembered & yet
Constantly complaining about how
Your genius wasn’t noticed &
Was over looked

By fools

As you wish to believe
You were a great part of history
The handful worth reading

When the truth is
Nobody & no one will
Even remember your name

Perhaps
In a month?
Even
A decade or just a
Year from now?

And they won’t
Recall or remember
A single word you said
Or wrote

Finding that all
The mingling &
Sucking up and the fake
Complimenting
Didn’t get you very
Far in life

At all

And that this will
Be the sad day the infinite
Day of all days
Future
And past

With no love
Soul or sentimentally

Left

But perhaps?
The artist was wrong

And the lecture
Has ended

But
In your version

You believe that
Your handful of
Blind followers

Will think
That you have
Mysteriously
Disappeared

Like Rimbaud
Or some other
Immortal legend

But instead
You’ll be found
In the drive thru

At McDonald’s

Surviving

~ R.M. Engelhardt

© 2022

Talking Political Writing, Post-Pandemic Arts, and Finding Home with R.M. Engelhardt

*An Interview With Thom Francis of The Hudson Valley Writers Guild.

https://www.mediasanctuary.org/stories/2022/talking-political-writing-post-pandemic-arts-and-finding-home-with-r-m-engelhardt/

R.M. Engelhardt started sharing his poetry at local open mics in the early-90s and has since been a driving force in keeping the poetry and spoken word alive and well in the area. He has hosted a number of readings and events over the years and continues to welcome writers new and old to the stage.In this clip, Engelhardt reads “DeGeneration” at the Borders Open Mic on January 25, 1995. This poem was recorded for the CD, “Volume: A Compilation of Poets, Live”, produced by Mary Panza and Steve Clark chronicling the poetry scene at the time at such venues as the QE2, Margarita’s, and Borders.We talk about political poetry, what the arts community looks like in a post-pandemic world, and how he landed at Lark Hall for his monthly open mic.

HARASSED BY SQUIRRELS By R.M. Engelhardt

HARASSED BY SQUIRRELS

Cold December Morning
Too early to wake up I sip
Hot coffee mumbling as the
Local squirrels harass me
For more bird seed
With evil & angry

Stares

~ R.M. Engelhardt ©2022

Poet Writer Albany NY

Shadows By R.M. Engelhardt

Within each man a shadow exists.

The shadow of his past.
The shadow of his future.

And the shadow of all the things he
Could have been.

~ R.M. Engelhardt