OF CONVERSATIONS, FRIENDS & ANGELS

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OF CONVERSATIONS
FRIENDS & ANGELS

 
Today

I come to you
In the memory
Of old friends

Conversation

Over lost time
And lost years

That have
Mysteriously
Vanished

In both tragedy
And revelation

Grief
And silence

Detached from
This mere
Mortal coil

To remember them;

They who were
Once here and
They who once loved
And who we all
Once were once
Upon a time long
Ago as well
In a love, a friendship

A moment

Meant with soul
So fiercely

Now
Vauge

Idle
In dreaming

For you see
As we go on
Our minds
Have learned to
Play tricks

Deceptions

In a veil of youth
& passing days

Drunken illusions
And insignificant
Slights now
Forgotten

Replaced by
What was once in our
Hearts our true
Appearance

A realization
That to be human
Is to be flawed

But these things
Are small pins
Needles

Inconsequential

Now forgotten

So in coming years
We shall sit down & remember them
And have a conversation
Like old friends
Should have like
All friends living

Until

Into the light &
The brilliance
Of angels
We go

Onto
To the next
Mortal
Dream

Without remorse

 

 

~ R.M. Engelhardt

03.16.2019

 

POETS & WRITERS STAND AGAINST TRUMP 01.20.2017 AT 8PM

 

 

POETS & WRITERS STAND AGAINST TRUMP
POETS & WRITERS STAND AGAINST TRUMP  : JANUARY 20th, 2017 AT 8PM

On Friday, January 20th Donald J. Trump will be sworn in as The President of the United States of America.

This will be a very sad day indeed. And as poets and writers everywhere we need to speak up and say what needs to be said, and share those words with our nation and the world.

So here’s what we do.

At EXACTLY 8pm on the evening of Friday, January 20th I’m asking all my friends and fellow writers and poets to simultaneously all post a poem or prose piece against the election and presidency of Trump. Post it on Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, WordPress …

EVERYWHERE.

That’s it, that’s all we need to do but we must all be united in this protest.

No matter who you are, what country, what race or what nationality this is the moment to Stand Against Trump.

All I ask?

Tag the bottom of your posts with these words that say we stand together.

#poetsandwritersstandagainsttrump

#westandagainstthispresident

Please join me, spread the word and invite all other writers and poets.

Join Us On Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/events/1633551503613211/1633847540250274/?notif_t=admin_plan_mall_activity&notif_id=1484335784769388


Thank you.

R.M. Engelhardt

The Bones of Our Existence, A Journal 2046 Coming March 15th …

In the dark times
Will there also be singing?
Yes, there will also be singing
About the dark times.”

—   Bertolt Brecht

The Bones of Our Existence 2016

R.M. Engelhardt‘s new book The Bones of Our Existence, A Journal 2046 will be revealed March 15, 2016 online and is “an entirely new concept in regards to the way the book is to be released as well as to be presented.”

This book will be absolutely free to the public and is one man’s journal of poems set in the aftermath of the post-apocalyptic future of 2046 written by an unknown survivor who in the forms of prose and poetry looks back and reflects upon his life, loves and battles (within and without) over the last some 40 years.

The book is part science fiction, part humanity and even part Thoreau, but mostly it is the memoir of a man, who like the future we all thought would get better, has lost his way but who still believes that the words, our souls and our voices, poetry still … and will always matter.

Look for this and other book related news here at http://www.rmengelhardt.com

The Future Is Coming …

 

manshandwhiskeybonesexistence

 

Q.

The Future is Coming.
What Are You Going To Do ?

A:

I think I’ll have another glass of whiskey.

– R.M. Engelhardt, The Bones of Our Existence 2016

An Interview With R.M. Engelhardt, 2006

MICHAEL ECK Special to the Times Union
Section: Arts-Events, Page: H1
Date: Sunday, October 29, 2006
R.M. Engelhardt wears black sunglasses in the shade. He chain-smokes Djarums until his head is wreathed in a clove-scented cloud. And, in the middle of the day, he sucks down coffee like a trucker on a midnight run.

Engelhardt, in case you haven’t already figured it out, is a poet. But he doesn’t just walk the role, he talks it, too. In fact, he’s been speaking his poetic mind in public for more than a decade, at least on occasion as the host the long-running Vox and School of Night readings series, both of which he founded, fostered and produced at local nightclubs. Engelhardt, 42, is one of the leading lights of the Albany poetry scene, and he is finally, rightfully, celebrating himself with the publication of “The Last Cigarette: The New & Collected Poems of R.M. Engelhardt” on his own Dead Man’s Press.

He calls the work, which includes selections previously published in journals, online magazines and in his own chapbooks, “a handbook of my life.”

Q: Why do you write poetry?

A: Why do people breathe? Why do people make music?

I’ve been writing since I was a kid. I wrote a Greek myth when I was 12 years old. We were studying Greek myths and my sixth-grade teacher freaked out. That was my first clue it was like, hmmm, I did something interesting.

When I was about 15 years old, I was a Doors fan. I liked Jim Morrison and all that. Then I read (Danny Sugerman’s Morrison biography) “No One Here Gets Out Alive” and he made references to Blake and Rimbaud and other poets. Of course, being an introverted, quiet kid, in junior high, with glasses, the whole thing, I spent my time in the library, in the corner, reading all those books.

I started writing a lot at that time. It’s just a part of life. It’s who I am.

Q: Your work has been published and you’ve performed it as well, which do you prefer, the page or the stage?

A: Actually, I’m more partial to the page. I’ve written more than just poetry. I’ve written prose pieces and things like that, which are also in the book. I like the craft of writing itself.

I do enjoy performing, but I find lately that I’m staying in more and writing, rather than going out all the time.

It’s kind of crucial that you have a place where you can share your work with other people and perform your stuff and get feedback on it, but as I’m getting older I see that the form and the style in the clubs is changing, with poetry slams and poetry battles.

I’m old-school, and my style is different from what’s coming out now. You won’t see me doing any slams in the future. I’ve done them before, but it’s not for me.

Q: Why Albany?

A: I’m a sixth-generation Albanian. That’s one reason. My family’s been here since 1890.

Albany is where I grew up. It’s a part of me. A lot of people I know have died here. Their memories are here. It’s my city. It’s my town.

I tried Florida, just to see what it was like. I thought maybe I would stay in the Keys there’s a great quality to the way it’s laid back there but the funny thing was, I had nothing to write about. It wasn’t like Hemingway-land. It was more geared toward parrots, bad shirts and rich eccentrics with long beards.

Albany is it. I’ll probably live here the rest of my life.

Besides, in Florida it was very hard to find clove cigarettes.

Q: If you could trade places with one writer, who would it be?

A: I’d love to be in the Renaissance era, when poets were rock stars. But if it had to be one person, it would probably be Baudelaire or Poe but hopefully with a happier life and a nicer mustache.

Since I was a kid, Poe has been one of those influences that’s been inescapable. His work, his stories, they’re phenomenal. He had an imagination like you wouldn’t believe. At the same time I wouldn’t want to end up in his shoes. He died alone, and nobody wants to die alone.

Q: What do words mean to you?

A: Words are powerful. Words make a difference. They can create and destroy. They can open doors and close doors. Words can create illusion or magic, love or destruction. … All those things.

Michael Eck, a freelance writer from Albany, is a

frequent contributor to the Times Union.R.M. Engelhardt

Picasso’s Poetry

picasso poetry

whisper

the shiver of hands
blind without memory
and so,
friendly still
yet sweet like the words
forgotten
to the tremble of lips

quiet
there are no surprises here
rest your eyelids
until they become stone
rest your heart
until it stops

(it beats now only for itself
in some secret place)

 

http://www.cipherjournal.com/html/picasso_poems.html