For What It’s Worth

“For what it’s worth: it’s never too late or, in my case, too early to be whoever you want to be. There’s no time limit, stop whenever you want. You can change or stay the same, there are no rules to this thing. We can make the best or the worst of it. I hope you make the best of it. And I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you never felt before. I hope you meet people with a different point of view. I hope you live a life you’re proud of. If you find that you’re not, I hope you have the courage to start all over again.”

—   The Curious Case of Benjamin Button,

The world has been lost. Gone into the unnamed void. We drink our coffee, put on our coats and go to work and sense that something is missing, aware something is no longer there. We have changed. We have forgotten who we are. Or maybe this is just the beginning of becoming, the transformation of the becoming of something new. Find the words unspoken. Find the voice that tells a new story for a new history as yet unwritten. This is your real job. To create that which has not yet been created.

An Interview With Albany Poets : R.M. Engelhardt

R.M. Engelhardt
R.M. Engelhardt

An interview with old friend and cofounder of Albany Poets Mr. Thom Francis about the Albany poetry scene, new projects and something about a new book :

Listen Here:

The spirit lives as long as someone who lives remembers you

R  I  P

“The spirit lives as long as someone who lives remembers you”



An angel goes to her rest,
Never more to suffer.
God brings her soul to Heaven.
Earth buries what she left behind.
Lo, though we cry for her sleep.
Alive, shall she always remain.


~ Unknown



“Death steals everything except our stories.”

~ Jim Harrison






No one around

Not a single sound






Just like in the

Movies where

The world has just

Ended, just like

The calm before

The storm


Or maybe just like

Before a

Zombie apocalypse

zombie writer


As I sit here alone

In my apartment wondering

Why I am alone perhaps

The last human being left,

Perhaps some zombie’s

Next big mac & large fries

Tomorrow or maybe even their

Happy meal with a shake.



But what if I too have

Become a zombie

But just don’t know

It yet?


And what if I too am the

First zombie poet ever

Writing the first un-dead

Zombie poem?


Would all the other zombies

Read it? Or relate to it? Would

They understand my zombie

Feelings or sit around at the

Next undead Zombie Poetry

Festival and make snapping sounds

As all their fingers fell off or would

They even attempt to clap with only

Their one good arm left?



And what if I’m not

Really a zombie? Would they all

Just eventually accept me for who I really am?

Or will they all just be exactly like

They were before all this?


Just like all humans with all of their

Anger, jealousy, war & hate, murder

And all their petty unfair advantages

Over their fellow zombie friends?




Because I don’t believe that there

Could possibly be a better,

More loving & caring, kinder

Zombie world or universe

Waiting in the wings, and

I don’t believe that they would

All just be friendly monsters

Who just like to eat vegans,

Republicans or tea party members


Because damn it

I just believe that sometimes

That the world could use a remake

Or perhaps just a reason. And I

Believe that if we just keep

Walking around dead or alive

That eventually one day we will all

Find our way to peace using or eating

Our own brains.

In the end.





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A smoke, a book, a cup of coffee. 

These are the little things that get us through this sometimes weary world and all the rainy days.”
~  R.M. Engelhardt




If it doesn’t come bursting out of you in spite of everything, don’t do it.

Unless it comes unasked out of your heart and your mind and your mouth and your gut, don’t do it.

If you’re doing it for money or fame, don’t do it.

If you’re doing it because you want women in your bed, don’t do it.

If it’s hard work just thinking about doing it, don’t do it.

If you have to wait for it to roar out of you, then wait patiently.

If it never does roar out of you, do something else.

Unless it comes out of your soul like a rocket,

unless being still would drive you to madness or suicide or murder, don’t do it.

Unless the sun inside you is burning your gut, don’t do it.

When it is truly time, and if you have been chosen, It will do it by itself

and it will keep on doing it until you die

or it dies in you.

There is no other way.

And there never was.



~ Bukowski