The School of Night. Albany, NY

In the late 1990s & into the early part of this century I created and ran a spoken word poetry open mic called THE SCHOOL OF NIGHT at Valentine’s as well as at a few other locations afterwards in Albany, NY. The open mic was always extremely crowded and popular and we did alot of themed nights also such as Beat Generation Night, Poe Halloween Benefits Bukowski Night and some other cool evenings before alot of these ideas took hold in other places. But as all good things my SON had a predecessor. The original group of poets in the time of Marlowe, Raleigh & Shakespeare.

Who knows?

Whenever history needs inspiration it might just return again .

https://shakesphere1.blogspot.com/2012/08/sir-walter-raleigh-and-his-school-of.html?m=1

The School of Night, Albany NY

MECHANISM

MECHANISM
To summon
All voices

Magicks
The poem

An incantation

A spell

Whispering
Into the void

The silence

Made form
Made flesh

The dreams
Of man

Temporal
Corporal

From
Mind
Body
Soul

The universal
Thread

A mechanism
A transmission

From
The beginning

To
The end

 

 

~ R.M. Engelhardt3091019-bible_black-and-white_book_journal_writing_writing-tool.jpg

REPETITION

 

REPETITION

 

So let us call this

Ruin

Civilization

Written
Upon an ancient
Wall

Built
By the
Living
Dead

Without
Empathy

Mass
Hysteria

A history
Without
Clarity

Created
By egos

Inhuman

And not
True men

A standing
Headstone

Marking
The end

Of freedom

 

 

~ R.M. ENGELHARDT/2019

seamless-brick-wall-game-texture-free-thumb37

Let Poetry Be Poetry: A Response To Recent Headlines

LET POETRY BE POETRY

 

Attention:

 

Don’t apologize

Don’t cry

Don’t whine

 

Leave it alone

Don’t change or

Edit the world

Be honest

Be authentic

Be real

 

Because

You’re entitled

No matter

Who you are

Or where you

Live

 

To be who you

Were meant to be

To say what needs

To be said to be

Free and to let the

Words breathe

 

Like all words

And poetry should

 

And not to be stifled

By others who

Aren’t brave enough

To say what needs

To be said

Afraid to be alive

Because they all live

 

In the imaginary

Land

 

Of fear

 

Afraid

Of political

Monsters

Who live in

The dark or

Who believe

That they have

The right to control

Your voice

 

Your thoughts

Your writing

Your ideas

 

Your history

Your color

Your beliefs

 

So

Don’t apologize

Don’t cry

Don’t whine

 

Leave the words

As they are

Let the words be

Your own words

And never ever

Back down

 

Against Nazis

Against censorship

Against idiots

Against tyrants

 

Who think that

They have the right

To edit your soul

 

Because on the day

You are afraid

To write a poem

In America

Or anywhere

 

You’ve already

Let all the monsters

 

Win

 

So

 

Let Poetry

Be Poetry

 

Let The Poem Breathe

 

Let The Poem Live

 

~ R.M. Engelhardt

August 2018

Ferlinghetti …

 

“Pity the nation whose people are sheep,
and whose shepherds mislead them.
Pity the nation whose leaders are liars, whose sages are silenced,
and whose bigots haunt the airwaves.
Pity the nation that raises not its voice,
except to praise conquerors and acclaim the bully as hero
and aims to rule the world with force and by torture.
Pity the nation that knows no other language but its own
and no other culture but its own.
Pity the nation whose breath is money
and sleeps the sleep of the too well fed.
Pity the nation — oh, pity the people who allow their rights to erode
and their freedoms to be washed away.
My country, tears of thee, sweet land of liberty.”

― Lawrence Ferlinghetti

C__Data_Users_DefApps_AppData_INTERNETEXPLORER_Temp_Saved Images_17457562_10211103188833349_1911783423443964389_n

A Winters’ Tale

C__Data_Users_DefApps_AppData_INTERNETEXPLORER_Temp_Saved Images_15110846_1254903561227693_5052654562430728868_o.jpgA WINTERS TALE

In the evening
The early morning
This small world
Exists in silence

Just the wind
The snow envelops
All lights & this city

And the earth
Has momentarily
Ceased

Traveled back in
Time before man
Ran the show

The trees
Don’t seem
To care

I breathe in
The dark and
Breathe out
The daylight

And the earth
Returns again

Awakes to
The sounds of
Birds, machinery
And church bells

Perhaps

This is the
Closest we ever
Get to heaven

Perhaps

These are
The last moments
Of a sacred God
Who is no longer

Aware

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