RUINED
the sun
light
soft
summer wind
the
breeze softly
embracing me on
an early august
morning
the neighbor smiling
walking her dog
the smell of
fresh dog
shit in the air
~ R.M. Engelhardt
©2023
R.M. ENGELHARDT
Poet Writer Author Albany NY
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THE 21st CENTURY POETS
AREN’T DRUNK ENOUGHThe poets
Of the 21st century
Are still well, poets
A bit lost at times
But here & there & now
Recovering from other
Generations words
Vaulted within their
Minds & souls foreverThe beat manifestos
Kerouac and Ginsberg
Still stuck in our heads as
Frost & Yeats voices
Keep playing in
The background &
As Whitman still
Yearns for an America
We’ve never seenNever felt
We have technology
We have laptops we have
Our ecology falling apart
At the seams our oceans
Polluted and all our nations
Still divided hate and racism
& unconquered dreams
Running up that hill that
A young black girl mentionedRecently
At some inauguration
On the collapse of some
Faux American Nazi regimeBut there are still words
Verses yet to be written
& sungAs always
The poet of the 21st century
Never getting or fitting
The all & everything
Within an epiphany
Or a sonnetSome of us even fell off
The back of the railroad car
Living as traveling punks
While others have seen the inside
Of the suburban prisons
Of their own intricate designsOur philosophies
At best diluted amongst
The need for our own
Realities & GodCigarettes &
Guns & CoffeeMeaning & Relevance
As we long for our own
Ancestoral forests
Worshipping animals, trees
& rock icons for gone is the
God of the harvest and all the
Poems of the starry nightLord Byron & Shelly
Burned & buried long ago in their
Frock shirts
The romance at the end of
Their storiesDead
So we write of our own times
Dancing upon these hardcore
Graves looking for the missing
Pieces of our childhood & the
Events of the momentThe news, the headlines.
No longer to dream or
Transcend without being
Drunk or stoned, medicated
Within the lines of somethingLost ~
For the poets
Of the 21st century
Are still well, poets
Searching
Here & there & now but stillLooking for that something
Looking for the perfect words
But never finding them in these
Drifting days of mediaWriting
The Poet
Sees chaos. Hears laughter
Posts randomly within
The vortex
A photo
To see the dreamSo others may see it also
But do not
For the poet
Of the 21st century
Is not drunk enough
Will never be drunk enoughCommonly void by information
Random apocalypse
Floating
Somewhere
In the extinction of his own backyard
Ten likes
Five likes
None.
The 21st Century Poets
Aren’t Drunk EnoughT- Shirt now
Available
At Walmart
————~ R.M. Engelhardt
©2023
*title idea created by Jason Otero*
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BECAUSE THE AUDIENCE ALWAYS APPLAUDS
In 1912
Poor Franz
Jumped off
The Eiffel TowerSmashed
To the ground
Into the hard earthDead
Because the
Audience always
ApplaudsIn 94′
Tyke
The abused
Elephant
Fought back &
EscapedGot shot
86 times
By the policeCommitted no crime
Except being alive
Died slowlyProof
That we all live
In a WTF
Fucked up worldThe dead all bloody
And crushed
Lying along our American
Highways of progress
The earth burning outFrom within
Without
But nobody notices
Unless they are forced
To watchThe moment
The slaughter
The diseaseBut that doesn’t
Effect you nor INow does it?
Not in our high school
Not in our neighborhood
Not on our watchHey !
Mind your own business
Take off that mask
Don’t get that shot
In the armIt’s bullshit
Thank God you’re
Not one of those
“Other” peopleWho worship that
“Other” GodNukes at the ready
Survivalists with guns
Morons running our
Governments doing
Nothing at allBecause the
Audience always
ApplaudsTheir own blindness
& StupiditySelfishness & sloth
Fake anarchy
Fake patriots
Fake truth
Fake loveThe loud & the dumb
Ringing in
With a dull
Funeral marchProof
That we all live
In a WTF
Fucked up worldBecause the
Audience always
Applauds~ R.M. Engelhardt
©2023Share this:
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SPAM IS THE NEW FORM OF TRUE ART SPAM IS THE NEW FORM OF TRUE ART
After sitting all day
At the auto shop
Waiting for my old car to
Be repaired I get home
Angry that nothing was found
And order a pizzaAnd then?
Annoyed
I sit
Scroll
Smoke
ContemplateRead a few great new
Poems in my poetry
Group & find a blocked as spam
Piece posted by an unfamiliar woman
Which says:“Buy My Old Patio Furniture At
A Low Low Price”picture attached*
But then?
After many years of editing
Years of writing
Suddenly a great
Vision enters my mind
And for the first time ever
I ask myself:Could this be
The new direction poetry
Is heading in?Simple & yet metaphoric?
Minimalist
& yet the most powerful
Creativity of this one
Woman’s life displayed
Explained
By its very existence
In a spam like display?Artistic :
With a photo of beat
Up chairs & a dirty
Plastic table
An ash tray on top
Full of cigarettes
Saying, making the
StatementMy life is a total scam
Almost as shitty as the plastic
Objects in this
Badly taken photographI sell them
As memory
As griefAs trauma
Feel the false joy,
The desperation when
You see it’s condition
As well as
The perfect profile
Photo of me & my
Husband smiling after our
Many years of marriageWhich is
A total shamI’ve banged the mail man
On this table, the plumber &
The next store neighbor,
The delivery boy & the
Spectrum Internet sales guyWhile my husband who
Said he was working late again
OvertimeWas actually
At the gay barYES.
This is
Must be genius
The ecstatic new vision, form
I have been looking
For through all of these blocked
Items completely wrong
All of this time & not
Truly considering the
Amount of time, art
And depth that these
Poor desolate souls
Have been putting into
These shunned
And unappreciated worksAnd suddenly,
Because of her art
I felt a lot better about
My bad dayAnd that my life
My car & my situation
Is nowhere near as bad
Or as pitiful as theirsSo if you read this poem
In complete earnest
Then I owe you an apologyBut then again?
In the near future
Expect more poems like
This mocking & making
Fun of all the morons &
Idiots who try to sell their
Worthless & ridiculous
Garbage in my group
And on my pageBecause it’s fun. ; )
Sincerely
~ R.M. Engelhardt
Administrator, Dead Man’s Press Ink.Share this:
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1.
I am nobody:
A red sinking autumn sun
Took my name away.
2.
I give permission
For this slow spring rain to soak
The violet beds.
3.
With a twitching nose
A dog reads a telegram
On a wet tree trunk.
4.
Burning autumn leaves,
I yearn to make the bonfire
Bigger and bigger.
5.
A sleepless spring night:
Yearning for what I never had
And for what never was.© by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes only
https://daily.jstor.org/the-haiku-of-richard-wright/ via @JSTOR_Daily
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Social media is becoming even more social thus the media apparently now equals Instagram Threads.
Where Are All The Damn Holograms They Promised?
https://www.threads.net/@thegentlemanoutsider
https://www.threads.net/@thegentlemanoutsider
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So what do you do for a living?
I burn the sun, the moon and the stars.
Breathe in words, voices, poetry.~ R.M. Engelhardt
©2010
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NOTHING
Knocked down 1000 times, he gets back
up, looking for the world in a paper cup,
another lonesome godof nothing.
~ R.M. Engelhardt
Circa 96©Share this:
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Every generation wants to be the last.
Every generation hates the next trend in music they can’t understand. We hate to give up those reins of our culture. To find our own music playing in elevators. The ballad for our revolution, turned into background music for a television commercial. To find our generation’s clothes and hair suddenly retro.
~ Chuck Palahniuk
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